૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

04:06AM

D4m0cl3s:

lemme know when you get home safe x

Cl3m3ntin3:

omw x

can’t stop thinking about the photo you sent

pls still be that hard when i get home xx

have busted my phone tho :((((

D4m0cl3s:

nooooooo

how badly?

Cl3m3ntin3:

front camera is fucked 🙁

everything else is kinda okay tho

D4m0cl3s:

what about you?

you okay?

Cl3m3ntin3:

i’m all good

well

no

yeah

i’m good

D4m0cl3s:

good

missed you tonight, clem

you’ve no idea how badly i just wanna say fuck it and invite you to mine

Cl3m3ntin3:

you’re literally the only person in your way

just do it

D4m0cl3s:

i cant 

Cl3m3ntin3:

can’t or won't?

D4m0cl3s:

both

Cl3m3ntin3:

why?

you already take a girl home tonight?

D4m0cl3s:

why would i?

so i could fuck her and think about you the whole time?

accidentally call her clem and ruin the experience for both of us?

Cl3m3ntin3:

idk

you tell me

D4m0cl3s:

got an attitude tonight, don’t u?

i told some girl tonight that i had to leave to get home to my girl

my girl, clem

Cl3m3ntin3:

your girl must be lucky

D4m0cl3s:

nah

she’s a fuckin’ dummy

cute tho

and has a really nice pussy, even if i’ve only ever seen it through a phone

clem ur all i think about

you know this

Cl3m3ntin3:

yeah well

i’m sure you’ve got loads of girls sending you stuff all the time

so it’s whatever really

D4m0cl3s:

what are you on about?

have i done something?

i don’t get why you’re giving me the third degree? 

Cl3m3ntin3:

im not

just not sure i like being a dirty little secret

D4m0cl3s:

goes both ways

Cl3m3ntin3:

does it?

D4m0cl3s:

i dunno who pissed in your cornflakes, but my nights been ass, clem

i wanted to speak to you ‘cause you always make things better

but whatever’s going on with you tonight??

yeah, count me out

Cl3m3ntin3:

well forgive me for not wanting to be an emotional booty call for someone who doesn’t value me enough to make them an actual booty call!!

D4m0cl3s:

so… you’re mad i’m not just using you for sex?

right

have a little simmer on that one, clem. 

Cl3m3ntin3:

have a little simmer on this

Cl3m3ntin3 added new media to the chat!

D4m0cl3s is offline

GENIUS LAB

Big Hit Ent, Yongsan-gu

Yoongi scrunches up his face almost as tightly as he pressed the lock button on his phone. He considers throwing it on the sofa on the other side of the studio, so he can focus on his music again, but apparently he's developed separation issues in recent weeks.

You can’t have everything. He’s learnt this lesson once before. He’d do well to revise his notes and retake the exam.

Tapping his desk as if he’s too scared to make contact with his keyboard, he looks up at the tracks in front of him. The layers you muted remain that way, and while the song feels less cluttered sonically, it’s still just as muddled in his mind.

Yoongi purses his lips as he tilts his head, dark eyes vacant as he tries to reconcile with the fact that the one thing he used to understand better than his own body doesn’t seem to make sense anymore. 

Seems like a pattern. He used to understand the girl on the other end of the phone, but has somehow fucked that up.

Used to understand you, too. 

He barely recognises you anymore. Occasionally there’s a glint in your eye that reflects a younger version of Yoongi back at himself, but more often than not, you don’t even give him the time of day. He can’t blame you, but he also doesn’t blame himself for what happened. It needed to happen.

Well, that’s not entirely true. If the night that never was never happened, then things could have remained as they always were. 

Regret becomes Min Yoongi. It stiffens in his veins until his blood ceases to flow. His extremities become cold and it only spreads. Like a disease, there’s little warmth left in him now, he thinks. Can’t help but give you the cold shoulder, for cold is his only default.

Your perfume is still lingering in his studio. He can pick out the notes. Knows theres vanilla and sandalwood in it’s base. It was spliced with warm cedar on the night that never was, and is muddled with booze now, but he recognises it nonetheless. You linger, even when you’re not there.

He wonders if the boys showed up now, would any of them would realise? 

He thinks Jungkook would. Like a bloodhound, he’d know you had been there. Never vocalises it, but all that teasing over the years about something between you two has Pavlov'd Jungkook, Yoongi reckons.

Territorial, is Jungkook, just like a damn dog. Bark is far worse than his bite, though. Ain’t nothing to be scared of.

Raking his fingers through his hair, Yoongi sighs. Realises that if Jin learns of you getting sent off into the night alone that he’ll have slmething to actually be scared of. 

“Shit,” he curses, grabbing his phone, slipping it into his back pocket, and quickly grabs his bracelets to put them back on his wrist. 

You wouldn’t think they were the kind of bracelets to come off, mostly string, but he’s got a knack to it. Curls his thumb into his palm and scrapes them up against his skin, until they’re secure in place once more. 

He knows better than to be sending pictures of his hands with anything that can be tied back to him. There are instagram accounts dedicated to finding his outfits, and he knows for a fact they’ve already figured out the backstreet independent stores all of these bracelets come from. Wouldn’t be worth one of the pictures he’s sent on that damn app getting out if he had them on still.

The door clicks shut behind him as he heads to the elevators, agitated, jittering as he waits. It’s taking too long, though, coming from the ground floor up. His eyes shift across to the fire escape doors, then back to the number slowly rising above the elevator doors, and thinks fuck it. 

He bolts down the stairs and into the cold of night, only for you to be gone without a trace.

“Shit,” he says once more, digging into his back pocket to grab his phone. Notices no new notifications from the app he’s borderline addicted to but ignores the disappointment. Pulls up his contacts. Scrolls to a number saved under a single full stop. No name, no emoji, just a full stop right at the bottom of his contact list. 

It’s been like that for a while, since before things ever went wrong. Made it less tempting to text you when things used to be good. Also hid the fact he used text you like crazy right in front of Jin’s face.

So yes, Min Yoongi is full of regrets for many things he’s done in life, and you’re the biggest one. Not because of what happened, but because of all that he lost in doing so. 

And so as the phone dial rings out in his ear, Yoongi stops breathing. Forgets it’s something he even needs to consider. 

“Heya,” you softly greet him through the speaker. He’d been expecting rage. A ‘What?’ or ‘Fuck off’. He’s confused, but calmer, now.

“Hey-”

“Sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now. Don’t leave me a message, I won’t listen, send me a text instead. Byeeee!”

Brilliant. There’s a beep through the speaker, and even though you said not to leave a message, Yoongi’s had too much whisky to comprehend this. 

“Uh, I just, uh-wanted to check that you got home okay? I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. Jin will kill me. Just uh… Just let me know when you get home? Okay? That’s it. Alright…bye.”

Across town, with your phone pressed to your ear as you traipse up the hill leading to your apartment building, you listen to your voicemails option menu.

“To listen again, press 1. To delete, press 2. To save, press 3.”

With a scowl on your face, turning the corner to your entryway, you press down on your phone’s keypad, then hold it back to your ear.

“Message saved. You have 4 voicemails saved from this number. To listen—”

You don’t need the options. Already know. For reasons you can’t seem articulate, you tap one a number you really know you should.

“Voicemail received 672 days ago, at 17:51PM: Hey Fizz, I’m just on my way into the studio—I was wondering if you were around today? I’m gonna order from that Thai place you like and their minimum order is like, waaaaay too much for just me. Yeah, just uh, just give me a text or something? Gonna order in about an hour. That’s it. Okay, bye.”

Your hand is heavy on the bannister, legs all clunky and unable to walk with their usual grace. The perils of one too many is finally starting to kick in. Reaching your front door, you jam your doorcode in the keypad as the second voicemail plays.

“Voicemail received 497 days ago, at 01:32AM: Just a heads up, Jungkook’s looking for you. Saw him when I was leaving, and he asked if you were around. Anyway, I said no, so if he comes up and you’re in my studio it’s gonna be sus so either manually lock the door—he’ll think I’ve just changed the code again—or scarper while you can. Probably best you hide regardless. Especially with your hair like that. Not in a weird way. Just like, that and the outfit you’re—Well, yeah, no that sounds weird too. Whatever. Just, uh—Jungkook is looking for you. That’s it. Bye.”

Your door clicks shut behind you. There’s always the option of hanging up before the next message plays. You don’t have to listen to it, especially not when you need to take your shoes off. Bad choices seem to be in abundance tonight, for you switch the phone to loud speaker and pop in on your console table while you wrestle with the straps of your shoes.

“Voicemail received 435 days ago, at 21:39PM: I, uh, I don’t really know why I’m calling. I guess I’m just sorry about what happened. Sorry that it happened altogether. Crossed a line there, and, uh, yeah. Not proud of it, won’t happen again. I know you never listen to these, but I think this is the only thing I’m not blocked on, so it is what it is. Yeah. Sorry. Uh, that’s it, I guess. Bye.”

Cutting the voicemail call off before it replays tonight's message, your frown is fragile. There’s something so deeply pathetic about that recording. You pity him when you listen to it; but you pity the younger version of you that first listened to it even more.

She didn’t deserve to feel the way she did, sat in her bed, chewed up and spat back out by someone she trusted. There’s a silver thread that ties her to you, and the grief in her heart tugs on the string coiled around yours. 

“Cunt,” you curse, hoping he feels your venom across the frequencies of the city; that a shiver will run down his spine like his grave is being walked upon.

If anyone were ever to ask you why you kept that voicemail, you’d tell them you don’t know. You’d think it to be true.

But that voicemail is the only evidence of the night that never was. That, and some bottle caps of your favourite orange in the bottom drawer of Yoongi’s studio—but you don’t know they’re there and he doesn’t ever really plan on telling you.  

All the voicemail does now is prove exactly why a stupid fuckin’ anonymous app is the only place you’re willing to put yourself out there.

Deep down, you know you were only such an asshole to your Damocles Boy because of Yoongi. That the rejection from him felt like the recoil of Yoogni from way back when.

Poor guy has been nothing but an angel, really. Is far kinder to you than Yoongi ever was.

So a message is sent to him; a simple apology. The promise of a proper chat tomorrow. The assurance that you didn’t mean to be awful to him, and that you’ve just had a few too many. 

It’s a rubbish excuse, but it’s the truth—and that’s as much as you can give him. Sort of. Your secrets guard the thing you’ve grown to enjoy so much.

And you know he’s right. It only works because of that. He’s not the love of your life. He’s company. A companion. Someone to look forward to. The promise that there are good ones out there, even if he isn’t your ‘the one’

Leaving your phone on your bed, you grab a towel from the clean laundry pile and saunter to the bathroom, discarding your clothes as you go. Your hallway becomes a runway for your evening; your bathroom a sanctuary to wash it all away.

Main light off, you pull the extractor cord on and flick the mirror lights into action. You need reprise. To be washed anew. Cleansed of your sins.

They wash down the drain with your makeup from the evening, eyes like a Panda and skin free of the drink splashes that had turned sticky.

It’s as you’re softly wiping the mascara way that you realise how awfully chipped your varnish is. Was only a couple of coats, quickly chucked on ‘cause you hadn’t had time to get them done properly, so it’s no surprise. You hate the way it looks though, so open your cabinet to find your bottle of polish remover and absolve them of the nights sins, too. No makeup, no nails, no clothes; a self-care hattrick. 

Retracing your steps, picking your clothes up as you head up the hallway to your bedroom, a knock sounds on your door. A towel is wrapped around your body, and your hair is scrunched up in a towel, but that Dutch courage hasn’t left you yet.

You head through to the lounge, tossing your clothes on the armchair and through to the front door. Flick the lock and wait for the mechanical whir indicating it’s open. 

Min Yoongi’s only ever seen you like this once before and he damn near lost his mind.

Standing before you now, your hallway light haloing around his angelic face, he’s right back there in that sauna; lakeside, hot cedar and red wine. A cigarette on the dock, shared. An innocence, lost. A friendship, irrevocably ruined.

He remembers what it felt like. 

His fingers come to push the sensation off his lips as his jaw tenses, because to remember is to relive, and he cannot do that. Not now. Not here. Not in front of you.

And despite the droplets of water still trickling south down your neck to your shoulder, you feel all sticky, too. Dirty, despite being pristinely clean. You know it’s not, but it feels just like the sweat on your skin from the night that never was.

His eyes are wide, lips gently parted as he just simply says, “Oh.”

Like his shadow, you echo him, unable to say anything else but “oh” right back.

A good thing never lasts long with Yoongi, mind you. The white towel you’re sporting becomes a red flag and he becomes a bull; a fight surely about to ensue.

“What are you doing?” He scowles, walking past you and into your home, pulling the door shut behind him. 

“Sorry?” You practically shriek as he walks straight on into your apartment, shoes kicked off by the door, your living room apparently his to parade around in. 

“I could have been anyone and you just opened the door in a towel?” He scoffs, looking around, taking note of the fact you’ve rearranged since he was last in there. Kept those fluffy pillows he liked, though. If he notices your underwear on the armchair, he doesn’t mention it. Turning to face you, he shrugs, a look of sheer disbelief on his face. “What if some fuckin’ creep had followed you home?”

“Oh, you mean like you’ve just done?!” You scoff right back. “Pot, kettle, black. Creep.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Tries not to smile when he notices the picture of you and Jungkook from high school framed on your wall. You’re both covered in paint, on your way home far later than you should have been to account for the detention you’d had to complete first. 

Jungkook had been late for band practice that night. It was in your parent’s garage as usual, and is what sparked a near decade-long in-joke about you and Jungkook dating to piss Jin off. 

You’d all been kids back then. You and Yoongi hadn’t ever really spoken. He wasn’t interested in hanging out with Jin’s kid sister—Jungkook was bad enough as it was, but the kid was fuckin’ talented. You were just annoying.

“God, you never grow up, do you? Use your brain for once,” he says, stern as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I was literally just coming to make sure you got home safe, ‘cause your fuckin’ brother would have me for breakfast if I didn’t.”

You’re not those kids anymore. You don’t need a baby sitter.

“Again, Yoongi,” You take a step towards him. His eyes remain trained on yours. Another step is taken, and he finds his gaze has to shift on account of how close you’re getting. He doesn’t think it’s wise. “If you really gave a shit about what Jin thinks, you wouldn’t have done half the things you have.”

He stays silent, and you know it’s because whatever he wants to say is mean. You smirk.

Pressing your index finger into his chest, nail free of the red varnish you had been sporting earlier that night, you make sure his eyes focus back on yours as you say, “You’ve no authority to speak to me like you do. Who even are you, huh? You’re my brother’s co-worker. That’s all you are. You’re nothing. So don’t pretend like this is all for my own good, when you don’t know the first fuckin’ thing about me anymore.”

You press your nail just a little deeper, his body swaying ever so gently as he lets you have this command over him. He doesn’t stop looking at you. Not for a second. Only when you go to leave, does he speak up.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me in here while you go to your bedroom?” He snorts, almost as if he finds this whole thing funny. “Not even kick me out? Wow, for someone who is adamant about how worthless I am, why aren’t you taking me out like trash?”

You pause by your door frame. Hold onto it. Tap it once, twice, then turn around. There’s still a little fire in your eyes, but it seems feeble now, like the flames have been deprived of a little oxygen. 

“You’re my brother’s co-worker, and it’d really fuck up his job if anything happened to you,” You say, apparently jumping through hoops to make it all make sense. “So just say here, ‘cause I can’t be arsed trekking over town in half an hour to make sure you got home safe, too.”

It sounded bolder in your head. When you say it out loud, it delivers a little lackluster. Somewhat pathetic. You’ve said it now, though, so you’ve gotta commit to it. Yoongi pretends not to notice the way you grimace at your own words.

Expecting you to carry on, Yoongi says nothing. Just gives you that cold, vacant stare you’ve grown so used to. 

Predictable, is Min Yoongi. He can let the silence sit with most people, but finds it quite uncomfortable with you. Eventually says, “I’ll be fine. Look, I’m just gonna go, ‘cause this is, like, weird.”

He doesn’t move mind you. Say’s he gonna leave and stays still. 

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Look, Yoongi, I’m shattered. Stay, or don’t, I don’t care. We both both know my couch is just as comfy as your bed. Don’t be difficult.”

It’s easy to miss, the slight beat in both of your hearts as you acknowledge that you know how comfortable his bed is. It’s not for any nefarious, illicit reason; no midnight tete e tete or midday rendevous. 

You just went bed shopping with him when he moved into his first ‘grown up’ apartment. You’d been bored and he’d offered entertainment in the form of trying every single mattress within a 15 mile radius. Things had been easier back then. Just as weird, though, in retrospect.

Yoongi dismisses it. “Moved since then. New bed. That one’s in the spare room.”

It’s not a new discovery. He moved probably six months ago or so. Was on tour at the time and had to keep flying back between stops to get things sorted. Ran himself rugged. Rumour on the street (twitter, that is) was that he was going back to visit a girl.

You’d scoffed at the idea of it. Min Yoongi would be the last man to actually give a shit enough about a girl to commit like that.

“Right,” you nod, not really caring to learn any more intricacies of his life. “Well, you know where everything is. There’s filtered water in the fridge and bedding—”

“Bedding in the trunk,” he nods, remembering that all your spare pillows and sheets are in an old tea shipping trunk you got from a flea market when you were still in Uni. All sorts of nicknakcs have been hideen in over time; alcohol, birthday surprises, even people for various reasons or another. Now, it’s taken on a more boring vocation. Seems like life is heading that way generally. Nights out are ending sooner, and bones are getting achey. You’re not sure you like this change. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Yoongi has a few years on you, and you take great pleasure in this. His bones must ache, too. Moreso, even. Your sofa won’t be as comfy as it once was. A small win.

With a curt nod and a stiff smile that doesn’t meet your eyes, you turn your back on him and head to your room. There’s no point showing him around. He knows this place as intimately as he knows his own studio, even if it all feels foreign to him now.

Once you’re in your room, you flop onto your bed, head in the pillows, all air ehaling from your lungs. Hadn’t realised you’d been holding your breath throughout the entire conversation. 

Pulling your phone from it’s hidden spot beneath your pillow, you frown to see no new messages, ignoring the fact it is ass o’clock in the morning. Your Damocles boy is probably fast asleep - and could you blame him? After the way you flipped out at him for no good reason? 

You scroll through your app folders until you find Hush tucked away, hidden in amongst ones you seldom use so as to not draw suspicion. 

It opens up on your chat thread, and you find your frown threading itself even deeper into the lines on your forehead when you see he’s been active since then. 

If you’re not careful, those lines will become so deepset that everyone you ever meet will be able to decipher the clamamities they chronicle.

Look at her, strangers would whisper. She definitely fell for someone on Hush who turned out to be a weirdo.

Thing is, no one would look at you and say that. No one would even think that the reason you look so tired is because you’re up all hours on hush. They’d just think you were burning the candle a both ends. 

Part of you wishes you were. Or at least wishes that it was a Babylon candle you were burning; you could think of Damocles, and you’d be right there with him. That you could just put it all to bed and see exactly who he is. Give him the chance to decide if he’d wanna make it work. If it’s a risk worth taking. 

Your nails tap against your screen, typing faster than you think. Almost as soon as you press send, you exit the app. Check your phone is on silent mode, ‘cause you can’t have Yoongi hearing the vribrate tone of the app incase he knows it, too.  You doubt he does. Too old fashioned for the modern conventions of dating—and anyway, he told you he was seeing someone. Hush should be the last app he should be familiar with. 

Locking your phone, almost scared to get a response, you toss it down beside you, a small glimmer of hope that he’ll be awake. 

Your daydreams of Damocles are interrupted by Yoongi coughing all rather onbnoxiously from the other room. No one coughs like that. He definitely spluttered. You scowl at the thought of it. He’s a walking, talking, coughing ick. 

And yet you forget all about him as you unlock your phone to see a new notification waiting for you. A white flag is being waved and it’s suddenly your favourite colour.

04:52AM

Cl3m3ntin3:

i know ur mad at me </3

but i have a question

babylon candles

the ones you light and think about where you wanna go, then get magically transported

if you had one, what would u think of

where would u go x

D4m0cl3s:

evil

this is a trick question, isn’t it?

Cl3m3ntin3:

is it? :(

D4m0cl3s:

Clem

be so for real rn

if i say anything that isn’t you, you’ll block me

Cl3m3ntin3:

maybe

wouldn’t it be so fun to find out tho???

D4m0cl3s:

no

absolutely not

the concept of being blocked by the one thing i can’t stop thinking about is genuinely vomit inducing

i would throw up

BE SICK

literally think i would fall apart 

Cl3m3ntin3:

omg shut up no you wouldn’t you big babyi missed u

glad ur up

but answer the question dummy

D4m0cl3s:

missed u more

sorry for fighting

and for the record ur a big baby

Cl3m3ntin3:

answer the question omg

D4m0cl3s:

it’s up for debate!! i’m not sure!!

i think maybe my hometown

haven’t visited in ages

think you’d like it

am gonna take you there one day, show you all my fave places

tell you what tho, clem i think i’d mess a babylon candle up

think i’d think of you regardless

think i’d end up at your door looking incredibly sorry for myself

Cl3m3ntin3:

you wouldn’t even know it was my door

just be disturbing all my neighbours smh

and who’s to say i don’t have roommates? you might be greeted by someone else

you might not realise it isn’t me

what if you gave them a kiss thinking it was me </3

D4m0cl3s:

i’d know it’s you

god, i would know

you have any idea how many times i’ve thought of showing up at some nondescript door, greeting some nondescript girl?

i never really imagine you physically

you’re just like… an entity???

i’d just feel it

if you opened up your door for me, i’d feel it

Cl3m3ntin3:

what’s ‘it’, huh?

what would you feel?

D4m0cl3s:

salvation

Cl3m3ntin3:

you’re so dramatic

D4m0cl3s:

im not

i’m honest

i genuinely think meeting you will feel like the weight of the world is lifted

and then i’ll be horny but idk how relevant that part is

Cl3m3ntin3:

i think i’d be offended if you weren’t x

D4m0cl3s:

i get hard every time hush sends me a notification

only cause i know it’s you

you’ve corrupted me

i used to be a good

a gentleman

and now i’m some fiend who doesn’t know his heart from his dick

Cl3m3ntin3:

you can still be good, babe

just good for me xx

D4m0cl3s:

you know i always am

should see me in clubs

the self-restraint is saintly

Cl3m3ntin3:

you need restraint?

so youre tempted to stray???

D4m0cl3s:

No

god no never

the real restraint is not picking you up on your offers when you ask to see me

cockblocking myself

Cl3m3ntin3:

well you’ve missed you shot for the night

one of my friends is crashing here

i can’t leave and you can’t come

RIP ur hopes n dreams </3

D4m0cl3s:i

can’t cum??

even if i send you a video of it???:((((

Cl3m3ntin3:

not like that, dummyy

ou know i alwaysss want you to cum for me

what’s gonna make you cum tonight, huh?

how are you thinking of having me?

D4m0cl3s:

on a couch

hmmm yeah, big comfy couch

Cl3m3ntin3:

for my potential, totally real housemates to walk in on?

gasp

he’s an exhibitionist

D4m0cl3s:

you’ve told me you live alone a million times when youre trying to convince to come over, dummy

and yeah, couch

i mean it

if i showed up at your door, we wouldn’t make it to the bedroom

Cl3m3ntin3:

you think i’d be that easy????

Wow

thanks a lot!!!!

blocked!!!!

D4m0cl3s:

i don’t think you’d even say hello

i think you’d be too busy kissing me to show me around

i think you’d wrap your arms around my neck

and i’d pick you up, legs around my waist

one of my hands on your waist, the other on your ass

keeping you supported, like a gentleman

duh

Cl3m3ntin3:

so courteous of you babe

would the bulge in your pants be gentlemanly, hmm?

cause we both know you’d be rock hard 

D4m0cl3s

:you’re imagining it aren’t you, baby?

how i’d sit down on the couch, you straddled ontop of me?

i know you well enough now to know that you’d be in some big old t-shirt

with underwear thats so tiny it may aswell not be there

Cl3m3ntin3:

so i’m half naked in this little dream of yours, but you’re fully clothed?

that hardly seems fair

D4m0cl3s:

nah

i’d have just showered

would have pulled sweats on with no underwear

you’d feel how fuckin’ hard i am as you grind on me

you’d be so wet it would be seeping through

grinding on my thick, throbbing cock

fuck

i’d wanna fuck you so badly

would you let me?

Cl3m3ntin3:

would you ask nicely?

D4m0cl3s:

No

probably not

i think i’d probably mumble it into your mouth while i was kissing you

tell you how badly i wanna be inside you

then i’d let you make of that what you will

Cl3m3ntin3:

god, i’d wanna be mean soooo bad

would wanna leave you hanging but fuck

i know i’d want you too

even thinking about it is getting me all wet

i’d show you if i was home alone

buttt i’m not

so i wont :*

D4m0cl3s:

god i gotta get myself a babylon candle

Cl3m3ntin3:

think of me in my bed when you do

don’t bother fucking around with the front door

this is where i want you

fuck the couch, fuck all of it

just be in my bed

D4m0cl3s:

god, i’m so fuckin’ hard

such much precum

it’s literally begging to be inside you

wouldn’t last a minute, i swear to god

Cl3m3ntin3:

lucky me ;)

you’d waste a babylon candle on a single minute?

you must be desperate

cute

D4m0cl3s:

shut up

it’s cause you’re too hot

you think i wouldn’t make up for it huh?

you think i wouldnt eat that creampie right from the chef’s table?

fuckin’ gourmet

and you think i wouldn’t share it with you?tl

think i wouldn’t go back down and eat you till your legs are fuckin’ shaking?

babe

do you even know me at all? ;)

Cl3m3ntin3:

god i’m close just thinking about it

D4m0cl3s:

get closer

keep playing with yourself

i’m stroking myself

wish you were here so bad

Cl3m3ntin3:

just close your eyes babe

pretend i am 

D4m0cl3s:

if i close my eyes i can’t message you </3

Cl3m3ntin3:

my camera’s fucked

but this is from a couple days ago

Cl3m3ntin3 added new media to the chat!

this is what you do to me each and every time

i’m even wetter now than i was then

D4m0cl3s:

Jesus

you’re so fuckin wet

look at that pretty pussy

soaked just for me

i gotta get you one of those remote control vibrators, i swear to god

it’s not enough, being the reason you cum mentally i gotta make you cum physically

fuck

babe keep going

keep touching yourself

Cl3m3ntin3:

i wish i could call

🙁

D4m0cl3s:

i know, babe, me too

just keep playing with that pretty pussy for me

get yourself creaming for me

i’m so close

so fuckin’ close

Cl3m3ntin3:

me too

Fuck

god i want it all inside me

i wanna cum around your cock so bad

D4m0cl3s:

babe

fuck

Cl3m3ntin3:

oh god

i’m there

D4m0cl3s:

fuck

clem

Cl3m3ntin3:

fucking hell

Hehehehhee

you good?

D4m0cl3s:

yeah babe

all good

fuck i miss finishing on call, but fuck

Yeah

came so hard 

Cl3m3ntin3:

what were you thinking about?

D4m0cl3s:

i wasn’t

i was looking at that picture

you’ve no idea how perfect you are

do i even wanna know what you were thinking about?

Cl3m3ntin3:

my default closing scene

us

my bed

missionary

weird enigma where you should be ;)

D4m0cl3s:

i’m worried now

what if you can’t cum with me in real life cause i’m not an enigma?

Cl3m3ntin3:

i’ve seen your cock

there’s no way i’m not cumming

perfect

fuck a vibrator

get one of those dick moulds

at least that way i could feel you

D4m0cl3s:

it’s just for you babe

all yours

and that’s actually not a bad idea

think i’d be scared of breaking my dick or something with it tho

Cl3m3ntin3:

as it should be ;)

hold that thought x

Cl3m3ntin3 is offline

“Oh, Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” You shriek as you step into your hallway, only to be greeted with a dark figure leaving the bathroom. It doesn’t take any time at all to figure out who it is, in part aided by the light pouring in from the living room doorway.

“Shitting hell,” Yoongi hisses, the bright smile he’d been mysteriously sporting evaporating as soon as his eyes land on yours. 

You’re so overcome with your surprise that you almost don’t notice his attire, or lack thereof. 

He’s in a pair of boxers. Black. Branded, probably, but the light is too low, and your aversion to anything below his naval prevents you from staring. His hair is dishevelled, but there’s a lightness to him. Relief, perhaps. 

It’s a lightness you haven’t seen in a while. A lightness you’ve only ever truly seen once, but that memory is tucked so far away in the depths of your mind that you can’t recall it, now.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask, as he’s not clearly going back to the living room after going to the bathroom. His phone is in his hand, locked, but gripped so tightly he’ll snap it right in half if he isn’t careful. Would send the glass shattering, impaling himself with the shrapnel. He’d do anything to keep his secrets safe. Would self-sacrifice before he admitted anything to you. Already said too much earlier this evening. Knows he’s one false footing away from falling over entirely.

“Baking a cake?” He sarcastically sneers. “The fuck does it look like? God forbid a man needs a piss.”

“Yeah, well, go outside next time,” you huff in reply, as if that's a reasonable or functional thing to request. You live in an apartment block. A man pissing outside would definitely get you a strike against your tenancy agreement.

He just rolls his eyes, and continues towards the lounge. Signs off with, “I wanted to leave. You told me to stay. This is your own damn creation, Fizz.”

He stops in his tracks, just shy of the doorframe. His broad shoulders barely fit through, muscles strong and defined. The valley of his spine is a dangerous path to follow, yet your eyes stalk down it like a deer in headlights. 

He’s gained a tattoo since you last saw his bare skin. Between his shoulder blades rests a sword. It’s delicate. Deadly, no doubt.

It reminds you of your Damocles boy, and almost distracts you from the fact he called you by the nickname he gave you a million moons ago. The rest of the boys still call you it, but you don’t think you’ve heard it come from his mouth since the night that never was.

He closes the door behind himself, knowing that there’s nothing else left to say. He’ll rest until dawn, then will be gone before the recycling truck comes to pick up the trash ahead of the day. There’ll be no goodbye, but that's not unusual for him.

Threading the lock of the bathroom door through the latch, you take a deep breath. Look at yourself in the mirror. Your furrowed lines of frustration have all but gone. It’s funny, how similar to Yoogni you can be; how a little time with your phone can lift a weight.

You suppose he was maybe speaking with the person he’s seeing. Cherry, you name her in your head, thanks to the drawings in his notebook. 

He’d suit a cherry. Cherry red lips, cherry cola hair. Bright red lollies, glasses of merlot and bloody knees after a piggyback gone wrong. Maroon nails stroking against that sword he’s adorned himself with. Sanguine in his security; Min Yoongi wouldn’t rush into anything he wasn’t certain of. Rosy noses in the winter, flushed cheeks in the elevator as his hand tangle in her hair, the most cardinal thing he’s ever known.

So yeah, you think. He’d suit a cherry.

Not the fizz of fuckin’ orangade. So fuckin’ immature. You’ve always been and will remain to be his best friend's younger sister. And that’s fine. 

He doesn’t even look that good under the orange glow of dimmed streetlamps, and he definitely doesn’t look phenomenal in firelight. Fuck no. And he looks like a tit when he peels oranges. In fact, you hate going into his studio after he’s had a clementine, and he’s always fuckin’ eating them these days. You love the scent and he is actively ruining it. 

You lift your head. Meet your own gaze in the mirror. Furrow your brows once more, ‘cause why does any of this matter?

If anything, it should be a relief to hear him call you Fizz. 

So lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t notice your phone light up, Jimin’s face in the caller ID.

It’s not unsuaul for him to call, but it is unsualf for him to call so late. Or early, really. You figure he’s just making sure you got home safe. He’s good at that; checking in. Does it with all the boys, too.

Jimin is your friend. Has been for years.

Park Jimin, Chief Artist Liaison Officer of Big Hit? Senior Tour Manager? 

Yeah, he’s a different entity entirely.

Park Jimin has a job to do, and that job is to ensure The Scouts are as profitable as can be for the label. He knows damn well the importance of keeping the ‘assets’ safe. You included in that, whether you like it or not.. 

Have you all on his ‘find my friends’ app. Has done for years. You’ve pretty much all forgotten.

You see, the truth of the matter is that you and Yoongi aren’t the only ones who don’t speak about the night that never was. Jimin’s never told a soul, either. Not even you.  

He knew damn well the repercussions of telling anyone that he’d seen you and Yoongi driving out of the city together on a weekend he was supposedly ‘visiting family’ and you were seeing ‘friends from uni’. 

When he had checked back in on his app later that afternoon, just to see if Yoongi had dropped you off in your uni city on the way down to Daegu, he’d paused. Frowned. Searched the forums to see if there were any active glitches or servers down. Found no evidence that there were. Instead, he just found that for some unexplainable reason, you’d been in the same remote location for 3 hours.

He had half a mind to call you both. Ask what the hell you were thinking. What the hell you were doing. Decided against it. Just spent his weekend quiety observing.

Come Monday morning, your little avatars on his screen were miles way, different parts of Seoul. He held his breath. Knew if he saw you together again, for any unexplained reason, he’d have to hold an intervention. 

But you were never together again. Sure, sometimes at work, but never outside of it. Whatever happened during those 44 hours you were locked in on the side of a lake with nothing around it for miles, he didn’t need to know. 

All that he knew was Yoongi threw himself into writing the next batch of tracks for the album, and you bleached your hair, so it must have been pretty fuckin’ brutal for you both—and that was music to his ears. 

Not ‘cause he didn’t love you both or want what’s best for you, but because he did and continues to love you both all the same. He wants what’s best for you—and your brother's oldest friend is not what’s best for you. 

Your brother fighting his oldest friend because of you? Also not good. Would cause irreparable damage to the band, and Jimin cannot afford that.

So he’ll take Yoongi as recluse and you as a fried blonde if it means The Scouts remain as bulletproof as they always were.

But you’re not blonde anymore and Yoongi’s got writer’s block. Quelle surprise, your avatars have been stapled to your apartment block for the last two hours with no sign or movement.

He is not letting it happen again.

Especially not with the shitstorm you’ve ‘caused tonight.

“Can I help?” You answer with a smile, anticipating a drunk Jimin on the other end of the line.

Instead, he’s direct. To the point. “Is Yoongi there?”

“Uh…”

“Fizz, I know he is.”

“He’s on the couch?” You half question as if it isn’t true. The issue is, the rest of it is all a little messy, so a white lie is told. “He walked me home, so—”

“I don’t wanna know,” Jimin interrupts, as if he knows you’re bullshitting him. “Just get him out of there.  The internet is going fuckin’ crazy and I can’t have him getting papped leaving—”

“Sorry?” You ask, utterly bemused, leaving the bathroom and heading across to the living room to get Yoongi up. Whatever had a bee in Jimin’s bonnet like this would have to be serious. He wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t. “Yoongi—”

Already on his own phone, Yoongi greets you with dark eyes that practically scream: We’re fucked.

“Yeah, I know Kook,” Yoongi stresses down the line of his phone. Eyes on yours, he’s panicked. Like dark cherries almost, glinting in the light, his eyes are sweet in their distress. “No, no it wasn’t like— Fuck. How many? 56 thousa– Oh Jesus. Okay. Yeah. Fuck. I’ll be at the studio in 15.”

“Gotta go,” you say to Jimin, hanging up as Yoongi does the same to Jungkook. 

“Fuckin’ intenret weirdos,” he hisses, tossing his phone down into the sofa. He reclines back with a sigh, raking a stressed hand through his hair. Explains, “Someone took a picture of us grabbing a taxi, and apparently twitter is in a meltdown.”

Your heart is beating so fast you can practically taste blood. You’re crimson in your surprise. Fitting, really, that the panic of getting caught up with Yoongi would turn you such a shade.

You remember what happened with Tae, though, when innocent pictures were misconstrued and he almost lost the love of his life as a result of it. If Yoongi really is seeing someone, and the internet is playing cupid without his consent, it could be detrimental. You’d sneered at the idea of his cherry girl earlier, but you feel sick now at the idea of being ‘that’ girl. The other girl, even if you’re not. 

Pulling his trousers on, Yoongi continues to curse. Says some shit about knowing better than to get caught up in a situation like this.

“Oh, give over,” you almost laugh, knowing how damage control works in this industry. “You’ll be papped with a girl next week; everyone will forget about it. Some influencer or something. Or better yet, why not a contestant from singles inferno? That seems to fit your modus operandi.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw slack before it tenses. He scoffs. Shakes his head. Barely remembers doing that pap walk. Doesn’t get why it’s something you’ve clearly got a gripe with. Was just business.

“Yeah, maybe,” he bites back. “And maybe you’ll bleach your hair so no one fuckin’ recognises you—Oh wait, no they will! ‘Cause it’s the world’s worst disguise, and then maybe the fuckin’ fans will see you on back-to-back nights out and find the LinkedIn accounts and grandparents of every single man you’re seen making out with and then Hoseok will have to pull you in for another meeting about keeping a low profile so Jin doesn’t have to publicly deal with having harlot for a sister? Maybe? Hm? How does that sound?”

So turns out Yoongi knows exactly why you’ve got a gripe with that pap walk, ‘cause he seems to have a pretty big gripe with your crash out as a result of it.

It wasn’t your finest hour, you will admit. The blonde was good. The nights out? Yeah, low point.

But Yoongi’s weekend bag was still in the boot of his car when he drove some girl from the most recent series of Singles Inferno to a restaurant for some ‘mutually exclusive deal’. He knows there was a receipt from your favourite Thai place in the passenger side door and the cap of one of your orangades in the cupholder. 

“We both know the blonde was hot,” you childishly retort. “And if you can fuck around with Z-listers from dating shows, then who gives a fuck who I’m seen with? I’ve got girls with smartphones following me around; you’ve got paps with professional cameras. Bit different. If I’m a harlot then what the fuck are you, Yoongi? At least I don’t get paid for mine.”

He was never seen with her again, in all fairness. He’s never seen with the same girl twice. Ever.

It’s all part of the ‘image’. Even if it hadn’t been you tonight, it would have been some other girl that his Cherry lady would have had to see all over socials. It’s a sad way to live.

“Look, if anyone asks, it’s exactly as it was,” Yoongi tells you, not caring to carry on the bickering. He doesn’t really think you're a harlot. Quite the opposite, actually. He isn’t so sure you’d say the same about him. “I made sure you were home safe, then I left.”

There’s nothing more to say. Nothing left worth fighting about. 

And so you let him disappear into the night. The streetlamps will tarnish him in orange, but his fury at how this has all gone down will paint him red regardless.

With a sigh, trying your best to ignore the slight scent of his aftershave in the air, you plonk down onto the sofa. Flick up twitter. Scroll for approximately 2 seconds, and then you see it. 

“Shit.”

It’s really not that incriminating, you think as you scroll. An easy mistake. Might not even be you! You can barely see— 

Oh. 

No. 

There’s another picture of you in the club. Okay, so yeah, it’s not deniable. But it’s fine! You’ve known him for years. Of course you hang out. It’s fine.

The pictures repeat and repeat and repeat. Different angles, different saturation, different contrast. There are edits already. Occasionally there’s cries of fans telling other people not to spread them, which do you appreciate it.

But then there’s another picture.

Daylight. Pixelated. Far harder to decipher. Insane zoom and crop of a much larger picture. The caption makes no real sense to you. It declares you as a couple. Declares #FIGIISREAL. Boasts that they were right. That you and Yoongi have been together for years.

And once you realise what it is—where it is—you gasp.

There’s no way.

It can’t be.

But it is.

The morning after the night that never was stares you in the face; Yoongi’s expression pained as a kiss is pressed to the side of your (pre-bleached) head, waiting in line at the gas station convenience store. 

“Fuck.”

04:06AM

D4m0cl3s:

lemme know when you get home safe x

Cl3m3ntin3:

omw x

can’t stop thinking about the photo you sent

pls still be that hard when i get home xx

have busted my phone tho :((((

D4m0cl3s:

nooooooo

how badly?

Cl3m3ntin3:

front camera is fucked 🙁

everything else is kinda okay tho

D4m0cl3s:

what about you?

you okay?

Cl3m3ntin3:

i’m all good

well

no

yeah

i’m good

D4m0cl3s:

good

missed you tonight, clem

you’ve no idea how badly i just wanna say fuck it and invite you to mine

Cl3m3ntin3:

you’re literally the only person in your way

just do it

D4m0cl3s:

i cant 

Cl3m3ntin3:

can’t or won't?

D4m0cl3s:

both

Cl3m3ntin3:

why?

you already take a girl home tonight?

D4m0cl3s:

why would i?

so i could fuck her and think about you the whole time?

accidentally call her clem and ruin the experience for both of us?

Cl3m3ntin3:

idk

you tell me

D4m0cl3s:

got an attitude tonight, don’t u?

i told some girl tonight that i had to leave to get home to my girl

my girl, clem

Cl3m3ntin3:

your girl must be lucky

D4m0cl3s:

nah

she’s a fuckin’ dummy

cute tho

and has a really nice pussy, even if i’ve only ever seen it through a phone

clem ur all i think about

you know this

Cl3m3ntin3:

yeah well

i’m sure you’ve got loads of girls sending you stuff all the time

so it’s whatever really

D4m0cl3s:

what are you on about?

have i done something?

i don’t get why you’re giving me the third degree? 

Cl3m3ntin3:

im not

just not sure i like being a dirty little secret

D4m0cl3s:

goes both ways

Cl3m3ntin3:

does it?

D4m0cl3s:

i dunno who pissed in your cornflakes, but my nights been ass, clem

i wanted to speak to you ‘cause you always make things better

but whatever’s going on with you tonight??

yeah, count me out

Cl3m3ntin3:

well forgive me for not wanting to be an emotional booty call for someone who doesn’t value me enough to make them an actual booty call!!

D4m0cl3s:

so… you’re mad i’m not just using you for sex?

right

have a little simmer on that one, clem. 

Cl3m3ntin3:

have a little simmer on this

Cl3m3ntin3 added new media to the chat!

D4m0cl3s is offline

GENIUS LAB

Big Hit Ent, Yongsan-gu

Yoongi scrunches up his face almost as tightly as he pressed the lock button on his phone. He considers throwing it on the sofa on the other side of the studio, so he can focus on his music again, but apparently he's developed separation issues in recent weeks.

You can’t have everything. He’s learnt this lesson once before. He’d do well to revise his notes and retake the exam.

Tapping his desk as if he’s too scared to make contact with his keyboard, he looks up at the tracks in front of him. The layers you muted remain that way, and while the song feels less cluttered sonically, it’s still just as muddled in his mind.

Yoongi purses his lips as he tilts his head, dark eyes vacant as he tries to reconcile with the fact that the one thing he used to understand better than his own body doesn’t seem to make sense anymore. 

Seems like a pattern. He used to understand the girl on the other end of the phone, but has somehow fucked that up.

Used to understand you, too. 

He barely recognises you anymore. Occasionally there’s a glint in your eye that reflects a younger version of Yoongi back at himself, but more often than not, you don’t even give him the time of day. He can’t blame you, but he also doesn’t blame himself for what happened. It needed to happen.

Well, that’s not entirely true. If the night that never was never happened, then things could have remained as they always were. 

Regret becomes Min Yoongi. It stiffens in his veins until his blood ceases to flow. His extremities become cold and it only spreads. Like a disease, there’s little warmth left in him now, he thinks. Can’t help but give you the cold shoulder, for cold is his only default.

Your perfume is still lingering in his studio. He can pick out the notes. Knows theres vanilla and sandalwood in it’s base. It was spliced with warm cedar on the night that never was, and is muddled with booze now, but he recognises it nonetheless. You linger, even when you’re not there.

He wonders if the boys showed up now, would any of them would realise? 

He thinks Jungkook would. Like a bloodhound, he’d know you had been there. Never vocalises it, but all that teasing over the years about something between you two has Pavlov'd Jungkook, Yoongi reckons.

Territorial, is Jungkook, just like a damn dog. Bark is far worse than his bite, though. Ain’t nothing to be scared of.

Raking his fingers through his hair, Yoongi sighs. Realises that if Jin learns of you getting sent off into the night alone that he’ll have slmething to actually be scared of. 

“Shit,” he curses, grabbing his phone, slipping it into his back pocket, and quickly grabs his bracelets to put them back on his wrist. 

You wouldn’t think they were the kind of bracelets to come off, mostly string, but he’s got a knack to it. Curls his thumb into his palm and scrapes them up against his skin, until they’re secure in place once more. 

He knows better than to be sending pictures of his hands with anything that can be tied back to him. There are instagram accounts dedicated to finding his outfits, and he knows for a fact they’ve already figured out the backstreet independent stores all of these bracelets come from. Wouldn’t be worth one of the pictures he’s sent on that damn app getting out if he had them on still.

The door clicks shut behind him as he heads to the elevators, agitated, jittering as he waits. It’s taking too long, though, coming from the ground floor up. His eyes shift across to the fire escape doors, then back to the number slowly rising above the elevator doors, and thinks fuck it. 

He bolts down the stairs and into the cold of night, only for you to be gone without a trace.

“Shit,” he says once more, digging into his back pocket to grab his phone. Notices no new notifications from the app he’s borderline addicted to but ignores the disappointment. Pulls up his contacts. Scrolls to a number saved under a single full stop. No name, no emoji, just a full stop right at the bottom of his contact list. 

It’s been like that for a while, since before things ever went wrong. Made it less tempting to text you when things used to be good. Also hid the fact he used text you like crazy right in front of Jin’s face.

So yes, Min Yoongi is full of regrets for many things he’s done in life, and you’re the biggest one. Not because of what happened, but because of all that he lost in doing so. 

And so as the phone dial rings out in his ear, Yoongi stops breathing. Forgets it’s something he even needs to consider. 

“Heya,” you softly greet him through the speaker. He’d been expecting rage. A ‘What?’ or ‘Fuck off’. He’s confused, but calmer, now.

“Hey-”

“Sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now. Don’t leave me a message, I won’t listen, send me a text instead. Byeeee!”

Brilliant. There’s a beep through the speaker, and even though you said not to leave a message, Yoongi’s had too much whisky to comprehend this. 

“Uh, I just, uh-wanted to check that you got home okay? I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. Jin will kill me. Just uh… Just let me know when you get home? Okay? That’s it. Alright…bye.”

Across town, with your phone pressed to your ear as you traipse up the hill leading to your apartment building, you listen to your voicemails option menu.

“To listen again, press 1. To delete, press 2. To save, press 3.”

With a scowl on your face, turning the corner to your entryway, you press down on your phone’s keypad, then hold it back to your ear.

“Message saved. You have 4 voicemails saved from this number. To listen—”

You don’t need the options. Already know. For reasons you can’t seem articulate, you tap one a number you really know you should.

“Voicemail received 672 days ago, at 17:51PM: Hey Fizz, I’m just on my way into the studio—I was wondering if you were around today? I’m gonna order from that Thai place you like and their minimum order is like, waaaaay too much for just me. Yeah, just uh, just give me a text or something? Gonna order in about an hour. That’s it. Okay, bye.”

Your hand is heavy on the bannister, legs all clunky and unable to walk with their usual grace. The perils of one too many is finally starting to kick in. Reaching your front door, you jam your doorcode in the keypad as the second voicemail plays.

“Voicemail received 497 days ago, at 01:32AM: Just a heads up, Jungkook’s looking for you. Saw him when I was leaving, and he asked if you were around. Anyway, I said no, so if he comes up and you’re in my studio it’s gonna be sus so either manually lock the door—he’ll think I’ve just changed the code again—or scarper while you can. Probably best you hide regardless. Especially with your hair like that. Not in a weird way. Just like, that and the outfit you’re—Well, yeah, no that sounds weird too. Whatever. Just, uh—Jungkook is looking for you. That’s it. Bye.”

Your door clicks shut behind you. There’s always the option of hanging up before the next message plays. You don’t have to listen to it, especially not when you need to take your shoes off. Bad choices seem to be in abundance tonight, for you switch the phone to loud speaker and pop in on your console table while you wrestle with the straps of your shoes.

“Voicemail received 435 days ago, at 21:39PM: I, uh, I don’t really know why I’m calling. I guess I’m just sorry about what happened. Sorry that it happened altogether. Crossed a line there, and, uh, yeah. Not proud of it, won’t happen again. I know you never listen to these, but I think this is the only thing I’m not blocked on, so it is what it is. Yeah. Sorry. Uh, that’s it, I guess. Bye.”

Cutting the voicemail call off before it replays tonight's message, your frown is fragile. There’s something so deeply pathetic about that recording. You pity him when you listen to it; but you pity the younger version of you that first listened to it even more.

She didn’t deserve to feel the way she did, sat in her bed, chewed up and spat back out by someone she trusted. There’s a silver thread that ties her to you, and the grief in her heart tugs on the string coiled around yours. 

“Cunt,” you curse, hoping he feels your venom across the frequencies of the city; that a shiver will run down his spine like his grave is being walked upon.

If anyone were ever to ask you why you kept that voicemail, you’d tell them you don’t know. You’d think it to be true.

But that voicemail is the only evidence of the night that never was. That, and some bottle caps of your favourite orange in the bottom drawer of Yoongi’s studio—but you don’t know they’re there and he doesn’t ever really plan on telling you.  

All the voicemail does now is prove exactly why a stupid fuckin’ anonymous app is the only place you’re willing to put yourself out there.

Deep down, you know you were only such an asshole to your Damocles Boy because of Yoongi. That the rejection from him felt like the recoil of Yoogni from way back when.

Poor guy has been nothing but an angel, really. Is far kinder to you than Yoongi ever was.

So a message is sent to him; a simple apology. The promise of a proper chat tomorrow. The assurance that you didn’t mean to be awful to him, and that you’ve just had a few too many. 

It’s a rubbish excuse, but it’s the truth—and that’s as much as you can give him. Sort of. Your secrets guard the thing you’ve grown to enjoy so much.

And you know he’s right. It only works because of that. He’s not the love of your life. He’s company. A companion. Someone to look forward to. The promise that there are good ones out there, even if he isn’t your ‘the one’

Leaving your phone on your bed, you grab a towel from the clean laundry pile and saunter to the bathroom, discarding your clothes as you go. Your hallway becomes a runway for your evening; your bathroom a sanctuary to wash it all away.

Main light off, you pull the extractor cord on and flick the mirror lights into action. You need reprise. To be washed anew. Cleansed of your sins.

They wash down the drain with your makeup from the evening, eyes like a Panda and skin free of the drink splashes that had turned sticky.

It’s as you’re softly wiping the mascara way that you realise how awfully chipped your varnish is. Was only a couple of coats, quickly chucked on ‘cause you hadn’t had time to get them done properly, so it’s no surprise. You hate the way it looks though, so open your cabinet to find your bottle of polish remover and absolve them of the nights sins, too. No makeup, no nails, no clothes; a self-care hattrick. 

Retracing your steps, picking your clothes up as you head up the hallway to your bedroom, a knock sounds on your door. A towel is wrapped around your body, and your hair is scrunched up in a towel, but that Dutch courage hasn’t left you yet.

You head through to the lounge, tossing your clothes on the armchair and through to the front door. Flick the lock and wait for the mechanical whir indicating it’s open. 

Min Yoongi’s only ever seen you like this once before and he damn near lost his mind.

Standing before you now, your hallway light haloing around his angelic face, he’s right back there in that sauna; lakeside, hot cedar and red wine. A cigarette on the dock, shared. An innocence, lost. A friendship, irrevocably ruined.

He remembers what it felt like. 

His fingers come to push the sensation off his lips as his jaw tenses, because to remember is to relive, and he cannot do that. Not now. Not here. Not in front of you.

And despite the droplets of water still trickling south down your neck to your shoulder, you feel all sticky, too. Dirty, despite being pristinely clean. You know it’s not, but it feels just like the sweat on your skin from the night that never was.

His eyes are wide, lips gently parted as he just simply says, “Oh.”

Like his shadow, you echo him, unable to say anything else but “oh” right back.

A good thing never lasts long with Yoongi, mind you. The white towel you’re sporting becomes a red flag and he becomes a bull; a fight surely about to ensue.

“What are you doing?” He scowles, walking past you and into your home, pulling the door shut behind him. 

“Sorry?” You practically shriek as he walks straight on into your apartment, shoes kicked off by the door, your living room apparently his to parade around in. 

“I could have been anyone and you just opened the door in a towel?” He scoffs, looking around, taking note of the fact you’ve rearranged since he was last in there. Kept those fluffy pillows he liked, though. If he notices your underwear on the armchair, he doesn’t mention it. Turning to face you, he shrugs, a look of sheer disbelief on his face. “What if some fuckin’ creep had followed you home?”

“Oh, you mean like you’ve just done?!” You scoff right back. “Pot, kettle, black. Creep.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Tries not to smile when he notices the picture of you and Jungkook from high school framed on your wall. You’re both covered in paint, on your way home far later than you should have been to account for the detention you’d had to complete first. 

Jungkook had been late for band practice that night. It was in your parent’s garage as usual, and is what sparked a near decade-long in-joke about you and Jungkook dating to piss Jin off. 

You’d all been kids back then. You and Yoongi hadn’t ever really spoken. He wasn’t interested in hanging out with Jin’s kid sister—Jungkook was bad enough as it was, but the kid was fuckin’ talented. You were just annoying.

“God, you never grow up, do you? Use your brain for once,” he says, stern as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I was literally just coming to make sure you got home safe, ‘cause your fuckin’ brother would have me for breakfast if I didn’t.”

You’re not those kids anymore. You don’t need a baby sitter.

“Again, Yoongi,” You take a step towards him. His eyes remain trained on yours. Another step is taken, and he finds his gaze has to shift on account of how close you’re getting. He doesn’t think it’s wise. “If you really gave a shit about what Jin thinks, you wouldn’t have done half the things you have.”

He stays silent, and you know it’s because whatever he wants to say is mean. You smirk.

Pressing your index finger into his chest, nail free of the red varnish you had been sporting earlier that night, you make sure his eyes focus back on yours as you say, “You’ve no authority to speak to me like you do. Who even are you, huh? You’re my brother’s co-worker. That’s all you are. You’re nothing. So don’t pretend like this is all for my own good, when you don’t know the first fuckin’ thing about me anymore.”

You press your nail just a little deeper, his body swaying ever so gently as he lets you have this command over him. He doesn’t stop looking at you. Not for a second. Only when you go to leave, does he speak up.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me in here while you go to your bedroom?” He snorts, almost as if he finds this whole thing funny. “Not even kick me out? Wow, for someone who is adamant about how worthless I am, why aren’t you taking me out like trash?”

You pause by your door frame. Hold onto it. Tap it once, twice, then turn around. There’s still a little fire in your eyes, but it seems feeble now, like the flames have been deprived of a little oxygen. 

“You’re my brother’s co-worker, and it’d really fuck up his job if anything happened to you,” You say, apparently jumping through hoops to make it all make sense. “So just say here, ‘cause I can’t be arsed trekking over town in half an hour to make sure you got home safe, too.”

It sounded bolder in your head. When you say it out loud, it delivers a little lackluster. Somewhat pathetic. You’ve said it now, though, so you’ve gotta commit to it. Yoongi pretends not to notice the way you grimace at your own words.

Expecting you to carry on, Yoongi says nothing. Just gives you that cold, vacant stare you’ve grown so used to. 

Predictable, is Min Yoongi. He can let the silence sit with most people, but finds it quite uncomfortable with you. Eventually says, “I’ll be fine. Look, I’m just gonna go, ‘cause this is, like, weird.”

He doesn’t move mind you. Say’s he gonna leave and stays still. 

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Look, Yoongi, I’m shattered. Stay, or don’t, I don’t care. We both both know my couch is just as comfy as your bed. Don’t be difficult.”

It’s easy to miss, the slight beat in both of your hearts as you acknowledge that you know how comfortable his bed is. It’s not for any nefarious, illicit reason; no midnight tete e tete or midday rendevous. 

You just went bed shopping with him when he moved into his first ‘grown up’ apartment. You’d been bored and he’d offered entertainment in the form of trying every single mattress within a 15 mile radius. Things had been easier back then. Just as weird, though, in retrospect.

Yoongi dismisses it. “Moved since then. New bed. That one’s in the spare room.”

It’s not a new discovery. He moved probably six months ago or so. Was on tour at the time and had to keep flying back between stops to get things sorted. Ran himself rugged. Rumour on the street (twitter, that is) was that he was going back to visit a girl.

You’d scoffed at the idea of it. Min Yoongi would be the last man to actually give a shit enough about a girl to commit like that.

“Right,” you nod, not really caring to learn any more intricacies of his life. “Well, you know where everything is. There’s filtered water in the fridge and bedding—”

“Bedding in the trunk,” he nods, remembering that all your spare pillows and sheets are in an old tea shipping trunk you got from a flea market when you were still in Uni. All sorts of nicknakcs have been hideen in over time; alcohol, birthday surprises, even people for various reasons or another. Now, it’s taken on a more boring vocation. Seems like life is heading that way generally. Nights out are ending sooner, and bones are getting achey. You’re not sure you like this change. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Yoongi has a few years on you, and you take great pleasure in this. His bones must ache, too. Moreso, even. Your sofa won’t be as comfy as it once was. A small win.

With a curt nod and a stiff smile that doesn’t meet your eyes, you turn your back on him and head to your room. There’s no point showing him around. He knows this place as intimately as he knows his own studio, even if it all feels foreign to him now.

Once you’re in your room, you flop onto your bed, head in the pillows, all air ehaling from your lungs. Hadn’t realised you’d been holding your breath throughout the entire conversation. 

Pulling your phone from it’s hidden spot beneath your pillow, you frown to see no new messages, ignoring the fact it is ass o’clock in the morning. Your Damocles boy is probably fast asleep - and could you blame him? After the way you flipped out at him for no good reason? 

You scroll through your app folders until you find Hush tucked away, hidden in amongst ones you seldom use so as to not draw suspicion. 

It opens up on your chat thread, and you find your frown threading itself even deeper into the lines on your forehead when you see he’s been active since then. 

If you’re not careful, those lines will become so deepset that everyone you ever meet will be able to decipher the clamamities they chronicle.

Look at her, strangers would whisper. She definitely fell for someone on Hush who turned out to be a weirdo.

Thing is, no one would look at you and say that. No one would even think that the reason you look so tired is because you’re up all hours on hush. They’d just think you were burning the candle a both ends. 

Part of you wishes you were. Or at least wishes that it was a Babylon candle you were burning; you could think of Damocles, and you’d be right there with him. That you could just put it all to bed and see exactly who he is. Give him the chance to decide if he’d wanna make it work. If it’s a risk worth taking. 

Your nails tap against your screen, typing faster than you think. Almost as soon as you press send, you exit the app. Check your phone is on silent mode, ‘cause you can’t have Yoongi hearing the vribrate tone of the app incase he knows it, too.  You doubt he does. Too old fashioned for the modern conventions of dating—and anyway, he told you he was seeing someone. Hush should be the last app he should be familiar with. 

Locking your phone, almost scared to get a response, you toss it down beside you, a small glimmer of hope that he’ll be awake. 

Your daydreams of Damocles are interrupted by Yoongi coughing all rather onbnoxiously from the other room. No one coughs like that. He definitely spluttered. You scowl at the thought of it. He’s a walking, talking, coughing ick. 

And yet you forget all about him as you unlock your phone to see a new notification waiting for you. A white flag is being waved and it’s suddenly your favourite colour.

04:52AM

Cl3m3ntin3:

i know ur mad at me </3

but i have a question

babylon candles

the ones you light and think about where you wanna go, then get magically transported

if you had one, what would u think of

where would u go x

D4m0cl3s:

evil

this is a trick question, isn’t it?

Cl3m3ntin3:

is it? :(

D4m0cl3s:

Clem

be so for real rn

if i say anything that isn’t you, you’ll block me

Cl3m3ntin3:

maybe

wouldn’t it be so fun to find out tho???

D4m0cl3s:

no

absolutely not

the concept of being blocked by the one thing i can’t stop thinking about is genuinely vomit inducing

i would throw up

BE SICK

literally think i would fall apart 

Cl3m3ntin3:

omg shut up no you wouldn’t you big babyi missed u

glad ur up

but answer the question dummy

D4m0cl3s:

missed u more

sorry for fighting

and for the record ur a big baby

Cl3m3ntin3:

answer the question omg

D4m0cl3s:

it’s up for debate!! i’m not sure!!

i think maybe my hometown

haven’t visited in ages

think you’d like it

am gonna take you there one day, show you all my fave places

tell you what tho, clem i think i’d mess a babylon candle up

think i’d think of you regardless

think i’d end up at your door looking incredibly sorry for myself

Cl3m3ntin3:

you wouldn’t even know it was my door

just be disturbing all my neighbours smh

and who’s to say i don’t have roommates? you might be greeted by someone else

you might not realise it isn’t me

what if you gave them a kiss thinking it was me </3

D4m0cl3s:

i’d know it’s you

god, i would know

you have any idea how many times i’ve thought of showing up at some nondescript door, greeting some nondescript girl?

i never really imagine you physically

you’re just like… an entity???

i’d just feel it

if you opened up your door for me, i’d feel it

Cl3m3ntin3:

what’s ‘it’, huh?

what would you feel?

D4m0cl3s:

salvation

Cl3m3ntin3:

you’re so dramatic

D4m0cl3s:

im not

i’m honest

i genuinely think meeting you will feel like the weight of the world is lifted

and then i’ll be horny but idk how relevant that part is

Cl3m3ntin3:

i think i’d be offended if you weren’t x

D4m0cl3s:

i get hard every time hush sends me a notification

only cause i know it’s you

you’ve corrupted me

i used to be a good

a gentleman

and now i’m some fiend who doesn’t know his heart from his dick

Cl3m3ntin3:

you can still be good, babe

just good for me xx

D4m0cl3s:

you know i always am

should see me in clubs

the self-restraint is saintly

Cl3m3ntin3:

you need restraint?

so youre tempted to stray???

D4m0cl3s:

No

god no never

the real restraint is not picking you up on your offers when you ask to see me

cockblocking myself

Cl3m3ntin3:

well you’ve missed you shot for the night

one of my friends is crashing here

i can’t leave and you can’t come

RIP ur hopes n dreams </3

D4m0cl3s:i

can’t cum??

even if i send you a video of it???:((((

Cl3m3ntin3:

not like that, dummyy

ou know i alwaysss want you to cum for me

what’s gonna make you cum tonight, huh?

how are you thinking of having me?

D4m0cl3s:

on a couch

hmmm yeah, big comfy couch

Cl3m3ntin3:

for my potential, totally real housemates to walk in on?

gasp

he’s an exhibitionist

D4m0cl3s:

you’ve told me you live alone a million times when youre trying to convince to come over, dummy

and yeah, couch

i mean it

if i showed up at your door, we wouldn’t make it to the bedroom

Cl3m3ntin3:

you think i’d be that easy????

Wow

thanks a lot!!!!

blocked!!!!

D4m0cl3s:

i don’t think you’d even say hello

i think you’d be too busy kissing me to show me around

i think you’d wrap your arms around my neck

and i’d pick you up, legs around my waist

one of my hands on your waist, the other on your ass

keeping you supported, like a gentleman

duh

Cl3m3ntin3:

so courteous of you babe

would the bulge in your pants be gentlemanly, hmm?

cause we both know you’d be rock hard 

D4m0cl3s

:you’re imagining it aren’t you, baby?

how i’d sit down on the couch, you straddled ontop of me?

i know you well enough now to know that you’d be in some big old t-shirt

with underwear thats so tiny it may aswell not be there

Cl3m3ntin3:

so i’m half naked in this little dream of yours, but you’re fully clothed?

that hardly seems fair

D4m0cl3s:

nah

i’d have just showered

would have pulled sweats on with no underwear

you’d feel how fuckin’ hard i am as you grind on me

you’d be so wet it would be seeping through

grinding on my thick, throbbing cock

fuck

i’d wanna fuck you so badly

would you let me?

Cl3m3ntin3:

would you ask nicely?

D4m0cl3s:

No

probably not

i think i’d probably mumble it into your mouth while i was kissing you

tell you how badly i wanna be inside you

then i’d let you make of that what you will

Cl3m3ntin3:

god, i’d wanna be mean soooo bad

would wanna leave you hanging but fuck

i know i’d want you too

even thinking about it is getting me all wet

i’d show you if i was home alone

buttt i’m not

so i wont :*

D4m0cl3s:

god i gotta get myself a babylon candle

Cl3m3ntin3:

think of me in my bed when you do

don’t bother fucking around with the front door

this is where i want you

fuck the couch, fuck all of it

just be in my bed

D4m0cl3s:

god, i’m so fuckin’ hard

such much precum

it’s literally begging to be inside you

wouldn’t last a minute, i swear to god

Cl3m3ntin3:

lucky me ;)

you’d waste a babylon candle on a single minute?

you must be desperate

cute

D4m0cl3s:

shut up

it’s cause you’re too hot

you think i wouldn’t make up for it huh?

you think i wouldnt eat that creampie right from the chef’s table?

fuckin’ gourmet

and you think i wouldn’t share it with you?tl

think i wouldn’t go back down and eat you till your legs are fuckin’ shaking?

babe

do you even know me at all? ;)

Cl3m3ntin3:

god i’m close just thinking about it

D4m0cl3s:

get closer

keep playing with yourself

i’m stroking myself

wish you were here so bad

Cl3m3ntin3:

just close your eyes babe

pretend i am 

D4m0cl3s:

if i close my eyes i can’t message you </3

Cl3m3ntin3:

my camera’s fucked

but this is from a couple days ago

Cl3m3ntin3 added new media to the chat!

this is what you do to me each and every time

i’m even wetter now than i was then

D4m0cl3s:

Jesus

you’re so fuckin wet

look at that pretty pussy

soaked just for me

i gotta get you one of those remote control vibrators, i swear to god

it’s not enough, being the reason you cum mentally i gotta make you cum physically

fuck

babe keep going

keep touching yourself

Cl3m3ntin3:

i wish i could call

🙁

D4m0cl3s:

i know, babe, me too

just keep playing with that pretty pussy for me

get yourself creaming for me

i’m so close

so fuckin’ close

Cl3m3ntin3:

me too

Fuck

god i want it all inside me

i wanna cum around your cock so bad

D4m0cl3s:

babe

fuck

Cl3m3ntin3:

oh god

i’m there

D4m0cl3s:

fuck

clem

Cl3m3ntin3:

fucking hell

Hehehehhee

you good?

D4m0cl3s:

yeah babe

all good

fuck i miss finishing on call, but fuck

Yeah

came so hard 

Cl3m3ntin3:

what were you thinking about?

D4m0cl3s:

i wasn’t

i was looking at that picture

you’ve no idea how perfect you are

do i even wanna know what you were thinking about?

Cl3m3ntin3:

my default closing scene

us

my bed

missionary

weird enigma where you should be ;)

D4m0cl3s:

i’m worried now

what if you can’t cum with me in real life cause i’m not an enigma?

Cl3m3ntin3:

i’ve seen your cock

there’s no way i’m not cumming

perfect

fuck a vibrator

get one of those dick moulds

at least that way i could feel you

D4m0cl3s:

it’s just for you babe

all yours

and that’s actually not a bad idea

think i’d be scared of breaking my dick or something with it tho

Cl3m3ntin3:

as it should be ;)

hold that thought x

Cl3m3ntin3 is offline

“Oh, Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” You shriek as you step into your hallway, only to be greeted with a dark figure leaving the bathroom. It doesn’t take any time at all to figure out who it is, in part aided by the light pouring in from the living room doorway.

“Shitting hell,” Yoongi hisses, the bright smile he’d been mysteriously sporting evaporating as soon as his eyes land on yours. 

You’re so overcome with your surprise that you almost don’t notice his attire, or lack thereof. 

He’s in a pair of boxers. Black. Branded, probably, but the light is too low, and your aversion to anything below his naval prevents you from staring. His hair is dishevelled, but there’s a lightness to him. Relief, perhaps. 

It’s a lightness you haven’t seen in a while. A lightness you’ve only ever truly seen once, but that memory is tucked so far away in the depths of your mind that you can’t recall it, now.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask, as he’s not clearly going back to the living room after going to the bathroom. His phone is in his hand, locked, but gripped so tightly he’ll snap it right in half if he isn’t careful. Would send the glass shattering, impaling himself with the shrapnel. He’d do anything to keep his secrets safe. Would self-sacrifice before he admitted anything to you. Already said too much earlier this evening. Knows he’s one false footing away from falling over entirely.

“Baking a cake?” He sarcastically sneers. “The fuck does it look like? God forbid a man needs a piss.”

“Yeah, well, go outside next time,” you huff in reply, as if that's a reasonable or functional thing to request. You live in an apartment block. A man pissing outside would definitely get you a strike against your tenancy agreement.

He just rolls his eyes, and continues towards the lounge. Signs off with, “I wanted to leave. You told me to stay. This is your own damn creation, Fizz.”

He stops in his tracks, just shy of the doorframe. His broad shoulders barely fit through, muscles strong and defined. The valley of his spine is a dangerous path to follow, yet your eyes stalk down it like a deer in headlights. 

He’s gained a tattoo since you last saw his bare skin. Between his shoulder blades rests a sword. It’s delicate. Deadly, no doubt.

It reminds you of your Damocles boy, and almost distracts you from the fact he called you by the nickname he gave you a million moons ago. The rest of the boys still call you it, but you don’t think you’ve heard it come from his mouth since the night that never was.

He closes the door behind himself, knowing that there’s nothing else left to say. He’ll rest until dawn, then will be gone before the recycling truck comes to pick up the trash ahead of the day. There’ll be no goodbye, but that's not unusual for him.

Threading the lock of the bathroom door through the latch, you take a deep breath. Look at yourself in the mirror. Your furrowed lines of frustration have all but gone. It’s funny, how similar to Yoogni you can be; how a little time with your phone can lift a weight.

You suppose he was maybe speaking with the person he’s seeing. Cherry, you name her in your head, thanks to the drawings in his notebook. 

He’d suit a cherry. Cherry red lips, cherry cola hair. Bright red lollies, glasses of merlot and bloody knees after a piggyback gone wrong. Maroon nails stroking against that sword he’s adorned himself with. Sanguine in his security; Min Yoongi wouldn’t rush into anything he wasn’t certain of. Rosy noses in the winter, flushed cheeks in the elevator as his hand tangle in her hair, the most cardinal thing he’s ever known.

So yeah, you think. He’d suit a cherry.

Not the fizz of fuckin’ orangade. So fuckin’ immature. You’ve always been and will remain to be his best friend's younger sister. And that’s fine. 

He doesn’t even look that good under the orange glow of dimmed streetlamps, and he definitely doesn’t look phenomenal in firelight. Fuck no. And he looks like a tit when he peels oranges. In fact, you hate going into his studio after he’s had a clementine, and he’s always fuckin’ eating them these days. You love the scent and he is actively ruining it. 

You lift your head. Meet your own gaze in the mirror. Furrow your brows once more, ‘cause why does any of this matter?

If anything, it should be a relief to hear him call you Fizz. 

So lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t notice your phone light up, Jimin’s face in the caller ID.

It’s not unsuaul for him to call, but it is unsualf for him to call so late. Or early, really. You figure he’s just making sure you got home safe. He’s good at that; checking in. Does it with all the boys, too.

Jimin is your friend. Has been for years.

Park Jimin, Chief Artist Liaison Officer of Big Hit? Senior Tour Manager? 

Yeah, he’s a different entity entirely.

Park Jimin has a job to do, and that job is to ensure The Scouts are as profitable as can be for the label. He knows damn well the importance of keeping the ‘assets’ safe. You included in that, whether you like it or not.. 

Have you all on his ‘find my friends’ app. Has done for years. You’ve pretty much all forgotten.

You see, the truth of the matter is that you and Yoongi aren’t the only ones who don’t speak about the night that never was. Jimin’s never told a soul, either. Not even you.  

He knew damn well the repercussions of telling anyone that he’d seen you and Yoongi driving out of the city together on a weekend he was supposedly ‘visiting family’ and you were seeing ‘friends from uni’. 

When he had checked back in on his app later that afternoon, just to see if Yoongi had dropped you off in your uni city on the way down to Daegu, he’d paused. Frowned. Searched the forums to see if there were any active glitches or servers down. Found no evidence that there were. Instead, he just found that for some unexplainable reason, you’d been in the same remote location for 3 hours.

He had half a mind to call you both. Ask what the hell you were thinking. What the hell you were doing. Decided against it. Just spent his weekend quiety observing.

Come Monday morning, your little avatars on his screen were miles way, different parts of Seoul. He held his breath. Knew if he saw you together again, for any unexplained reason, he’d have to hold an intervention. 

But you were never together again. Sure, sometimes at work, but never outside of it. Whatever happened during those 44 hours you were locked in on the side of a lake with nothing around it for miles, he didn’t need to know. 

All that he knew was Yoongi threw himself into writing the next batch of tracks for the album, and you bleached your hair, so it must have been pretty fuckin’ brutal for you both—and that was music to his ears. 

Not ‘cause he didn’t love you both or want what’s best for you, but because he did and continues to love you both all the same. He wants what’s best for you—and your brother's oldest friend is not what’s best for you. 

Your brother fighting his oldest friend because of you? Also not good. Would cause irreparable damage to the band, and Jimin cannot afford that.

So he’ll take Yoongi as recluse and you as a fried blonde if it means The Scouts remain as bulletproof as they always were.

But you’re not blonde anymore and Yoongi’s got writer’s block. Quelle surprise, your avatars have been stapled to your apartment block for the last two hours with no sign or movement.

He is not letting it happen again.

Especially not with the shitstorm you’ve ‘caused tonight.

“Can I help?” You answer with a smile, anticipating a drunk Jimin on the other end of the line.

Instead, he’s direct. To the point. “Is Yoongi there?”

“Uh…”

“Fizz, I know he is.”

“He’s on the couch?” You half question as if it isn’t true. The issue is, the rest of it is all a little messy, so a white lie is told. “He walked me home, so—”

“I don’t wanna know,” Jimin interrupts, as if he knows you’re bullshitting him. “Just get him out of there.  The internet is going fuckin’ crazy and I can’t have him getting papped leaving—”

“Sorry?” You ask, utterly bemused, leaving the bathroom and heading across to the living room to get Yoongi up. Whatever had a bee in Jimin’s bonnet like this would have to be serious. He wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t. “Yoongi—”

Already on his own phone, Yoongi greets you with dark eyes that practically scream: We’re fucked.

“Yeah, I know Kook,” Yoongi stresses down the line of his phone. Eyes on yours, he’s panicked. Like dark cherries almost, glinting in the light, his eyes are sweet in their distress. “No, no it wasn’t like— Fuck. How many? 56 thousa– Oh Jesus. Okay. Yeah. Fuck. I’ll be at the studio in 15.”

“Gotta go,” you say to Jimin, hanging up as Yoongi does the same to Jungkook. 

“Fuckin’ intenret weirdos,” he hisses, tossing his phone down into the sofa. He reclines back with a sigh, raking a stressed hand through his hair. Explains, “Someone took a picture of us grabbing a taxi, and apparently twitter is in a meltdown.”

Your heart is beating so fast you can practically taste blood. You’re crimson in your surprise. Fitting, really, that the panic of getting caught up with Yoongi would turn you such a shade.

You remember what happened with Tae, though, when innocent pictures were misconstrued and he almost lost the love of his life as a result of it. If Yoongi really is seeing someone, and the internet is playing cupid without his consent, it could be detrimental. You’d sneered at the idea of his cherry girl earlier, but you feel sick now at the idea of being ‘that’ girl. The other girl, even if you’re not. 

Pulling his trousers on, Yoongi continues to curse. Says some shit about knowing better than to get caught up in a situation like this.

“Oh, give over,” you almost laugh, knowing how damage control works in this industry. “You’ll be papped with a girl next week; everyone will forget about it. Some influencer or something. Or better yet, why not a contestant from singles inferno? That seems to fit your modus operandi.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw slack before it tenses. He scoffs. Shakes his head. Barely remembers doing that pap walk. Doesn’t get why it’s something you’ve clearly got a gripe with. Was just business.

“Yeah, maybe,” he bites back. “And maybe you’ll bleach your hair so no one fuckin’ recognises you—Oh wait, no they will! ‘Cause it’s the world’s worst disguise, and then maybe the fuckin’ fans will see you on back-to-back nights out and find the LinkedIn accounts and grandparents of every single man you’re seen making out with and then Hoseok will have to pull you in for another meeting about keeping a low profile so Jin doesn’t have to publicly deal with having harlot for a sister? Maybe? Hm? How does that sound?”

So turns out Yoongi knows exactly why you’ve got a gripe with that pap walk, ‘cause he seems to have a pretty big gripe with your crash out as a result of it.

It wasn’t your finest hour, you will admit. The blonde was good. The nights out? Yeah, low point.

But Yoongi’s weekend bag was still in the boot of his car when he drove some girl from the most recent series of Singles Inferno to a restaurant for some ‘mutually exclusive deal’. He knows there was a receipt from your favourite Thai place in the passenger side door and the cap of one of your orangades in the cupholder. 

“We both know the blonde was hot,” you childishly retort. “And if you can fuck around with Z-listers from dating shows, then who gives a fuck who I’m seen with? I’ve got girls with smartphones following me around; you’ve got paps with professional cameras. Bit different. If I’m a harlot then what the fuck are you, Yoongi? At least I don’t get paid for mine.”

He was never seen with her again, in all fairness. He’s never seen with the same girl twice. Ever.

It’s all part of the ‘image’. Even if it hadn’t been you tonight, it would have been some other girl that his Cherry lady would have had to see all over socials. It’s a sad way to live.

“Look, if anyone asks, it’s exactly as it was,” Yoongi tells you, not caring to carry on the bickering. He doesn’t really think you're a harlot. Quite the opposite, actually. He isn’t so sure you’d say the same about him. “I made sure you were home safe, then I left.”

There’s nothing more to say. Nothing left worth fighting about. 

And so you let him disappear into the night. The streetlamps will tarnish him in orange, but his fury at how this has all gone down will paint him red regardless.

With a sigh, trying your best to ignore the slight scent of his aftershave in the air, you plonk down onto the sofa. Flick up twitter. Scroll for approximately 2 seconds, and then you see it. 

“Shit.”

It’s really not that incriminating, you think as you scroll. An easy mistake. Might not even be you! You can barely see— 

Oh. 

No. 

There’s another picture of you in the club. Okay, so yeah, it’s not deniable. But it’s fine! You’ve known him for years. Of course you hang out. It’s fine.

The pictures repeat and repeat and repeat. Different angles, different saturation, different contrast. There are edits already. Occasionally there’s cries of fans telling other people not to spread them, which do you appreciate it.

But then there’s another picture.

Daylight. Pixelated. Far harder to decipher. Insane zoom and crop of a much larger picture. The caption makes no real sense to you. It declares you as a couple. Declares #FIGIISREAL. Boasts that they were right. That you and Yoongi have been together for years.

And once you realise what it is—where it is—you gasp.

There’s no way.

It can’t be.

But it is.

The morning after the night that never was stares you in the face; Yoongi’s expression pained as a kiss is pressed to the side of your (pre-bleached) head, waiting in line at the gas station convenience store. 

“Fuck.”

“Mom! Is it okay if Yoongi stays the night?”

Not yours, though. Other than his own parents doing less than the bare minimum to play their role, the details of his home life remained murky at best. However, you caught on at an early age that they simply weren’t good people, which explained his constant presence at the breakfast table several times a week.

You’re ten years old the first time Yoongi is at your home for a sleepover and your mom smiles when your brother asks for permission, noting the hope in both boys’ eyes. They high five happily after approval is granted, scurrying back to the backyard to play soccer.

Before Yoongi slips outside, he makes eye contact with you in the living room, where you watch television alone.

He says your name, exasperated. “Well, are you coming?”

Momentarily taken aback, you pause; you’re too used to vanishing into the backdrop at school and home. Quiet, well-mannered and taking a backseat to your more extroverted friends and popular older brother. But Yoongi always had that ability to draw you in, some strange power he perfected over people. You end up hopping off the couch and trailing after him.

The next few months, Yoongi would come over once a week to watch a movie with your brother, Owen, and often times, your parents would nag the latter to include you. You end up in the basement sandwiched between the two boys, skimming through a mountain of DVDs with them and gave your opinion every once in a while.

"Stop hogging the popcorn,” Owen grumbles once the movie has started, reaching over Yoongi on the couch to snatch the bowl away from you.

When he did that, Yoongi would wordlessly pass you the bowl back right after, even if Owen complained that he wanted it on his side.

He’d found an escape through Owen, his best friend that opened your home to Yoongi whenever he needed it. This proved to be a constant necessity and soon enough, your family welcomed him like their own. You came home after school and never blinked twice when you saw Yoongi sitting on the basement couch, playing video games with Owen. Passing rice to him at the dinner table and waking up the next morning to board the school bus as three became a normal occurrence.

Sleepovers turned into more at some point and you’re not exactly sure when it started, but you remember one night when you noticed the change for the first time. You’re in your brother’s room, the two of you messing around on Mario Kart, cross-legged on the floor when the window creaks open. Violently, even, but neither you or Owen flinch at the sharp noise.

He doesn’t flinch when Yoongi effortlessly jumps in either, shoes hitting the carpet with a light thud that interrupts the sound of Mario collecting coins on the screen. His best friend’s green hair is tousled by the wind and as usual, you glance at the visible purple skin on his knuckles that no one ever comments on, even in spite of the constant stares. The red in the whites of his eyes are just as hard to ignore, as he gives you a little wave.

You’ve always been there, like a shadow. You don’t say or do much, but your presence is lucid and just enough for you to offer a wave back. Nothing more, like you usually do. Owen greets him without looking up from the game.

“Yo.”

“Hey, man.”

Yoongi nonchalantly plops his backpack underneath Owen’s desk and makes himself comfortable in between the pair of you. Your knee bumps against his and you hope that he doesn’t notice your blush as much as you hope he doesn’t notice your Hello Kitty pajamas.

“You gonna let me have Princess Peach or what?” It takes a second for you to realize it, but Yoongi is talking to you. He has a lazy smirk on and your ears burn—not because of that, but because he remembers what character you like to play.

You clear your throat. “S-Sure. Go, uh, right ahead.”

There’s something automatically enchanting about your older brother’s best friend that makes you feel like a fool. It could be the mystique of it all, the seemingly older and wiser experiences of the boy next to you that felt untouchable.

The three of you play the game and the night goes on like it’s a normal hangout. When you leave Owen’s room to go to bed, Yoongi remains there. You don’t think he ever actually leaves after this night.

A pattern carves itself out over time and soon, your mom gets sick of Yoongi accidentally knocking over her garden decorations when he sneaks in. After sitting him down for a conversation, Yoongi begins walking through the front door. He gets his own pair of house slippers. His own set of keys. He comes along for family vacations and helps your dad with the turkey at Thanksgiving.

When you start high school that year, you begin to piece things together even more. Rumours float around that consistently align with your suspicions and not only do you see a different side of Yoongi, you start seeing him around campus doing things he shouldn’t be doing.

You watch him slam guys from the soccer team into lockers for just looking at him wrong, teachers yelling at him for smoking on school property, making out with girls underneath the bleachers. You read sharpie written about him on the stalls of the bathroom and hear warnings about getting too close to him. People either talked about him like he was the devil or like he was every girl’s biggest fantasy.

But, you don’t see him that way. You never did. To you, Yoongi is your older brother’s angry best friend that the world misunderstands.

“Are you okay?”

You’re surprised that you’re able to will your voice to be louder than a whisper when you approach Yoongi after class.

The school hallways are deserted at this point in the day. You’ve stayed back for a student council meeting and when it’s time to head home, you accidentally walk in on the sounds of grunts and clanking metal.

He got into another fight. You hide behind a corner and watch Yoongi hammer his fist into some guy’s face, wincing at a cracking noise. The latter eventually has a friend come and yank him away, leaving Yoongi alone and panting. He slides down a wall, unceremoniously dropping on the ground.

When you approach, blood is already drying around his nose and as usual, his knuckles are bruised. Flesh split open. His eyes are empty and his jaw is set, as if hardened from head to toe.

Yoongi’s head snaps up, rooted to his spot at the sudden voice. His eyes do soften when he realizes that it’s just you.

He makes a joke out of it, like he always does. “Just peachy,” he muses, turning his hand over to admire his work.

You roll your eyes, but to your surprise, your body moves for you. Taking a few steps forward, you hold out your hand in front of him. You don’t know why, but you do. He doesn’t look helpless or anything, but like a magnet, you're drawn to him yet again.

“Come,” you mutter, ignoring the steady rhythm bellowing in your ears from your chest.

Yoongi blinks blankly. He’s just as surprised as you are and opens his mouth, unable to find words of protest. Then, he envelopes his palm into yours and you help him to his feet.

In silence, you lead the way to the nearest empty bathroom. He leans against the wall as you dig into your backpack for a band-aid. Neither of you talk, not even when you run some toilet paper under the water and he hisses through his teeth when you dab at the blood on his face.

“Thank you,” he says and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say such words to anyone but your parents.

You can count the number of eyelashes fanning cheeks from this close and all you can do is nod.

Yoongi was a little mean and arrogant, but never to you personally. He looked at you like you were something precious—the meek little sister that mostly minded her own business and focused on her academics. You saw the way he treated other people that crossed him, how Yoongi never held back his sharp tongue or already bruised fists. He never cared about the whispers about his either, whether it was the kind that circulated around your high school hallways or even around town about how the apple never falls far from the tree.

You may be biased, but you never understood why people viewed Yoongi the way they did, even with the mean-spirited attitude he exerted. He was a little rough around the edges, but you knew that he’d been through a lot for someone his age. Instead, you see the boy that cuddles with your family’s cat and helps your grandmother walk up the stairs during her visits. Still, he keeps up that image to the rest of the world.

It’s clear that the walls he’s erected aren’t for fun or the reputation, but to keep everyone at arm’s length. He refuses to let anyone get too close and it takes you years to realize that it applied to you, too.

Yoongi buys a motorcycle as soon as he’s old enough to get the license and eventually, you lose count of the different heads of flowing locks in the school parking lot at the back of his bike. Always gripping onto his waist, as he zooms off with each girl and by the month’s end, with another one.

If you had enough nerve, you’d admit that you wished you were one of them—even if you’re more than aware that each of those girls were temporary.

One day, you get the chance.

Some boy from your math class asks you to be his date to the homecoming dance and you have the worst time. He spends the entire night trying to spike the punch bowl and flirts with girls on the cheerleading squad right in front of your face. By the second hour of the event, you make the executive decision to get the hell out of there, irritated.

When you burst out of the gymnasium doors and find yourself in the parking lot, Yoongi is leaning against his motorcycle with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Typical. You make eye contact with him and silently wave, as usual, expecting him to carry on. You’re too preoccupied with figuring out if you have enough change to take the bus home.

Instead, he calls your name. Twice. You initially think you’re imagining the sound as you walk past his figure, but he repeats himself—firmer and impossible to ignore.

You spin around and he’s stomping on the cigarette, abandoned on wet pavement. Dew floats in the air from rain earlier in the day, a mist that surrounds you and brings goosebumps to your exposed arms. Yet, Yoongi is clear as day through the fog.

“Where are you going?” he asks, eyebrows raised. The last thing you expected was him prodding into your business.

Actually, the last thing you wanted to do was admit your failed date, all too embarrassing in front of a boy who probably never encountered any difficulties in his love life. You can tell that Yoongi already knows, though, by the way you’re weighed down by a look of pity.

You inhale deeply. “I’m going to walk home.”

He almost looks offended at that statement.

“No, you’re not,” Yoongi scoffs, gesturing to your attire.

You feel even more stupid at the observation. You’re in platform heels that you can barely walk in, a baby pink gown that you’ve been tripping on all night, and you have nothing but your clutch and phone. With a frown, you watch Yoongi approach closer.

To your surprise, he wraps his hand around your wrist. His touch is icy hot and your heartbeat drums even louder. You let him tug you towards his bike, wordlessly.

When Yoongi passes you his spare helmet, you hope that he doesn’t notice you gulp. “You don’t have to,” you insist.

A smile quirks up at the corner of his lips. “You scared?” he asks, his eyes flickering towards the motorcycle. “Just trust me. I got you, kid.”

The nickname leaves your chest fluttering again. You look over at the bike and swallow your nerves, having never ridden one before.

“No,” you reply defiantly, even though you both know you’re lying. Yoongi sees through you like glass, as usual. Still, you do trust him. You know that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

He’s always shown a subtle protectiveness over you, the way way yours hovers over him, even if he doesn’t look like he needs any kind of protection. But, you take it as a given and don’t look anything into it when you’re his best friend’s little sister—even if you notice every time his voice softens just for you or how he always grabs your favourite snack without asking on convenience store runs with Owen.

Yoongi’s teasing smile mellows and he places the helmet on your head, fingers brushing along the underside of your jaw as he secures the straps. You try to not move an inch, but it probably makes you more obvious. His movements are uncharacteristically gentle and he follows with draping his leather jacket around your shoulders. It smells like him, intoxicating and warm.

He says, “Put that on.” You can’t ever argue with that tone nor the sigh that leaves his mouth.

“Why aren’t you inside?”

“Pft, not my thing. I’m only here because I had detention and they told me that I need to help set up for the dance.”

You nod slowly. “Right,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

Before he turns the key to bring the engine to life, Yoongi turns back to you.

“Don’t ever settle for shit you don’t deserve, alright?”

That night, you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s waist as the two of you sped off on his motorcycle. You captured this moment like lightning in a bottle, like the gust of wind that sends dandelions flying; though, you prayed the entire time for him to not feel how fast your heart went as you pressed up against his back. You would do anything to replay that moment again and again.

More than enough people were surprised when Yoongi was accepted into a nice university, but you knew better. He was smart—maybe too smart for his own good. That was Min Yoongi to you, the version of him that last existed when you were sixteen and before he moved away for college with your brother.

Witty, strong-willed, and had a hunger to become more than what people thought of him. This was the last time you saw Yoongi, when he gave you a kiss at the end of the graduation party your parents threw for him and Owen.

Your parents loved Yoongi like a second son, so the celebration was as much for him as it was for your brother. The house was packed wall to wall and after a little while, you became desperate for breather and decided to slip away for a walk outside.

A block away, there’s an old playground that you and Owen frequented as kids, which you make your destination for the night. He’s back at the house, his presence taking up an entire room and being the life of the party as always, and you have an easier time slipping away without anyone noticing because of it. You usually do, as the quieter of one between you two.

When you get there, you don’t notice someone sitting on the swings. The sun is just about setting, as clementine skies bleed into soft clouds and the warm breeze unearths a certain calm that you’d been looking for. You’re distracted by the streaks of pink in the sky, as you climb your way to the top of the slide and screw your eyes shut to let the peaceful quiet fill your ears.

Then, you smell it. The waft of weed in the air, sharp in your nose. Footsteps approach softly and you’re nearly spooked until you see a flash of mint hair.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi climbs the ladder with ease and slots himself right next to you, not much room on the slide made for children. His eyes are reddened and there’s a curious glint shining in them.

You shrug. Owen made you take a shot or two with him when your parents weren’t looking, so you don’t feel the usual nerves in your muscles like yo usually do when you’re left alone with Yoongi. Otherwise, you’d be mostly silent. Even with him constantly around, he still leaves you shy and breathless.

“House was packed,” is what you settle on, burying that shyness underneath your skin. “Needed some air.”

Yoongi nods. He’s put out the joint, recognizing the way your nose scrunches slightly whenever he lights one near you.

He tilts his head up slightly, watching the same clouds drift lazily above. “Yeah. Me too.”

“It’s your party,” you remark. “Graduation is a big deal.”

Shrugging, Yoongi replies, “I guess. Parties aren’t my thing, though.” He chucks a pebble across the playground aimlessly.

“Congratulations. I guess I never got to say that.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard it more than enough from your parents,” he chuckles, nudging you. “Owen swears they’re happier for me than him.”

“They’re proud of you,” you say, smiling softly. You can tell that Yoongi isn’t used to that kind of thing or even congratulatory words, by the way he shrugs everything off.

“Yeah.”

“I, um—I’m proud of you.”

Yoongi pauses momentarily in his movements and even his feet stop swinging off the slide. He looks at you and it’s the kind of look he only gives when the two of you are alone. The tension he seems to constantly carry in his body dissipates, even for just a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a real smile.

He says your name, gently. “Thank you. I mean it.”

You’ve never really been good at change. No sixteen year old ever is. When you look back at Yoongi, the idea of how things aren’t going to be like this anymore hits you as if you’ve ran into a brick wall. It reminds you of the way you let rings turn your fingers green and how you wince when cutting off the dead ends of your hair.

Only, this time, it’s a person. A person you’ve only really watched from afar, but admired up close.

“You guys are really moving away soon, huh?” you blurt out before you can help yourself.

The liquor in your body gives away your despondence, whether you like it or not, and Yoongi’s half-smile softens.

“You’ll see Owen during the holidays.”

“I don’t care about Owen.”

He pauses at that, your honesty freezing him in place. Meanwhile, you’re looking off into the sky like he was a few moments ago with a blank stare. You don’t know why the words fall out of your mouth. You’re not that drunk, but you also can’t stop yourself. In the darkening sun, your cheeks turn noticeably rouge and evading eye contact is the most natural thing to do.

Yoongi reaches out to brush some hair out of your face and your flinch—not out of fear, but because you don’t expect that gesture. It’s delicate in a way that Yoongi isn’t. He chuckles, continuing to tuck it behind your ear when you don’t verbally protest.

“Why do you get jumpy around me? When it’s just us?”

“Not jumpy,” you shoot back in a mutter, still not looking at him.

“Do I…do I make you nervous?”

For a second, the strain in his voice makes you realize that he thinks you might be scared of him because of who he is. His reputation. At first, you think he’s intentionally reaching for you to rile you up—maybe even flirting with you. Instead, you notice how his smile disappears and a frown threatens to pull at his lips.

The last thing you want him to think is that you’re afraid of him. Your heart aches because you wouldn’t ever see him that way, not when your family treats him like family and when you somehow show up for each other when you need it most. Funnily enough, you’ve never been scared of him.

You shake your head rapidly.

“No! God, no, I just—” you swallow hard, turning your face away even further to hide your embarrassment. “I just don't talk to boys that much, okay?”

A half-truth. You don’t need Yoongi knowing about your crush on him, not with how things have unravelled over the years and how he’ll be gone sooner rather than later.

You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the tension ease at your shameful admission.

Yoongi remains patient and doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Want me to go? Or walk you home?”

“….No.”

He chuckles and decides to flip the topic to moving away for college. You’re able to loosen your shoulders ever so slightly.

Yoongi says, “So, you’ll miss me when I’m gone?” He’s not even mocking, just clarifying casually. He speaks like he’s talking about the weather.

“Yeah,” you concede, looking down at your feet. Considerable progress from completely turning away from him. “It’ll be weird when you’re gone.”

“It’ll be weird without you for me, too.”

Your shoulder brushes against his. The two of you are sitting closer than before.

Yoongi is still trying to read the expression on your face. “Are you really that nervous around guys?”

Your face burns hotter. “Oh, please. Don’t tease me now.”

“I’m serious,” he responds, eyebrows raised.

And, you believe him. He almost sounds concerned, like he cares about trivial things like your lack of love life. You just let out a dry laugh.

“Sometimes, I guess. I think I’m just bad at it,” you sigh and think back to your failed homecoming date with how you haven’t had the guts to talk to another boy since.

“That’s surprising,” Yoongi remarks casually, like he’s explaining one-plus-one. “You’re a pretty girl, you should have an easy time.”

You scoff, thinking he’s trying to just butter you up, but when you look at him, you come up empty when you search for any signs of dishonesty. It doesn’t matter, anyway—with the painful nature of this conversation, you’d rather die than talk to Min Yoongi about how you have zero game.

“Well, I don’t,” you huff, trying to deflect with frustration. “You know that. I’ve never even had a boyfriend or anything like that.”

“What, don’t tell me that you’ve never kissed anyone either.”

Yoongi is still trying to lighten the mood, but you only grow more flustered. His features melt when he sees the sheepish blush painted across your cheeks. You try to hide behind your hands, shielding your face away further with the curtain of your hair.

Instead, you feel a gentle tug when he reaches out to them. They fall to your lap and your breath hitches when Yoongi inches closer—so slight, but enough for you to notice. His eyebrow knit together and you can tell that he’s not judging, but…thinking. Yoongi is thinking and you couldn’t guess in a million years about what.

You frown. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, but you’re unable to avoid his gaze this time.

“Do you want to kiss someone?”

The earth stops spinning in its rotation and the entire world feels like it’s closing in on you. It may even tilt on its axis. Your eyes go wide as saucers at the question and Yoongi chuckles. Again, you think he’s making fun of you and this time, you’re ready to climb down the slide, but he reaches out again.

“Hey,” he mutters, hand on your cheek and his skin stings icy hot. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

The deepening summer evening is unnerving and uncertainty, echoing in the silence of the park. In this light, Yoongi is striking. He draws you in, like he always does, but in this moment, you’re acutely aware of it.

"Yeah, I want to.” The words fall out of your mouth like a landslide before they’re even processed through your brain.

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that answer. But, he doesn’t move. You also think you’re frozen. He doesn’t do anything until you do, letting you go at your own pace.

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he says, scanning your eyes for any hesitation. “You know you can trust me, right? It’s just a kiss.”

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, then pause. “And, yeah. I know I can trust you.”

He smiles with a kindness that he doesn’t just trust with anyone. You swallow your nerves until you’re certain that they’re buried deep beneath the pit in your stomach.

Yoongi managed to teach you a lot of things before he left that summer. He taught you to stand by what you know you deserved. He taught you that goodbyes can be okay and change happens no matter what. He made it all feel okay.

When you close your eyes and his lips brush against yours, the surroundings fade until frost and the only clarity is him.

Your first kiss, first crush, first goodbye. You always thought that Yoongi would remain that way forever—just a teenage memory—and you moved on with your life like everyone else does.

So, when you walk into a bar on the first night after moving back to your hometown, you don’t even recognize him.

“Thanks for helping me unpack!” you sigh happily, letting Aya lead the way out of the Uber.

Moving back in with your parents after years away working towards multiple degrees was seemingly as plausible as the sky falling. However, reality struck and you recognize that there isn’t much you can do when you’re stuck in the eye of the job market hurricane.

You make the decision to come back home temporarily while looking for a place of your own with some interviews lined up, returning after over a decade. You thought it was the safest thing to do with no guaranteed job offer on the table just yet and between some years living abroad, you missed your family.

Your best friend from high school, Aya, drags you to the nearest bar after you spend the entire afternoon sorting through boxes in your childhood bedroom. Standing in a room that still has boy posters pinned up on painted baby blue walls and a myriad of manga lined up on your shelf was a bit jarring. Being reminded of just how much time has passed was a wake up call.

Things change. You learned that the hard way many years ago and you still carry that with you today.

Aya’s lips stretch out into a wide smile, as you make your way through the front door. “Of course, this is is so exciting,” she squeals.

She hasn’t seen you for more than a few times a year since going to the same university for your undergraduate degree. While you moved away a second time to another country for graduate school, Aya moved back home and your friendship was relegated to meet-ups for special occasions and milestones.

It’s one of the things that you’ve forced yourself to get comfortable with in your twenties. Life moves fast for everyone and people naturally carve their own paths that lead you in different directions. Adjusting to living five minutes away from your best friend to only getting to hug each other at Christmas was hard.

Yet, even with the years that have passed, being right back in your hometown has you feeling like you’re sixteen again.

“Feels strange,” you remark, taking a seat at the bar with her. “Can’t believe that I’m actually back for good.”

The place is relatively congested for a random Monday night, which Aya mentions is the norm, given their populatiry. You’re surrounded by clinking glass, the roar of a hockey game on the televisions, and melodic chatter flowing from every corner of the room. Dim lights glow for an intimate atmosphere in the room and you’re able to relax for the first time all day.

For now.

Everything around you feels exactly the same, yet completely different at the same time. From what you remember, there used to be a toy store instead of a bar on this lot. The city buses have been painted a brighter shade of blue. The park a block away from your house has new playground equipment that lacks rust.

“Something to celebrate!” Aya says, as she tries to wave over a bartender.

Your phone buzzes as a momentary distraction with Owen’s name flashing on the screen. He’s asking how you’ve settled in so far, inviting you over to see his apartment when you’re free. You type up a reply, letting him know that you and Aya are out after getting some unpacking done.

Without looking away from the text thread, you ask, “Hey, what’s the name of this bar again?”

The voice that answers startles you—not because it doesn’t belong to Aya, but because it’s one that you haven’t heard in over a decade.

“Static. The bar is called Static, kid.”

And that nickname. Despite just a two year age difference and how overused it became, he never failed to call you that.

Your head snaps up.

It is him.

The realization stutters because Min Yoongi no longer fits in the mold that you’ve crafted for him in your head. You have to do a double take because you don’t see wind-tousled mint hair, but shaggy brown locks that fall just below silver hoops on his ears. Wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, but the same hardened eyes remain behind them—the unmistakable signature of Yoongi’s that not even time can mitigate. Still, your eyes don’t decieve you.

“Yoongi.” It’s not a question nor a statement of any kind. You breathe his name, despite feeling like it’s been stolen away.

The man is like your hometown—exactly the same, but completely different. He’s older and it’s not just the kind that lives in the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles or his broadened shoulders. There’s an aura of calmness that you’ve never associated with Yoongi. When you were teenagers, you only ever felt the vibrations of a certain chaos with him.”

“Hi,” you say dumbly, lips parted in shock.

At a glance, he doesn’t look like the boy who cut class everyday to smoke at the beach, but a man that holds confidence in himself. All your life, you’ve always known Yoongi as a guy who had everything to prove to the world, Now, he stands behind the bar and casually learned on the counter without clenched fists. You can’t help but trail your eyes over those shoulders again and his sharpened features.

He looks good. Mature. Grown. Needless to say, you struggle to form an actual sentence when you could have never predicted this reunion.

This is not the Yoongi you grew up with at all. You’re not sure if you should stand up or hug him, especially with how he’s in the middle of work, so you offer a hesitant wave. An awkward one that that and in your peripheral vision, Aya is holding back a snicker.

He sports a plain black shirt and jeans with a silver chain that dangles around his neck. Sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, you notice that the one thing that hasn’t changed is how he can pull off hair so perfectly out of place that it looks like he didn’t have to try very hard. Your eyes flicker towards Yoongi’s glasses again, thinking about how much they suit him, framing his face like a damn painting.

You don’t remember the last time a man’s presence made you blush like a school girl like this and it’s pathetic. However, you do know that it makes you feel just the way it used to when you would steal glances at Yoongi from afar as kids. You try to not sink into your seat.

Yoongi drawls your name like honey on his tongue. “I heard from Owen that you’d be back home,” he says, head tilted as his eyes scan your appearance. His expression is mostly unreadable.

You can tell that he’s sizing you up, not unlike the way you did.

“She came back today!” Aya cuts in and you’ve never been so grateful. “Can we get two tequila shots, Yoongi?”

He clears his throat, realizing that he was staring. The question snaps both of you back into the real world.

From what Owen has told you, he and Yoongi remain close. They went to the same university and you heard his name enough in Owen’s stories to assume that he lives nearby. Still, you didn’t expect to see him and especially not like…this.

Yoongi nods with a lazy smile, grabbing a bottle to pour for the two of you. One of the other bartenders call him over for something, but he waves them off and directs somebody else to go help them. His attention is fixated on you, even as he prepares your shots.

You’re still. Something about his older self draws you in just as much as you did when you were younger, subconsciously leaning towards him and watching him. It’s quieter, but just as dangerous.

Your eyes meet and he raises an eyebrow.

He holds himself like he knows it, too, and it makes things worse.

Noticing that he’s holding some top-shelf blanco, you shoot a hand out. “Actually, can we get well?”

Yoongi waves you off without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”

From your side, Aya shoots you a look to not protest. You normally wouldn’t decline free drinks either, but you’re seconds away from stammering and making a fool of yourself from just sitting in front of Yoongi for the first time in years. You’re not sure how you’ve even made it this far in conversation, just watching him with an awkward smile.

He’s still studying your appearance, in the way Yoongi always has—silent and with a magnetism that is intimidating.

“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes, catching himself as he finds lime wedges and even chuckles a bit as he does so. “You’re just all grown up.”

In your teenage years, you definitely had yet to come out of your shell. Not only were you quiet, but relatively soft in other aspects. You wore big sweaters and long skirts. You braised your hair for school with ribbons and spent the majority of your time with your nose buried in a book. All you wanted to do was blend into the background.

Your blush burns hotter. “Yeah, it’s been a long time, Yoongi.” You clear your throat, hoping your nerves will disappear with the imminent liquor your way.

Now, you sit in front of Yoongi as a woman. Your eyes are sharp and fierce, lined with a smudgy black pencil that brings out the best of your features. A dark blue bandage dress hugs your curves and lifts your cleavage just right. You don’t hesitate to speak up when you want to and you know when you turn heads. Things have changed.

Except for the way Min Yoongi still manages to redden your cheeks without trying.

“That is has.”

You look up and that this proximity, you spot the same scar that drags along the underside of his lip that he’s had since you were kids. It’s only ever noticeable when he laughs.

Yoongi slides over the shots filled to the brim with amber liquid, along with two wedges of lime. He watches you and Aya throw the tequila back without hesitation, whistling. You wince ever so slightly, but you’re not stranger to drinking after getting through university going to parties on Greek row or partying abroad. The warmth spreads throughout your body and you hope it translates into easiness.

You glance over him, now with a steadier breath. “Thanks.”

“You’re good at that,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, grabbing the empty glasses. “I remember back when you couldn’t handle your liquor.”

“What, when I was fifteen?” you huff and it makes him laugh again. When he does, it feels like you’ve won a prize.

The corners of his lips curve up into a smirk, likely imagining the same memory as you—Owen’s first house party that he threw when your parents went out of town, where he dared you to take your first ever shot. You choked and Yoongi was there to instantly hand you a red solo cup full of water—at the time, you were mortified, but he didn’t laugh once.

Someone calls Yoongi’s name yet again, even though the man looks like he’s two seconds away from telling them to fuck themselves. Now, that’s the Yoongi you know.

“Hold on, I'll be back,” he grumbles. “Just call if you ladies need anything,” Yoongi says before shuffling over to the employee that has been trying to get his attention for five minutes now.

When he’s out of earshot, you send a glare to a grinning Aya.

She was right there in high school, snapping you out of blatantly staring at Yoongi from across the cafeteria at lunch. She listened to your wishful rants about him during sleepovers and encouraged you to make a move on him during the entirety of his senior year. And now, she’s watching you make a fool out of yourself in front of him yet again.

Aya pretends to fix her lip gloss. “What?” She asks innocently.

“You took me to a bar where Min Yoongi works?”

“Actually, he owns this place,” she corrects with a laugh, pointing to where he stands.

Yoongi is showing one of the employees something on a tablet, presumably explaining something. You take a look around and you notice that the bar is very…him. Simple, dark, and sleek. Nothing too flashy, but there’s an element of effortlessness that speaks to his personality. It reflects his appearance, from the new glasses and shaggy hair. Different from the Yoongi you grew up with, but somehow not.

He walks around like he indeed owns the place, giving orders and checking in on everyone. Calm, collected, and sure of himself. Yoongi has always carried himself that way, but it’s more evident now.

Still, your heart stutters all the same.

-

Yoongi thinks of himself to be a decently upright kind of guy. He got his life together during college, putting in all the hard work to figure out a path that didn’t involve metal bars or a lifetime of running away from the demons he always feared he inherited from his parents. Owen played a major influence in that, keeping him on the right track through the years and diffusing the temper that made Yoongi notorious. He owed a lot to his best friend and his family, who made Yoongi part of theirs.

So, when you come back to town over a decade later, glowing with a dangerous hue of perfection, Yoongi is screwed.

He notices you before you notice him when you walk into his bar. Yoongi is here nearly every night and has been for the past year since buying the place, creating a name for himself and engineering a confidence that his younger self lacked. There was arrogance and anger and then there was fortitude that only growing the hell up could build in a man. Yet, all of hard work nearly crumbled in a seconds’ notice at the sight of his best friend’s little sister.

You’re all but enchanting in the way that he remembers, an effortless charm that is rare in its subtlety. Yoongi isn't the only one that sees it either, watching the way several heads turn when you walk past and are unable to notice.

During the short interaction you share, Yoongi feels like an idiot. He points out the obvious and internally winces with each: you're back and you're all grown up. He thinks the years have been kind to him when it comes to talking to women, considering he had no problem with exuding a certain charm going so far back as high school. Yoongi can be enamouring, a true Casanova once upon a time, and he knows it.

He wonders why it immediately crumbled in front of you.

Now, Yoongi doesn't think it was obvious. He kept things short - that's the way he always does, given his nature. However, he doesn’t feel any less stupid. His jokes didn’t exactly hit, he nearly stuttered, and he’s sure that if he stared any longer, you’d be officially creeped out.

Worse than a wire short-circuiting, as soon as he turns away from you, his mind goes completely white. Blank. He nearly runs face first into one of the bartenders, Adam.

Adam attempts to shield himself until Yoongi catches his balance. “Woah—”

“Shit,” Yoongi curses, rubbing his jaw when he finally snaps out of whatever blank space he lost himself in. “Sorry, man. You okay?”

Adam is baffled. He’s been working at Yoongi’s bar since it opened and he's always seen his boss as pretty straight-forward —calm, cool, collected. Barely smiles at his own customers, who love his nonchalant allure and somehow end up always coming back for it.

Right now, Yoongi looks…dazed. Not entirely flustered, but definitely out if it.

For the rest of the night, he steals glances over to where you sit with Aya. He even thinks about whatever excuse he can make to check up on the two of you, but it’s a busy night for a Monday and the world decided they need Yoongi to be taking care of a thousand different issues at once. Problems with the register, training two new hires, listening to customer complaints. He can’t even make time to listen to the group of older women in the corner that have become regulars for the sole reason of being able to flirt with Yoongi.

By the time he’s actually gotten a second to breathe, Yoongi realizes that you’ve retired for the night.

He can still smell the floral of your perfume—something so sweet, but classy. Poised. You really do look so different now. Are different. The ghost of your presence lingers as Yoongi’s eyes hone in on the seat that you left behind.

It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t thought about you once over the past ten years. You were an integral part of his teenage years, even if you thought of yourself as nothing more than background noise to his friendship with your brother. You were always there and treated Yoongi the same way your parents did; you always gave him consideration, respect, and unconditional kindness. That kind of heart is priceless and can’t be forgotten. He’s not sure if anyone has every shown him that unwavering faith, even now.

By the time Yoongi finished college, you were off doing your own thing and seldom visited for the holidays. Every time you came back to town, he missed you by a narrow margin. One missed Christmas turned into several, then you started your master’s degree and eventually your PhD, and then all of a sudden, ten years passed.

When he gets home, Owen is asleep in his room as usual. Yoongi always works late hours because of the bar—not that he minds when the business is everything he could have ever wanted. It get hectic, though, and he looks forward to being able to sleep in when he has the following day off.

Or, rather, Yoongi looks forward to staying up and doing whatever bullshit he wants. Sometimes, it’s binge watching a show. Tonight, he’s decided to internet stalk.

“Fuckin’ pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, as he settles into bed with his phone in his hand, screen open to Instagram.

Yoongi feels ridiculous, with his old man glasses on his nose and his plaid pajamas. There’s a cup of steaming hot tea on his bedside table. He looks like this and what is he doing? Looking up his best friend’s little sister.

He already stays away from social media to begin with and has to actually install the app on his phone to log into his private account with less than twenty followers. There’s a reason why he hired someone to do marketing for Static as opposed to doing any of that shit himself.

Quickly, Yoongi finds your profile by way of Owen’s and he exhales deeply when he sees that you’re no different than him. Private account, about one hundred followers. You have your degrees and alma maters in your bio and nothing else. If Yoongi zooms in enough, he can make a profile picture of your dog. Owen doesn’t post you in anything either and before he knows it, Yoongi’s thumb slips and taps on the ‘follow’ button.

The next morning, Yoongi didn’t even realize that he did such a thing until he notices a notification for an accepted follow request.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

Owen sits on the couch, eating breakfast as Yoongi pauses his watch over his scrambled eggs to check his phone.

“What?” He asks upon Yoongi’s outburst, eyes remain fixated on the television.

Yoongi clears his throat, hastily turning off the heat on the stove. The absolute last thing he needs is Owen looming over his shoulder and noticing his best friend’s newfound interest in his little sister.

“Uh, nothing. Just saw the score from the game last night.”

“Weren’t you at the bar?”

“Was busy,” he says, clearing his throat and turns away.

Owen doesn’t question further, leaving Yoongi to his own devices - specifically, taking a closer look at your Instagram. The only picture uploaded is a picture of yourself and some friends on what appears to be your last birthday.

You wear a stunning black dress and pose with a wine glass in your hand. He quickly puts his finger on exactly what has captured his attention and why you feel so different—you’re absolutely radiant. Time has been more than kind to you and it’s not just your appearance, but the energy that exudes off of you.

Not only that, but you hold the same unwavering determination after all these years. He knows how well-travelled and educated you are and seeing it up close is all but impressive. It’s unfair to be not just kind and beautiful, but intelligent.

Owen is talking in the background all of a sudden and Yoongi isn’t paying attention until his ears perk up to the sound of your name.

“—gonna go help her with unpacking in a bit.”

Yoongi almost jumps up to offer his help, but resists. It’s not noticeable at all, as he sits firmly in his seat, but the joints of his fingers twitch ever so slightly. His eyes dart up. Still, he keeps it to himself.

Between working long nights and the seemingly endless amount of errands that take up his days, Yoongi doesn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy his time at home. He’s always had a strange itch for constantly affirming productivity. The second the fridge needs milk, he’s already at the store. When their elderly neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, needs someone to walk her dogs? Yoongi is out the door with the heathen of a poodle. If he’s not busy, he’s not comfortable.

Yoongi spends all day deep cleaning the bathroom and fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen. He even puts on an educational podcast in the background to ensure maximum usage of his “day off.” It’s easy for him to get lost in the motions, the hours passing by like sand.

When his concentration finally breaks, it’s because there’s a light rap on the front door.

He’s in the middle of cleaning out the fridge when he hears it and a hint of hesitation graces his features. He rarely has guests and surely did not invite one over tonight. So, Yoongi takes a glance at his phone left on the counter, wondering if he missed a text or call from Owen indicating he didn’t have his keys.

Nothing. Yoongi makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, wondering who could be bothering him at this hour. Mrs. Lopez goes to sleep at eight on the dot, but the couple next door has a kid that they sometimes send over with leftovers. Or, likely, it’s those sales people that have been popping up more often than not lately.

“Damn solicitors,” he mutters with an eye roll.

He trudges over to the door and doesn’t bother looking through before swinging it open.

Now, it didn’t occur to you that your brother would have a roommate. Owen didn’t make any indications that he did, so you assumed otherwise. It should have crossed your mind —being in medical school equates a lot of debt with little help from your parents’ humble income. You would know after first hand three degrees and countless of earned academic scholarships.

When you come by your brother’s apartment to drop off the laptop he left behind earlier that day, you arrive thinking you would be personally handing it off to him. In just the span of a few hours, he’d helped you build your bed frame and a dresser, so when you noticed the forgotten item, you decided that personally coming by to return it was the least you could do. Owen seemed to agree, as he texted you to just show up whenever.

You eventually got tired of hanging up clothes and folding up boxes, so by dinner time, you decided it would be a good time. Not bothering to change clothes, you set out for the noodle place that your family has frequented since before you were born and searched your text thread with Owen to find his address.

A mistake, you realize.

When Min Yoongi opens the door, you think you could sink into the ground in shame. It’s more revealing than what you wore at the bar, wearing leggings and a sports bra. Not anything you would care about on the regular, but standing in front of Yoongi last time already had you feeling like an idiot that’s never spoken to a man before.

Thankfully, if he notices your attire, he doesn’t make it known. Yoongi opens the door with a grumpy expression painted all over his face, but it drops when he sees you. In fact, he blinks blankly, like he’s not sure if what he’s seeing in front of him is real.

Yoongi says your name, eyebrows raised. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”

You don’t know how to answer and you’re also just standing there, stupidly blinking right back at him. He has to repeat your name again to get your attention, but you’re too hung up on the velvety way he pronounces your name.

Each syllable briefly takes you back to various memories of the past: Yoongi greeting you in the morning at breakfast, calling you across the hallway after school to walk home together, the way he said it before he took your first kiss.

Surely, he doesn’t even remember any of that. Owen never mentioned it—not like it would be wise for Yoongi to mention kissing his little sister to him. You figure that between the dozens of other girls he was spending time with when you were all younger, it was all but an insignificant thing to him. A favour to you and you both carried on with your lives.

Yoongi says your name a third time and now you have to snap out of your thoughts. If you didn’t look dumb earlier, just standing there, you’re sure you do now.

“Sorry,” you shake your head rapidly, a nervous laugh falling out of your lips. “Had a really long day. Got no sleep either—um, anyway, hi Yoongi.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckles, cocking his head to the side, still waiting for some sort of explanation.

He’s dressed down today, looking far more casual than he did at static. An oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, along with those same wire-rimmed glasses. They catch the light slightly when he moves his head. You gulp.

By some miracle, you manage to collect your thoughts—well, after you stammer and stumble on your words a bit. Jesus, you haven’t had this happen in so long.

“Uh, I—” you pretend to cough to hide your delayed reaction, but Yoongi just waits patiently. “I have Owen’s laptop. You guys, er. . .live together?”

You’re taken aback, but at least you confirm you’re at the correct address when you look over Yoongi’s shoulder and notice your brother’s comic book collection on a shelf.

He fights a smile, noticing the rosiness spreading on your cheeks, unlike the way they did last night or even how you used to blush when you were younger. Cute.

“Owen didn’t tell you?” Yoongi replies.

“No, he’s a bastard who never mentions anything.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to push away the way you’d been plaguing his thoughts ever since last night, “that I can agree on.”

It would have been nice if Owen mentioned you in any capacity beyond “she’s doing good” in the past ten years. Maybe Yoongi would have been less caught off guard when he saw you at the bar—not that it’s an excuse for ogling his little sister.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m so sorry for intruding -”

But, Yoongi waves you off. “You’re never intruding, kid. You’ve known me too long for that.”

Kid. Of course, he’ll still call you that.

At that, you can’t argue. “I guess so, huh?” You shake your head again with a nervous laugh. “Um, so, Owen’s not home?”

Yoongi looks back at his phone, where the last text Owen sent him was about sleeping over at his girlfriend’s apartment.

“Of course he forgot to mention that to you, too,” he mutters, then turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Nah, he’s not. He’s at Daisy's until tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Technically, when Owen told you that you could come by, he didn’t say he would be there. Your hand tightened around the plastic bag holding takeout containers—this is what you get for being a good sister. Never again.

Yoongi steps aside and opens the door wider. “Sorry about that. You’re welcome to just leave the laptop in the living room,” he says. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

This time, you swallow your nerves and do something that you have grown to learn: being confidence.

“Actually, have you eaten any dinner yet?”

Not even twenty minutes later, you’re sitting at the dining table with Yoongi, slurping on noodles. The offer comes out of nowhere, as you’re not even sure at what point your brain decided to ask that question. It just happened and although it took Yoongi off guard, he just ended up smirking and telling you to take a seat.

That damn smirk. Some things really do never change.

The apartment is nicer than you expected for your brother’s living quarters, but you figure that has nothing to do with him and all with the man who sits across from you. The interior is fairly spacious with a dimly lit lamps emitting a terracotta gleam. All kinds of greenery line the walls, vines crawling up shelves, and are perched on top of surfaces in clay pots. Other than that, there are few embellishments and minimal furniture that decorate the seemingly spotless apartment.

Yoongi pours you a glass of water, eying the way you observe your surroundings. “What is it?” he asks amusedly.

“I just didn’t think of you as a plant lover,” you admit.

He just laughs at that. “How did you know the plants are mine?”

You send him a pointed look as you accept the water from him. “Oh, please. Owen couldn’t keep a cactus alive to save his life.”

“Nah, you’re right. Remember that goldfish he had when we were kids?”

Yoongi didn’t show it often back then, but he had the most endearing gummy smile. He had what appeared to be a permanent scowl stained on his lips for years. So, every time you managed to crack one from him, it felt special.

Right now, he wears the easiest kind of smile and you can’t help but think about how good it looks on him.

You huff out a chuckle at the memory. “Yeah, the one that ‘mysteriously’ died after a week? Can’t forget.”

The conversation is more fluid than you expected. It’s not like Yoongi is a stranger by any means, but you’re not the most talkative person in the first place.

Two full days have finally passed since you dragged all of your belongings out of a moving truck and back into your childhood home. For some reason, this is the first time that you're at ease. Not worried about the move, not trying to hard to relax like you were at the bar. Everything goes just a little quiet.

“So…how’d the move go?”

“As smooth as it can be when you’re ancient and moving back in with your parents,” you huff jokingly, picking at some green onions in your bowl.

He snorts. “Watch it,” Yoongi warns, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “Wait until you’re in your thirties.”

“Pft, you’re barely there.”

“Tell that to my back.”

“Maybe it’s from years of hunching over that bike of yours,” you retort, noting the pair of motorcycle gloves strewn across the coffee table as the only form of clutter.

Yoongi just chuckles. “You sound like your mom.”

When the noodles are all finished, he leads you around the apartment for a tour. You briefly duck your head into your brother’s room after Yoongi shows you where it is, scrunching your nose up at the mess, and promptly shuffle over to the next part of the tour. This happens to be Yoongi’s room and he gestures for you to come in.

He opens the door wider, chuckling. “Don’t worry, this one doesn’t smell like a toxic wasteland.”

The room is not unlike the one that Yoongi used to have at your parents’ house growing up—minimalist, neat, but still cluttered with small things that reveal parts of his usually guarded personality. A desk with motorcycle trinkets, a bookshelf lined with what appears to be textbooks and other non-fiction, and a made bed with dark bed sheets. There’s even abandoned dumbbells on top of his dresser. You also notice a few frames on his wall, which appear to be some pictures posing with Owen and Daisy, along with his college degree in business administration.

Approaching the wall, you look up at the piece of paper, impressed. “I guess that’s how you found yourself starting your own business?”

Yoongi leans against the wall next to you, shrugging. “Yeah. Turns out I have a knack for that shit.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” you reply and raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve obviously done pretty good for yourself.”

He hums, eyes trained on his feet instead of trying to conjure another witty response. You move along his room and notice that his wall closest to his closet has a few film posters pinned up.

Yoongi says, “Remember seeing that one in high school?” He points to a poster of a horror comedy that you’d seen with him and your brother, at a late night drive-in theater. That was the summer you turned sixteen and right before the boys left for school, back when everything seemed like the end of the world and you had no idea who you were.

It was also the summer that Yoongi took your first kiss. You wonder if he catches the goosebumps prickling at your skin when the memory comes back to you and if he does, he doesn’t show it. After all, it was a long time ago, you remind yourself. It probably still means nothing to him, even if it was everything to you.

You clear your throat. “Yeah. I guess you’re still a big movie guy, huh?” you inquire, fingers running over the posters on his wall.

“For sure. Owen and I try to watch at least one movie a week.”

“Aw, how cute,” you tease and he rolls his eyes. “Movie night, huh?”

He nods, pushing off the wall and takes a step towards you. Pausing for a moment, you watch as he seems to deliberate something in his head. You open your mouth to question it, but then he finally asks.

“Do you want to join us? For movie nights, like old times?”

A quiet routine emerges twice a week where you find yourself on Yoongi’s couch at seven in the evening, no later and no less. Owen joins, but more often than not, it’s just you and Yoongi. He didn’t mention this when he offered for you to join in, but Yoongi is often left alone or cancelled on last minute because of Owen’s inconsistent and ever-changing work schedule.

However, you still join Yoongi each time.

Your brother thankfully doesn’t bat an eye, either too busy with work to care or he simply doesn’t see an issue with the two of you hanging out. He even encourages it.

“You need more friends,” Owen deadpans one movie night, after Yoongi excuses himself to go to the bathroom and leaves you both alone. The flicker of the television reflect off his face, as he sighs.

You’re mid-chew with popcorn stuffed in your mouth when he says this. “What?” you scoff, voice muffled.

“I’ve watched you do nothing but go to job interviews and lock yourself up in Mom and Dad’s house since you moved back,” he says. “You know you need a social life, right?”

“I have Aya!”

“That’s one person. Have you met anyone else since?”

Chucking a kernel at his face, you pout at your brother. “Wow, way to make me sound like a loser.”

“There’s no such thing as a loser with a PhD,” Owen retorts and slaps it out of the way perfectly in time. “At least you have me and Yoongi.”

From then on, your place in that apartment is solidified—even when your brother’s notorious cancelling habit comes up and leaves you alone with his brooding roommate.

On Yoongi’s end, he tries to convince himself that this is normal and perfectly fine. On paper, it should be, especially since he isn’t doing anything wrong. You’re both grown adults that share evenings together platonically, nothing that is out of the ordinary. He finds your presence a fresh breath of air and it’s likely because he has the same problem as you do, lacking a meaningful number of friends that he can count on beyond one hand.

Plus, if Yoongi had to admit it, he’s always been comfortable around you. Easygoing, like he can be himself without judgement. He’s surprised to learn that over a decade apart hasn’t changed that and you’re laughing and bantering together sooner rather than later.

“Well, it’s different for you,” you grumble by the third movie night and the first without Owen after mentioning that your brother has essentially labelled you a loser with no friends. “You’ve always been Mr. Big-Bad-I-Don’t-Need-Anyone.”

Yoongi had been trying to reassure you that your brother just wants to make sure you’re settling back into town and that he also doesn’t exactly have a large circle.

He snorts, not denying the fact. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“Someone should’ve a long time ago.”

“Yeah, maybe it would have decreased my suspension load in high school,” Yoongi muses dryly and you snort.

“Whatever. Thanks for having me over regardless.”

Tonight, you sit at opposite ends of the couch, trading stories about what kind of lives you’ve led in the decade wedged in between. Everything falls into place easily, spending more time filling in the gap than watching the movie on the screen. You think you spend more time trading stories in one evening than you’d ever spoken to Yoongi between the ages of ten and sixteen.

Yoongi lounges back with his feet on the coffee table and balances a beer bottle on his knee. A bowl of popcorn sits in the middle and you catch a glint of his silver rings when he reaches out for it. Every time he does so, you’re hyper aware of your own hand after he accidentally brushes fingers against yours.

However, you’re not nervous at all. Maybe it helps that your eyes aren’t on each other the entire time, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re no longer a teenager.

“By the way, your taste is movies is still awful.”

He hurls a single kernel into your hair, not unlike the way he used to back then. “When did you get so talkative?”

You don’t even have to look up from the screen to dodge. “Since I was evidently named the town loner by my dumbass brother,” you retort.

“Probably better than being known as the town delinquent for years,” he says, smirking.

“What a pair we are.” You playfully roll your eyes, adjusting the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “But, seriously, I’m not that talkative. You’re probably used to me keeping to myself.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” he eyes you and it’s the first time you hold his gaze, even if it’s just a second. “You’ve always had…spunk.”

Your nose winkles. “Spunk? What am I, the Energizer Bunny?”

All it took was a couple of years away in college for you to finally shed your reserve and come into your own. You remained thoughtful and observant, but no longer in a quiet way and began to voice this dialogue. Like most, you found a new sense of confidence and identity that you hadn’t quite grasped in your teenage years and learned how to occupy spaces without apologizing for it.

Yoongi chokes out a laugh. “See. That’s what I mean,” he replies and at this point, he has no idea what’s going on in the movie. “This has been there the whole time.”

For as long as you’ve known each other, he’s seen this quality in you—between being the only person who could hear your muttered sarcasm at the dinner table back when you were kids and the way that, despite your quiet nature, you would never let anyone give you shit.

There are four times when Yoongi realizes just how different you are now. The first was at the bar, when you first walked in; all legs and a chin held up high, carrying a grace that only time has afforded you. Tonight is the second, as you find an easy rhythm in conversation that makes over ten years feel like less than one.

Before you go home, you do momentarily falter when Yoongi wordlessly tosses his phone onto your lap.

“Put your number in,” he says, turning away to recycle your glass bottles in the kitchen. “Your stupid brother is horrible at answering urgent messages. If you need anything for any reason, you can at least text me.”

You can’t read his face, but you’re sure as hell glad that he can’t see yours because your mouth parts in surprise. Clearing your throat a beat later, you tap your number into his contacts app. When you recover, you think of the next lame quip you can think of.

“Gonna come rescue me when I get a flat tire?” you ask, tone sweet. “Or when I get too drunk at the bar with no ride home?”

Yoongi just snorts, but you notice the way he scratches his neck. “Whatever. Yes, actually.” he answers, then adds, “Owen would kill me if I didn’t.”

“I’m sure.”

What you don’t expect is how your text thread is not at all used for emergencies. Instead, Yoongi sends memes about the movie you just watched. You ask Yoongi about restaurant recommendations in town, now that you have no idea what the food scene looks like anymore. He asks for pictures of your parents’ dog, even though he could surely text them himself.

yoongi: how was your interview today you: thought i was wowing them with my knowledge and charm, but the dude ended up hitting one me yoongi: yikes thats fucked yoongi: you’re way too overqualified anyways you: maybe i should just settle and become a server at your bar yoongi: impossible. you don’t like smiling at people you: neither do you and you’ve made it this far in life yoongi: touche yoongi: also, movie night? owen has another shift at the hospital though

When the next week of movie nights roll around, you start showing up with takeout from the noodle place next to your old high school, where you used to have lunch with Yoongi and Owen. Meanwhile, he’s already ready to defend his suggestions of action movies after you complained that you don’t want anything to do with a plot that involves exploding cars or a world war.

Movie night becomes a when rather than an if, assumed rather than planned. The third week blurs into the fourth and when Owen makes his return, he’s taken aback by the way inside jokes appear where old memories had left off.

“Hey, don’t gang up on me!” Your brother protests when you and Yoongi make fun of him for crying at the end of Coco.

The latter is still snickering when he walks over to the kitchen cupboards, pulling out both of your favourite bags of chips. “Dude, it’s okay to cry,” Yoongi assures, tossing the snacks onto the couch.

“Whatever—gross, when did we get those?”

You cut Owen a glare, embracing your veggie chips close to your chest.

Yoongi laughs again, settling in between the two of you. “It’s her go-to,” he says. You don’t show it, but you’re surprised he even remembered the off-hand comment you made about veggie chips last week.

Owen just scoffs. “As if I’m supposed to remember which nasty foods my sister likes,” he retorts, which earns him an attempted smack from your end that is blocked by Yoongi.

When your brother is unavailable and movie night remains with just the two of you, you become more comfortable with each other and you’re no longer stupidly nervous around your childhood crush. You let your guard down in a way your younger self refused to do and you’re surprised at how well your personalities bounce off of each other. It was always there, though, in the same way Yoongi’s quiet consideration is.

One night, you stir awake to a warmth laying beneath you, soft and strong at the same time. Eyes peeling open, you’re in your brother’s apartment with the lights dimmed and the flickering of the television momentarily stinging your vision.

Then, you feel it. The shift of a body against yours. Your cheek is pressed against not a pillow, but a chest.

When you finally get your eyes fully awake, Yoongi has also woken up. He wakes up to the scent of jasmine and honey, one that is unmistakably you. Confused for a moment, he groans and readjusts his glasses, which he had accidentally fell asleep with.

“Yoongi?” you murmur.

The sound of your raspy voice sends him chest into an irregular rhythm, but Yoongi catches himself.

“Fuck, sorry, I fell asleep,” his own voice rasps out, looking down at your figure that has yet to move.

You realize what position you’re in and with rouge painted on your cheeks.

He rubs his eyes, yawning and stretches without sitting up. “Guess we, uh, both fell asleep,” Yoongi mutters, not meeting your gaze.

The last thing you remember is bantering with Yoongi and insisting that you're “not tired,” after he pointed out that you were visibly fighting to stay awake.

“Pretty sure you fell asleep first,” you huff, smoothing out your hair.

“Did not.”

“Definitely did.”

You hesitate for half a second before scrambling to sit up. The clock reads just past one in the morning on the oven and although you instantly miss the heat of Yoongi’s body, you clear your throat and adjust your clothing once you’ve detached yourself from him.

Yoongi snorts, willing himself to his feet. “You drool, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, pushing away this accident as nothing but humourous. There’s the sound of the fridge opening and he’s grabbing water for the two of you.

You’re grateful for that and you clear your throat, letting the electricity on your flesh fizzle for the time being. “Shut the hell up,” you snap.

Then, with perfect timing on your end, the front door creaks open. Owen, with his shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift, trots inside and dramatically sighs as he kicks off his shoes.

“What a long fucking day,” he grumbles, nodding to Yoongi in greeting. His eyes locate yours and he isn’t fazed. “You still here?”

You’re just glad that you and Yoongi woke up at the right time because the questions your brother would send your way would not be desirable at all.

Still, you can’t shake off the feeling of Yoongi’s warmth or his strong arm that was haphazardly slung around your torso as your slept. The smell of laundry detergent and musky cologne filling your senses. His chest vibrating with laughter against your cheek.

Neither of you mention how there was no hurry to move.

The end of the month comes around and while you remain in what you believe is the longest interviewing process ever, your biweekly movie nights pass the time. Meanwhile, Yoongi is confident that whatever tension and restless thoughts about you have dispersed.

That is, until the third time Yoongi realizes something different about you. Today, you’ve dragged him out to the grocery store to buy snacks for later on. Owen refused, naturally, and cited his busy schedule at the hospital. Yoongi also groaned and gave a little push back, but he can never say no to you.

“You…you’re oddly health conscious.”

Yoongi raises a single eyebrow at you from where he stands in the organic pantry aisle, two different boxes of chickpea pasta in his hands as he deliberates on which one to get. He’s in charge of pushing the shopping cart, his rolled up sleeves on his button up exposed as he leans on it.

“How is that odd? I’m an adult,” he scoffs, putting one of them back on the shelf.

“Guess it comes with getting old. Just didn’t expect it of you,” you chide. “You used to smoke like a chimney—”

“—Ah, ah. Key word: used to.” Yoongi walks over to you and you catch a whiff of his cologne, smelling of cedar and lavender. He looms over you momentarily, just to poke you in between the eyebrows and you snap out of the daze.

You slap his hand away, but you’re laughing. He tries again and you swat, but miss, accidentally stumbling a little bit. Yoongi is there to steady you and he’s close enough for you to see the mole on his temple, the one he’s always had.

“Whatever. Lead the way to the condiments aisle, old man,” you snap. “You’re out of ketchup.”

"I know, it’s on my list.”

“And you have a grocery list?” you gasp dramatically, trailing just behind Yoongi as he pushes the shopping cart. “Who even are you?”

Yoongi pokes you again and he manages to succeed, even with the way you laugh loudly and grab his wrist right after. He’s smirking wide when a middle aged woman walks past the two of you with an exaggerated eye roll, muttering something about couples.

The two of you make eye contact when you hear that, which confirms that neither of you imagined it.

Instead of letting awkward air fill the space or ignoring it, Yoongi breaks the tension immediately. “And that is what it sounds like when you’re miserable and unhappily divorced,” he jabs.

Blinking, you suddenly break out into a laugh. “Don’t be rude.” You feel nothing but relief when the moment is skipped over and even made a joke out of.

He’s never really quite had a filter and you’ve gotten used to it at this point, but it’s nice to have someone like Yoongi around. Honest, no nonsense, and still had a sense of humour.

“To Mrs—sorry, Ms. Wu?” Yoongi exaggerates her title on purpose, as he turns past the shelves of vinegar and towards the plastic bottles of sauces neatly lined up next to them. “She’s awful. Works with my neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, at the daycare and apparently scares all the kids.”

The two of you continue chatting until you find what you’re looking for, which is a big wall of nothing but various shades of red and cartoon tomatoes. Yoongi is busy checking his phone for the grocery list to notice you struggling to reach the bottle you want on the shelf above.

“Oh, come on,” you grumble, just fingertips away.

You’re about to step onto the lowest shelf for leverage when you feel a presence behind you, strong and sturdy. That’s when you hold your breath, as Yoongi’s hand gently grips your shoulder to tell you to stay put. The other softly brushes over yours, just enough to grab what you need.

His chest is right up against your back and he reaches above you, grabbing the ketchup with ease. Your surprise is stuck in your throat, his fingertips electric on your skin and the scent of his cologne making you go dizzy.

A beat of silence emerges and for some reason, Yoongi doesn’t move nor put the item in the cart.

You clear your throat. “I had that.”

He just hums, unconvinced. “Sure you did, kid.” Yoongi’s voice is unusually lower, even raspier.

You turn around and he’s still standing so close to you, looking up into his dark eyes. The light bounces off the metal of his glasses slightly and for some reason, you’re reminded of that day in the park all over again—where the surroundings fade into something blurry until all you can see is Yoongi.

Back then, he brushed it off and led you back to your house. Now, he stands still and you can’t imagine what kind of thoughts are running through his mind, as his heavy lids bear into your gaze.

Yoongi notices the little crease in between your eyebrows, right where he would poke you. It’s a new thing, likely coming with age, and he decides that he really likes it. It always comes with some sort of pout, whether you’re in deep thought or when he teases you. Regardless, Yoongi loves seeing it.

He thinks he’s fucked for that.

When he sees it again, it’s just a couple of nights later at his own damn bar.

You’re celebrating finally being able to secure a full-time job after weeks of horrible interviews and sending out your resume like a message in a bottle. Stumbling in, you’re surrounded by Aya, Owen, and your brother’s girlfriend, Daisy. Yoongi is behind the bar and running around the place, as he usually is on busy Friday nights without fail, but stops talking mid-sentence to one of his employees when you enter.

The first thing he sees is a spine tattoo that is framed by your backless dress that falls mid-thigh, chiffon a pale yellow in hue and held up by a halter. Your hair is tied into a sleek ponytail and it’s obvious that you’ve already had a few drinks. mostly by the unusually wide smile on your face. Well, obvious to Yoongi, who is used to your more guarded demeanour.

He already has the bottle of tequila in his hand when the four of you approach the bar, pouring shots for the entire group.

“Yoongi!” you exclaim, a little shrill, but you’re bouncing off your heels.

He sends a fist bump in Aya’s way, gives Daisy a half-hug, and does the little secret handshake that he and Owen came up with when they were little when your brother greets him. When you approach him, though, you’re met with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“You’re drunk,” he blurts out, but you only laugh.

“And you’re cute.”

That, he did not expect. While Owen’s face scrunches up , the other two girls look like they want to facepalm. Aya tugs you towards your stool, giving Yoongi a meaningful look when she catches the way he momentarily stutters.

Daisy clears her throat. “We’ve all been drinking for a hour now,” she says.

At the very least, you refrain from mentioning that you told your friends that you only wanted to come to his bar to celebrate. The girls also keep it to themselves that you mentioned that you wanted Yoongi one of the first to know about your good news.

Still, even without mentioning, he’s happy that you’ve chosen to come straight to Static, even if you just wanted free drinks. He’s able to look after you, if anything.

Yoongi nods curtly, lips thin as he tries to ignore your previous comment and the race of his heart. “Right,” he responds, moving smoothly back behind the bar and gestures to the four shot glasses in front of them. His steady, too-neutral tone masks his true feelings. “Go wild. And congratulations.”

The liquor in your system pauses to register the genuine tone in Yoongi’s voice and you smile up at him. However, you’re too preoccupied by your rowdy friends, talking loudly amongst themselves and trying to pull you back into conversation.

Throughout the evening, Yoongi isn’t able to get much time with you, not while he’s working and while you’re busy celebrating. One of his bartenders, Enzo, is serving your group and Yoongi finds himself keeping a close eye the entire time—even if he knows he doesn’t need to.

He’s running all over the place tonight and he still somehow ends up looking your way every so often, as if disaster will strike if he doesn’t check in. It’s irrational, especially when Owen is there and wouldn’t let a thing happen to you.

When Owen and Daisy momentarily leave for the dancefloor, Yoongi notices Enzo hovering a little too long over you and Aya. He’s laughing and clearly trying to work the crowd with jokes, maybe even flirtation. Meanwhile, you’re smiling, but Yoongi notices the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Even though he should be checking on an issue with the dishwasher in the back, Yoongi’s legs work for him and he approaches the bar.

“Yeah, ladies, I get off at around one—”

“—Everything okay around here?”

Yoongi’s deadly calm voice interrupts the conversation, pretending to have been walking past casually.

A look of relief washes over your features, while Enzo halts in his place. Yoongi likes the guy and all, but he’s gotten a complaint about how talkative he can be and doesn’t like the way you shifted uncomfortably on your stool just seconds prior.

Enzo presses his lips into a tight line when he feels Yoongi looming over him. “Just chatting, boss,” he coughs unconvincingly.

“You’re due for your break,” Yoongi responds flatly, ignoring the excuse.

Now, he’s made quite a bit of progress when it came to his anger management and patience, but the old Yoongi still breaks through every once in a while amidst frustration. His simpatico doesn’t go unnoticed by his staff, but they all know that Yoongi is more than capable of shedding this warmth for the personality he once retired.

Your eyes flicker to the look in Yoongi’s eyes and feel a rush of heat in your lower belly. The intense, protective stare that you’ve never seen him show for anyone else.

Enzo leaves immediately and Aya lets out a breath that she’d been clearly holding.

“Thank god,” she says, shaking her head. “He’d been trying to hit on her for the past ten minutes.” Her thumb jabs in your direction, where you roll your eyes.

“He was just…outgoing,” you say tentatively, burying the warmth in your body away, and turn to Yoongi with a casual msile. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Something unknown flooded his veins when he saw Enzo earlier, but Yoongi doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Instead, he lets a beat pass before loosening the strain in his shoulders.

Leaning over the counter, Yoongi’s voice is low and finite when he says, “If anyone else bothers you tonight, call me over,” he says, almost demanding.

At the space decreased between the two of you, you visibly gulp as you meet his eyes. Yoongi watches the way you press your lips together, the glossy nude shiny underneath the dim lights above. You can’t say no to that.

If you had to dissect it, you wouldn’t want to turn to anyone for help but him. That thought sobers you instantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Yoongi.”

You’re breathless as you speak, but cover it up quickly by bringing your straw to your mouth. He has to turn away before you wrap your lips around it, waving the two of you off like he has something to do.

Yoongi definitely doesn’t. He retreats into the kitchen, pretending to check in on the chefs, when he’s really wishing that he still smoked and could escape outside for a damn cigarette.

He does get you alone later that night, even when the last patron leaves the bar and your friends return home.

“Just drive her home, please!” were Owen’s last words before his girlfriend dragged him out the door, giggling and clearly having a plan in mind for the rest of their night.

Aya eyes you when you don’t get up from your stool. “You sure you’ll be okay?” she asks, looking between you and Yoongi. She knows that the two of you have grown close over the past month, but is surprised when you insist on staying behind when the clock nears four in the morning.

Last call happened a while ago and Yoongi’s employees are wrapping up for the night, wiping down the last of the tables and others bidding their goodbyes. You remarked that you still hadn’t finished your drink, even though the ice melted long before last call. The rum and pineapple sits lukewarm, just enough liquid left to act as your excuse.

You nod. “I’ll see you later, text me when you get home,” you say, watching her boyfriend’s car pull up outside.

That leaves you with Yoongi and the two of you resume your previous conversation, chatting about your new job and the previous tension dissipated. You’re definitely sobered up at this point in the night and when time stretched into closing hours, Yoongi was able to slow down from running around all over the place and actually take time to talk to you.

You’ve been feeling restless all night, trying to figure out why until it stands right in front of you. He happily banters with you as he closes up the registers, your dynamic and humour bouncing off of each other like clockwork.

“Pft, you’re still an overachiever,” he teases dryly when you mention your past job experience before moving back home. “Glad to see that some things never change.”

“Some things don’t,” you repeat, noting the fluid way Yoongi cleans his surroundings. He’s quick, waving goodbye to each employee that makes their way out the front door. They all smile at him when they do and it reminds you of how he’s always been able to connect with people around him—that is, should he let them in the first place.

Yoongi chooses the people around him carefully and you admire that about him. The people who are permitted past his walls are treated the same way.

He recognizes the pondering expression on your face. “Uh oh. I know that face. It’s never a good one.”

“What, me thinking?”

“Exactly.”

You stick your tongue out at his grinning face. He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a gulp, seemingly not exhausted in the same way you aren’t. From what you’ve gathered, Yoongi loves his job and his job loves him back, from his regulars to the employees.

Tapping your fingers in a rhythm against the wood grain of the bar, you ask, “Why did you decide to open up a bar?”

Without a doubt, Yoongi has always been charming in the way a good entrepreneur should be, but he wasn’t necessarily the most outgoing guy. People just naturally gravitated towards him, like magnets. Not only that, but he’s a genuinely good person. You’ve watched him help his elderly neighbour bring her groceries up, treat his employees with dignity, be a rock to your overwhelmed older brother. There’s a lot to Yoongi, more than what meets the eye.

He pauses in his movements and set the water bottle down. “I guess…I don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to open a place like this.”

Yoongi gestures around the place: the booths where a crowd of women celebrated a bachelorette party a few hours ago, to the television where a few older men had been watching the football game, and to the dancefloor where the DJ played old school R&B the entire night. Full of life, laughter, and people.

“Well, you did a damn good job,” you said. “I always thought you’d be successful. No other way when you were so determined back then.”

In a way, you like to think that you share the same quality. Years of working your ass off and figuring out your independence could have only been fuelled by a certain resolve to become more than what you used to be. When someone is hungry to prove themselves, the fire is often hard to miss.

Yoongi holds his composure well, but you notice the way deep thought fogs his eyes.

“Most people would beg to differ,” he mutters. “I think everyone thought there was a good chance I’d rot away in prison or something, maybe be a deadbeat like my dad.”

He says this without flinching like he used to when speaking about his parents. You knew there was an anger that lived inside of Yoongi because he made it known with clenched fists and ears that listened to nobody but himself. The rebellion was mysterious years ago, attractive even.

Still, you shake your head.“Well, no. I never thought your parents would hold you back from doing great things.”

The Yoongi in front of you is no longer that fantasy that you fell for when you were younger. This mild-mannered version that shakes dark hair away from his eyes and adjusts his glasses to pinch his nose when he gets frustrated, is softer, yet still captivating. You don’t think he could ever lose that.

Silence stretches to the corners of the room, a patient listener to the revelations settling in his chest.

“Never understood that, but I do now,” Yoongi responds, looking down at his shoes. “When you come from nothing, sometimes you think you deserve nothing.”

Years have passed and you can tell that he’s mostly grown past the doubt shovelled his way throughout his growing up, but there’s a kind of hurt that even Yoongi can’t forget when it comes to his upbringing. You lean forward slightly and tentatively touch his hand on top of the counter.

You’re making the face again. The one with your furrowed eyebrows and deepening pout.

“Good things come from not-so-pretty places, you know. Like flowers that grow on train tracks.”

The eye contact held weighs heavy in the air, tension thick as molasses, as if you could reach out and touch it yourself. Anything feels more interesting at this moment—your shoes, the ceiling, your hands—but all you can do is stare right back. Yoongi opens his mouth once, twice, but can’t settle on the words in his mouth.

Then, he sighs and lets out a chuckle.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever seen me the way you do,” Yoongi concludes quietly, eyes now torn away from yours.

An intimate confession, one that stuns your chest and steals away the quietude in your mind for days to come. You grasp it close to the cage of your ribs, unable to contain the leap of your heart, and instead bury the words with a soft smile. You’re just not sure what the feeling means and you don’t have the guts to untangle it into something you can understand, likely afraid of what revelations you’ll conclude with.

So, you offer a flat joke instead. “What, no kid?” you tease, chuckling through the thick tension that you hope only exists in your mind.

He pauses his movement over the glass he wipes, hand over the rim.

“Nah. No kid.”

Meanwhile, for Yoongi, this is the fourth time he’s noticed something different about you. It’s clear that you’ve gathered a lot these past few years—a sense of self, dreams, and grace. But, he’s captivated by your prudence and the kind eyes that you see the world in. You’ve always had that.

Yet, Yoongi can’t get over it. Your heart has only grown in your time away and he can’t help but remember your younger, meek self that exuded such solace that he’s now even more drawn to. It’s always been his favourite thing about you.

A week later, you return to the apartment for movie night. One hand sticks out to knock on the front door, when it flies open to reveal your exasperated looking brother with his work bag slung around his shoulder and keys in his hand. You squint at him.

“You’re bailing tonight?”

“The hospital needs emergency last minute coverage,” Owen grumbles, as he nearly drops his phone while trying to slip past you. “Yoongi’s in the shower! See you later!”

Your hurricane of a brother sprints to the nearest stairwell, not even bothering with the elevator, and you’re left standing with a plastic bag full of takeout and huffing. Typical. Not that you can even blame Owen, but watching his fickleness happen in real-time at least once a week borders on comedic.

Carefully stepping into the apartment, you take off your shoes and head to the kitchen counter to drop the food down.

Then, you hear it. Footsteps. You’re already too close to the hallway, where their bathroom is, to escape and by the time you process everything, Yoongi appears with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and steam curling around him.

He doesn’t notice you at first. “Owen, where the hell is my—oh.” Yoongi has another towel in his hand, drying off his wet hair as he approaches and realizes that you are most definitely not the person you’re looking for.

You’re staring. Hard. He knows it, too.

Water droplets trail down his bare chest and if you step forward, you could trace the scar that runs down the side of his abdomen. Yoongi’s slender, yet broad and strong build that clearly indicates he’s spent time working on himself physically in the past decade, leaves you without words. Your eyes drag further down, unable to hide your gaze on where his smooth skin disappears underneath the towel.

A hot flush billows on your cheeks and you whirl around on your heels, facing the wall.

“Owenjustleft,” you say, scrambling all of your words together into one semi-coherent string and somehow losing your breath when you do so.

You just hear the deep rumble of his laugh and footsteps retreating. When you realize that Yoongi is returning to the bathroom, you let out an exhale that you hope he doesn’t pick up on.

“No worries. Make yourself at home, I’ll be out in a bit.” Yoongi’s tone is so casual and if you think too long about it, you may even think he sounds amused.

He’s seemingly not concerned at all. At least this doesn’t make things awkward and it’s up to you to ensure the situation doesn’t get weird just because you just saw this man half-naked. You rub your face and make your way to the couch, as you always do.

A few minutes later, Yoongi emerges and thankfully, he does so with clothes on. He wears a white tank top and sweatpants, still not doing much to conceal the figure that you were just ogling, but you train your eyes on the television in front of you instead.

“Thanks for bringing food,” he says, even though you always do, and begins plating the takeout in bowls.

“Mhm.”

You preoccupy yourself with scrolling through a streaming service with no actual genre or movie in mind, but letting the action take up your hands. He doesn’t comment on your short answers or the way you refuse to look over, instead calmly padding over to the couch. The dishes clank lightly when set down on the coffee table, but not enough to break your artificial focus.

Soft chatter fills the room, mostly mundane small talk that you force in order to keep your mind off that sinful image of Yoongi in that towel.

His voice trickles in from the kitchen. “How’s the new job going?”

Somewhere in the past few weeks, the space on the couch between you and Yoongi disappeared; a knee brushing against the other no longer felt accidental, he stopped thinking twice before stretching his arm across the back of the couch, and nobody thought anything of fingers brushing together when grabbing popcorn. Tonight, when Yoongi approaches, he’s already tossing you a blanket because he knows that you get cold.

“Take this before you use me as a personal heater,” he says, as the blanket lands on your head.

You scoff. “I fell asleep on you one time!” you shoot back, but it doesn’t wipe the smirk off Yoongi’s face.

“You liked it a little too much.”

That, you don’t deny, even if he’s joking. You don’t care if he notices.

Weight dips into the cushions, as Yoongi makes himself comfortable next to you, close enough where you can smell a hint of soap and minty toothpaste. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you’re still in your work clothes having come from the office. You pull the edge of your pencil skirt down and shift awkwardly against the strain of your button up top. Originally, your plan was to borrow something to wear from your brother and you open your mouth to announce this, when Yoongi’s phone buzzes against the grain of the coffee table.

Owen’s name and picture flashes on the screen, probably now at work.

“What could this goof want now?” Yoongi mutters, as he grabs the device and answers. “Hey. What’s up?”

A beat passes as he listens to whatever your brother has to say, sighing when he does. Yoongi rises to his feet once more and hovers over the window, pulling away at the curtains. That’s when you see it—a violent cascade of snow fall hanging over the city skyline. The intensity is unlike when you pulled up to the building, although you did have to run fast from the small stretch of outdoors between your car and the lobby doors. Sometime since that half an hour ago, the snow has doubled, tripled even.

Meanwhile, Yoongi is still on the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll let her know.”

As he speaks, you’ve flipped the channel over to the weather forecast, which confirms your suspicions: a crazy snow storm. Not only that, but roads are closed.

“You’re kidding,” you exhale, lips pressed together.

Yoongi hangs up the phone and returns to his seat next to you, sighing. “Owen said that he barely survived trying to walk to work,” he muses.

You can only imagine how bad the roads and sidewalks are if your brother struggled to make it to the hospital that’s just a block away. From where you are on the couch, you can only see a blanket of pure ivory out the window and not a single car or pedestrian in sight. This is bad. Not only that, but reality sets in when you realize that you’re stuck here.

“Yeah, he’d probably need a damn sleigh with all of that snow,” you murmur, eyes still fixated on the window and running the possible ways of how you can make it home.

Instead, Yoongi answers for you. “He said you should stay the night here. It’s not safe for you to go outside,” he says, shaking his head with a serious expression knitted in his eyebrows. “And I agree. It’s fucked.”

When he confirms this, your palms go sweaty and you bite the inside of your cheek. Yoongi’s determination doesn’t waver, displeased with the idea of you trying to make it home in these conditions.

“I can wait it out.”

“Like hell you will,” he retorts. “You’ll be waiting until morning. And I’m not letting you go outside with the weather like that.”

Throughout the night, you think you’re imagining lingering eye contact, the quiet kind that rips away once the other person notices. You don’t catch Yoongi staring once, but you can feel it throughout the night; especially with the knowledge that the night won’t end at any point and the tension sifting through the air because of it.

When the movie ends, neither of you rush because you don’t have to. The storm outside is louder than the television at this point, snow tapping against glass and rattling the windows. Both of you had been laughing and bantering about the film, but it dies when the credits roll and reality sinks in.

You’ve been keeping movie nights securely fixed in a box where the routine ends at a goodnight and goodbye for weeks. Yoongi sits there, arm slung over the back of the couch behind your frame. There’s no goodbye tonight, just an awareness that you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and uncertainty about what to do next. When you speak, you don’t realize just how much closer you’ve been sitting together than you originally thought until you turn and accidentally brush against his side. He doesn’t move.

“I guess it’s time to get ready for bed,” you murmur, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

If he’s feeling awkward about the situation, Yoongi doesn’t show it. “Do you want to use the bathroom? I’ll lend you a towel and some clothes.”

“I, uh, are you sure?”

He responds, another small smirk on his lips. “I promise you, your brother is a week behind on laundry and I’d rather you wear clean clothes.”

Yoongi disappears into the hall and returns with a folded t-shirt and a spare toothbrush still neatly sealed in plastic.

You remain on the couch, fiddling with your phone and checking the weather too many times to be considered normal in the short span that Yoongi left the room. The roads are still hopeless and in a way, so are you. You don’t know how to cast aside your growing nerves or why they’re even present. It’s just Yoongi and it’s just a storm.

“Here. There’s spare towels in the cabinet.” Yoongi looms over you, offering the items to you with an unreadable expression. “If there’s anything you need, just tell me, okay?”

Back when you were younger, Yoongi was always one to tease, just a little bit. He still does now, but you recognize a certain maturity and genuine concern that leaves your heart fluttering. This is when you realize that you haven’t stopped thinking about him in that way, the way involving twinkling eyes and a heartbeat a touch too fast.

Your voice is softer than usual. “I appreciate it.”

You once fell for Yoongi because of a fantasy laced in mystery and rebellion. Now, standing in front of you, is an older man with the same quick wit and quiet consideration. A refined version rooted in reality and the years that have gone past. Your eyes flicker to the lines crinkling at the corner of Yoongi’s eyes when he smiles gently and how there’s no longer an anger that lives inside him.

Now, you think you’ve fallen for the real him.

There’s no doubt about the way he makes you feel, not even when you stand under the shower and let hot water sting your skin—as if you’re trying to will yourself out of these thoughts. But, the feeling stick like honey and remain glued to your skin and bones. You’re thinking about every quiet moment over the past month and how being alone with him now sends a rush through your veins.

If there’s anything you need, just tell me.

Yoongi’s t-shirt is too big, pooling down to your thighs. You intentionally don’t ask for pants and you wonder why he didn’t offer any. As you look into your reflection, brushing your teeth, your heart hammers because you want to show just how different you are now, too.

He’s waiting for you in the living room, laptop propped in front of him and you know that he’s likely checking emails or something for the bar. You emerge from the bathroom and Yoongi looks up, zeroing in on the sight of you in his t-shirt. He’s in the middle of typing on the keyboard, but freezes when you come outside.

“You doing okay?” Yoongi speaks with neutrality, but you make out a fine crack in his tone that betrays his attempt at aloofness.

You nod, staring at your outfit and the way the shirt barely hangs low enough to cover your thighs. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”

He clears his throat and shuts the laptop off to make his way over to where you stand in the hallway.

“Checked Owen’s room and it’s clean. Changed the bed sheets and pillowcases, just in case.” Yoongi leads you to the bedroom door, which is slightly ajar enough to reveal a neatly made bed.

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re an absolute saint for that charity work.” Over the last little while of getting to know him all over again, you’ve discovered that he’s become a bit of a neat freak.

“Tell me about it, he should thank me,” Yoongi mutters and you share a laugh.

Then, silence tightens around your surroundings once more.

The two of you just stand there, unsure of what to say or do next. He’s closer than he was on the couch—if you tilt your head up, you would just be a breath away from his face. Yoongi doesn’t move either, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s restraining them in place. You think about how soft those hands had been over yours at the grocery store. You think about his protective gaze that never falters, even in small moments like being snowed in for the night. You think about the flex of his arms when he adjusts his glasses, the droplets of water cascading down his chest earlier, the way he refuses to leave you alone. Not before and certainly not now, as he looks at you without moving an inch. Something buzzes in the small space between the two of you, something warm stirring.

“Well, goodnight—”

“—I, um,” you cut Yoongi off, tongue tied before you even speak. “There’s actually something else that I need.”

He stares back at you, an unknown glint in his eyes. You wish you could read the meaning behind them, as you notice that he still hasn’t moved, feet glued to where they stand barely a foot away from you. Meanwhile, your lungs seek air that refuses to come. For a brief second, your gaze drops to his lips—but, not quick enough to evade his attention.

Yoongi does the same, except when his vision fixates on your lips, he makes sure that you’re aware by taking his time. His eyes cloud in that second, like he’s seeing something for the first time.

Neither of you move away, even now. The lack of oxygen funnelling to your brain leaves you dizzy and you realize that you’ve subconsciously tilted your head up. Yoongi inches closer ever so slightly, until you share the same breath.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice strained.

He doesn’t want to move first or maybe he feels as though he can’t. Shouldn’t. Just lets out a shaky exhale.

So, you do it.

You’re reminded of the way Yoongi stole your first kiss all those years ago—hesitant and soft, but knowing. Back then, it’d been easy when the gesture felt like a favour more than anything.

Somehow, you find yourself in the same spot, as your lips brush against his to test the waters.

A beat passes before Yoongi realizes what’s happening and his arms slide around your waist with a groan, barely, so you take the initiative to heighten things. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. He responds eagerly, tipping your head further back to explore the heat of your mouth.

You kiss him back, hard, and feel the way your entire body throbs as you tug him tighter around you—all for Yoongi to grab you by the hips and push you up against the hallway door. The impact leaves you gasping and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, tugging in between his teeth until you’re moaning his name.

Yoongi’s teeth scrape down your throat, nibbling at sensitive spots along your neck and soothing them with his tongue. The pants that leave your breath are so pretty, the taste of mint still lingering.

Hardness presses against your lower body and against your better judgement, you hook a leg around his waist and experimentally roll against his clothed length, mouth hung open in bliss.

“S-Shit,” he hisses with a clenched jaw, pausing where his mouth trails along your collarbone after noticing that you really didn’t bother to put on anything underneath the t-shirt.

You whimper, as Yoongi’s hardened gaze lands on you and the eye contact leaves your heart lurching upwards, while desire pools in your core. The way he slots a knee in between your legs is intoxicating, the shirt hiking up your lips and revealing how soaked you’ve left your panties. He grits his teeth, pressing his knee against your pussy and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth.

“Please,” you mewl, unable to do anything but cry out for more. The most you can do is grind pathetically on his leg, watching his eyes darken as you do, but the hot friction isn’t enough for you.

For a second, Yoongi lets out a deep breath, as if trying to negotiate with himself. “Tell me what you want,” he manages to rasp out, as one of his hands come up to hold you by the face.

You lean into his touch, wrapping your lips around his thumb and he groans out again, pathetically almost, when you lewdly suck on it.

“I need you.”

Without warning, Yoongi scoops you up with a strength that surprises you both. You arch into him, meeting his mouth against in a hungrier kiss than before. Messier. A string of saliva trails between your lips and down your jaw before you notice that he’s carried you into his room. He unceremoniously drops you on the mattress and you squeal, bouncing lightly on the mattress at such force.

He doesn’t waste any time climbing over you, caging you against the bed by pinning your wrists down. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he roughly admits.

“Yoongi,” you choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist again.

He kisses you fiercely once more, his hands letting go of you to grab the bottom of your t-shirt. You’re fumbling the same exact way and drag the tank top off his body, while immediately undoing the drawstrings to his sweatpants soon after.

“So fucking hot,” he says, tossing the article onto the floor without a second look.

As you discard his clothes, Yoongi is taking his sweet time exploring your body, kisses dragged down your neck until he reaches the valley of your breasts. Your nipples harden under the sudden exposure to the chill air, but you’re warmed up instantly when he attaches his lips to them. He starts by sucking hard on one, his free hand drawing lazy circles on the other.

“Oh—fuck, that feels so good.” You’re whimpering loud, as you continue rolling against his clothed cock. You can feel how rock hard he is, throbbing even with the barrier in between your bodies.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, releasing the sensitive bud with a pop that leaves it puffy and wet from his mouth. “Spread your legs for me.”

Yoongi pushes your hair back out of your face as he makes his demand, tone too sweet for the hungry gaze he holds. You move automatically, laying back and parting your legs.

“Like this?” you whisper with swollen lips, completely red from his work.

He smirks in the way you’ve always loved, leaning in to kiss on your neck and lick a nasty stripe on the shell of your ear as two of his rough fingers yank your panties to the side. His touch slides over your clit and sink into your heat—a filthy squelching noise fills your ears, as you moan from where you’re pinned beneath the strong planes of his body.

Yoong’s voice remains low, in control. “Just like that, let me hear you,” he says and slides in a third finger with ease between your folds, messy and desperate for you get louder.

The cold of his silver chain, dangling from where he hovers above, brushes against your sensitive nipple and you squirm, which results in Yoongi splaying his free forearm across your lower belly and pinning you firmer into place. His fingers stretch your cunt with ease, as he mutters about how wet you are. You can barely hear between the ringing in your ear from pure pleasure and tighten your grip in his hair, drawing another moan out of him.

It doesn’t last long once Yoongi dips his head in between your thighs and you could feel the smirk against your clit.

“You’re soaking my sheets,” he teases roughly, before finally parting the lips of your pussy with his tongue and licking a languid trail up to your desperately puffy bud.

You know it’s not going to last long.

Your back arches off the mattress, dizzy with arousal with each curl of his finger and the way he circles his tongue perfectly around your clit, sending shockwaves throughout your system. “Wanna cum on your face.” Each laboured breath and sigh spurs Yoongi on, lapping and playing with the wetness of your pussy like he’s starving.

Then, he forces you off. Yoongi sits up, chin glistening with your essence and a predatory glint in his eyes.

“What the fuck, I was so close—” You’re whining like a brat and without shame, only for him to suddenly yank your panties off fully.

He drags them down your legs, past your ankles and flings them onto the floor, hissing when he gets the full view of how wrecked you are on top of the soaked mess you’ve made of his bed. Then, Yoongi grabs you by the hips and forcefully flips your positions, which leaves you gasping. You plant your knees on either side of his torso and balance yourself with palms flat against the bed, leaving your tits dangling just shy of Yoongi’s mouth.

He captures one of them with his lips once more and your head tilts back in moans, while he murmurs something against your sensitive nipple.

“Want you to ride my face.”

You mouth hangs open in bliss and he hasn’t even touched your cunt again. Yoongi taps your ass once, twice, and it’s enough for you to get the message to scoot upwards and hover over his face.

A redness spreads across your cheeks. “A-Are you sure?” you sputter, even with the way his thumbs draw soothing circles on your hips, as if to calm you down. “I don’t want you to not be able to breathe—”

“—That’s the point, baby.” Yoongi chuckles, amused by just how riled up you are. “You say that, but your eyes and your pussy say something different.”

As if to prove his point, he trails his finger just outside of your folds—not enough to fully plunge in, but enough to feel the way your walls clench at just the slightest of his touch.

“You’re too cocky,” you gasp out, but don’t refute the obvious. You rut pathetically into his touch, even, and the argument is settled.

“And I’ll show you why,” he shoots back, his hands now gripping your hips and leaving no room for argument, not when the tension in the air is this torturous. “Be a good girl and come here.”

You don't hesitate. You line your cunt up with Yoongi’s face, bracing one hand against the headboard and the other fisting in his hair as you sink down with a broken moan.

He works tirelessly with no teasing, no patients, but just the raw, filthy pressure that has your thighs trembling within seconds. His mouth is focused on only giving you pleasure, sucking and licking loudly like you’re his last meal and letting you hear each carnal sound. You try your best to grind down, hips moving in small circles to chase the feeling of his hot tongue. Yoongi moans just once and the vibration nearly undoes you.

Your begging doesn’t stop and you don’t care about how much noise you’re making. “Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly. “God, Yoongi, just like that—”

Yoongi palms the fat of your ass cheeks as his mouth devours you, smacking the supple skin that echoes throughout the room. When he feels the way you clench harder at the stinging sensation, he takes the liberty of doing once, twice, and three times more until you’re sure the skin is left rouge. You hope his handprint stains your flesh.

He spreads your legs even wider, forcing you to fully sink down and he lifts his head to catch your clit between his teeth—just enough to make you cry his name out once more. Sucking on your clit until the pressure building in your lower half finally snaps, Yoongi is relentless. Your thighs squeeze hard around his head, fucking down on his greedy tongue messily until your wetness mixed with his saliva coat his entire face.

Then, time slows and your vision goes white. All you can tell is that your eyes are screwed shut as the most intense orgasm of your life ripples through your body and you come with a damn near scream, gushing and dripping down your thighs, onto Yoongi’s face, and ruining even the bed sheets. You don’t stop for a while, riding out your high while chanting his name.

“Fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—” you sob, skin prickling and you feel his moans against your cunt again.

When you finally pull off of his face, you’re flushed with embarrassment after not just climaxing so hard, but so fast. You settle next to him on the bed and he sits up, completely coated with your arousal and lips swollen.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Yoongi seems to think the same way about how absolutely destroyed you look—hair completely sticking up in every direction possible, panting heavily, marks left all over your breasts and hips. He shows this by immediately tugging you in once more for a wet, nasty kiss that has you worked up all over again. Teeth clicking, sucking on your tongue and tasting yourself on him, you can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, I almost came from just eating you out,” he murmurs against your lips, satisfaction dripping from every word, and you can’t help but chuckle into the kiss.

You’re nowhere near done, though. “Oh, yeah?” you say, scooting closer even closer until you’re nearly on his lap..

Yoongi’s cock is still painfully hard, the tip red and angry with precum. He grabs your wrist before you can touch, eyes dark with want.

“We can stop here, if you want—”

You interrupt with a scoff, shaking off his grip. “We’re both adults here,” you purr, eyes half-lidded when you’re finally able to wrap your hand around his thickness, rewarded with a hiss from his lips. “And I want you inside of me.”

At your demand and touch, Yoongi groans and his hips jolt into your hand. “Yeah?” he husks, expression darkened with want. “Fine. Be careful what you wish for.”

He can’t protest nor deny you, not when you look at him like this. Hazy-eyed and wrecked from his mouth, you nod without hesitation. Then, Yoongi rolls you both over in one smooth motion, pinning you back onto the mattress with his body, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You dig your fingernails into his back muscles, just enough to leave crescent moon shapes. “Been wanting this for so long.”

“Shit, me too,” he confesses immediately, breath hitching at the way you’re spread out so prettily for him. Yoongi has no shame, not after spending weeks pretending like you don’t affect him. “How do you want me, baby?”

You arch against him, fingers digging even more into his skin. “Just—fuck—just please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”

“I won’t be gentle—”

“—Then, don’t,” you heatedly mewl, eyes trained on the way he pumps his cock with his fist.

Yoongi groans at your words. He momentarily pushes off the bed to lean towards his bedside table, but your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he gets any further. Turning to you with a questioning look, you shake your head at him.

“We don’t need one if you want.” Your whispers stuns Yoongi and he freezes in place with slightly widened eyes. “I’m clean and I have an IUD.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Yoongi climbs over you once again, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his shoulder. You bite down on your lip at the first feeling of his cock head, hard and heavy, smearing the mess dripping from your folds all over your pussy. He teases his tip along your slit and uses your arousal to coat his thick length. You’re unable to stop from trying to grind down, seeking for more and squirming desperately.

He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying to take it slow at first. “So fuckin’ needy,” Yoongi rasps out.

“Fuck me, please, I’ve been waiting for so long.” Your reply is breathless and insatiable, despite having just came not even a few minutes before.

Yoongi starts off by sinking into your pussy inch by torturous inch, trying to not overwhelm you. When he bottoms out, he pulls out entirely before finally burying himself to the hilt once more with a single thrust, the angle of his cock stilling inside of you, deep and messy.

“So tight and wet,” he grunts. “This pussy is fucking taking me so well.”

You gasp out at the sheer pleasure that crashes over you, especially when his thumb finds your clit once more. He draws lazy circles that match the steady rhythm of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls, capturing your cry with a bruising kiss. He licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans.

“God, you’re filling me up so nicely—so, so, so good—” You’re lightheaded with each word against his mouth, drowning in the feeling of his cock as if you’re drunk.

Yoongi’s pace turns brutal, the lewd noises of his balls slapping against your ass and your skin rippling under his thrusts encouraging him to fuck into you even harder. Each snap of his hips drives you deeper into the mattress and the headboard against the wall rattles violently with your shared movements.

“You’re incredible,” he groans as your pussy flutters tighter around his cock and you roll your hips to try and match his pace, trying to anchor himself by gripping your thighs.

You don’t bother to cover your mouth when Yoongi adjusts the angle by grabbing your other leg and slinging it over his shoulder, leaning forwards and folding you in half. You curse loudly, blood roaring in your ears and Yoongi growls when you grab your ankles to pull them back even further, until they dangle next to your ears.

Tilting your hips, his cock drives in so deep that he find the spot that makes you gush again, wringing filthy sounds from you. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he groans.

Yoongi doesn’t stop either, slamming into your g-spot, completely entranced with the way you soak the sheets. He pushes himself up slightly, hands still around your ankles, just to watch you erupt.

“M-More, I’m close again.” You mewl at how he’s absolutely manhandling you with no mercy, tits bouncing against his strong chest with each deep thrust. “Right there, Yoongi, just fuck me harder—”

He groans as your pleas vibrate against his neck, where your face has buried into the crook. His own control frays at the edges and obliges immediately, snapping his hips harder, faster—chasing your breath that comes in sharp, fractured gasps against his skin.

“Fuck, baby, feels so good.” Yoongi’s voice cracks when you clench around him, back arching off the bed as you finally shatter.

Your expression is shameless, mouth hung open in bliss and panting pathetically, as Yoongi’s name dribbles off your lips. To your sides, your hands shoot out to clutch the bed sheets, fist twisting at the covers as your climax jerks your body. Yoongi’s focus is carnal, as his own orgasm approaches and the sight of you coming undone sends him over the edge.

The noises you’re making are more than just filthy, but sweet and intoxicating to his ears.

“Please cum inside of me, please, I want you,” you gasp out, his cock twitching inside of your pulsating pussy.

It’s not long before Yoongi comes with a shout and gritted teeth, spilling hot into your greedy hole and thrusts deep with each spurt. He shudders hard, milking his cock inside clean of every last drop and you wrap your legs around his waist as he does.

Rolling you onto your sides, Yoongi continues with shallow thrusts into your ruined cunt, one arm hooked underneath your thigh and you bring him in for a dirty, messy kiss. Your tongues swirl against one another as he finally stills inside of you, pulling away as you’re both half-lidded and delirious.

When he slides his cock out, you whimper at the empty feeling. Yoongi curses under his breath when he sits up, parting your thighs to watch his spend drip out of your puffy slit. He traces a finger along your folds and up to your clit, which results in a shudder of overstimulation from you.

Yoongi just chuckles, looking up at you. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle and contrasting greatly from his demanding tone earlier. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

He rises to his feet and disappears to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel. Sauntering back to the bed, he hovers over you and runs the damp fabric all over your thighs and in between, making sure to clean up everything he’s left. You’re still trying to catch your breath the entire time, the situation crashing down on you, and recovering from the pleasure that still shoots through your muscles at the sight of Yoongi in between your legs.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, chest rising at a more controlled pace at this point.

Yoongi isn’t finished. He’s always been quite attentive these past few weeks, so it shouldn’t take you off guard, but the way he moves and looks after you is so thoughtful. He brings you a glass of water, clean clothes, and even ties your hair up for you.

You gingerly get to your feet and practically waddle to the door when he informs you that he started a shower.

He notices this and snorts. “Having trouble walking?” Yoongi dryly comments, grinning when you flip him off. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

Whatever tension you anticipated has surely failed to appear. Instead, things feel…natural. Yoongi’s eyes twinkle with a question, as if to say is this alright? You just nod, a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. He does the same.

Your chest warms at the promise. You didn’t ask, but knowing Yoongi will join you in the shower causes butterflies that you can no longer deny.

Standing under the hot spray and steam rising from your surroundings, your muscles loosen and you sigh aloud at the calming sensation. A few minutes later, the shower door slides open and you don’t have to look behind you, not when strong arms wrap around your waist.

"I don’t do hookups.”

The sudden statement roots you to the tiled floor, a realization chord striking you. A slew of thoughts set off in your head, but only ones fades clearly and it’s that you just want to lean into him even more, needing more of his body heat. So, instead of answering, you do just that. You tilt your head into his neck, inhaling deeply and you feel his lips brush against your temple. His arms tighten around you even more.

“You know I’ve had a crush on you for, like, fifteen years, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not blind. By the way, you’re a much better kisser now.”

Yoongi yelps when you dig your elbow into his ribs, but it doesn’t wipe the wide grin on his face. Laughing, you spin around, facing him, and he doesn’t let go of your hips. The grip steadies you, as you brush away wet pieces of hair nearing his vision.

“Was it obvious even now?” you murmur, hoping your voice is anchored in spite of your embarrassment. The heat on your cheeks isn’t unwelcome with the stinging shower raining down from above, engulfing both of your bodies in a comfortable warmth.

He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t sure, probably too worried about me being too obvious,” Yoongi confesses, coolly and casually, like he’s talking about the weather.

Except, you catch the way his eyes flicker briefly away from yours, the way he always does when he’s nervous. It’s easy to miss, but it doesn’t escape your attention and your breath hitches because this means he’s being serious.

So, you bite.

“I like you a lot,” you admit back, holding eye contact in a way that you’ve spent years trying to work up the courage to.

Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t falter, almost encouraging you when he digs his fingers into your hips again.

You continue. “I liked you back then, too, but I think that was more of me falling for this..I don’t know, fantasy of you. The brooding bad boy that every girl wanted, and like every time you smiled at me, it was just a secret between us,” you say, shyly smiling. “But, I like you even more now. You’ve changed, but in a good way. Your patience, your passion, and how you see the best in people.”

“Funny you say that because I’ve always thought the same about you,” Yoongi responds, thumb brushing over your soft lips. “You have this huge heart and you’re incredibly smart. Gorgeous, too, it’s unfair. I thought that even back then.”

“Liar.”

“And by the way, it’s not because we’re older now and you’ve suddenly turned into this beautiful woman, but I want to be with you for who you are. Who you’ve always been.” Yoongi’s voice doesn’t waver one bit and you hold your breath when he admits this.

"I—” you start, heart skipping like rocks on water. “Me too. You just felt so…out of reach.”

“You've always been a little untouchable to me,” he chuckles. “Still, it’s hard to stay away from you when you bring out the best in me. Always have and fuck, I hope you keep doing that.”

Before you can reply, Yoongi leans into and this time, the kiss is unlike before. Slow, deliberate, and as if he’s wanting to taste all of you. You melt into his arms, just moving in tandem as if you’ve done this a million times before. Like Yoongi, you also hope that you can keep doing this.

It’s a sweet kiss until you bite softly down on his lip and he groans, pulling away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding your jaw in place.

“Don’t start because it’s going to be a long night if you do,” Yoongi warns, genuinely pained and screwing his eyes close to shut down any desires, at least not right after how intense the two of you were not too long ago.

You do laugh at this, amused by how easily Yoongi is set off. “Right,” you say.

He clears his throat after a moment, opening one eye reluctantly. “Well.”

“Well.”

“Now, what?”

Shaking your head, you peck his lips once more. “Owen’s going to kill us.” The thought of having to explain this to your brother feels like an impending headache, especially since you’re under his roof. You know he’s not going to disapprove when it’s his best friend, but the nerves of it all are pushed away when Yoongi presses a kiss in between your eyes.

He sighs against your skin. “How about we don’t talk about your brother while you’re naked in my shower?”

A sense of relief settles into your skin as Yoongi peppers another kiss on your lips, between your shared laughter bouncing off the shower tiles.

You’d imagined this scenario a hundred times since you were fourteen, but nothing could prepare you for the quiet when you expected fireworks. Instead of a flurry of emotions or the nerves of wondering, waiting, and daydreaming that she used to feel about the man in front of her, it’s even better. He wears a fresh pair of eyes and a quiet certainty that he’s missed his entire life. A peace that he’s sought out for years. Yoongi is no longer a memory or a fantasy, but the first person you turn to when you need help, the first person you want to celebrate with, and the only person you want to share your heart with.

Every weekday at precisely 8:10, the elevator from the executive floors opened, and he walked into the café looking as though he had personally been inconvenienced by the existence of everyone around him. He never smiled. Never greeted anyone. If his drink took longer than three minutes, no matter how busy it was, he’d glance at his watch with exaggerated annoyance.

His employees upstairs practically worshipped him. You couldn’t understand why. Maybe he was a genius when it came to software and investments, but none of that excused treating people like they existed solely to make his life easier.

“Medium americano.”, he stated without looking away from his phone. You didn’t even have to look up to know it was him. “You know.”, you said as you reached for a cup, “most people start with ‘good morning.’”

“It would still be morning whether I said it or not.”, he responded, “And you’d still have to make the coffee.” You let out a huff of annoyance and stepped away to finish the drink. You could feel his eyes on you while the espresso machine hissed beside you. “Y/N you seem particularly agitated today.”, he said. You slid his cup across the counter a little harder than necessary, “You seem particularly arrogant today.”

“You’re confusing confidence with arrogance.”, he corrected you. He picked up his drink, thanked no one, and disappeared back toward the elevators. You waited until the doors closed before sighing loudly, “I swear he gets ruder every single day.”

By the following Monday, you had mostly forgotten about him. The café was unusually quiet when you clocked in. Your manager Jin stood behind the register with an expression that immediately made you suspicious. Whenever Jin smiled like that someone’s day was about to get significantly worse. “What?”, you asked. His smile grew, “We’ve got a new employee.” You blinked, “I didn’t know we were hiring?” Jin shrugged his shoulders, “It’s a…temporary thing.”

You narrowed your eyes and you set your bag beneath the counter and tied your apron around your waist. You already knew you were going to be training them. You’d been there the longest. Every new hire eventually became your responsibility even though you insisted you had neither the patience nor the personality for it.

Jin always ignored that argument, “They’ll be here any minute.” You sighed, “Please tell me they have at least some café experience.” Jin chuckled, “Not exactly.” Before you could ask what that meant, the elevator doors opened. Your heart nearly stopped. Min Yoongi stepped out. Except something was different.

There was no expensive suit jacket draped over his arm. No tablet. No frantic assistant following behind him. Instead, he wore dark jeans, a simple black T-shirt beneath an apron Jin had clearly forced him into, and an expression that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else on Earth.

You stared. He stared back. Neither of you spoke. Finally, you looked at Jin, “Is this a joke?” Jimin snorted into a laugh. Jin shook his head, “The board of directors and his grandfather have decided that Mr. Min needs to spend six weeks working every position in the company he oversees. And since he technically owns this cafe…” Your eyes slowly drifted back toward Yoongi. Silence settled between you. He looked just as unhappy as you felt.

You led Yoongi behind the counter before the morning rush had a chance to begin. The café was quiet enough that you could explain things without having customers waiting impatiently in line and for that you were grateful. Training anyone took patience. Training Min Yoongi was going to take a miracle.

He stood beside you with his arms folded, studying the touchscreen register as though he were evaluating a prototype his company had developed. His expression barely changed, but you recognized that look. You’d seen it whenever he came downstairs for coffee. Everything was beneath him until proven otherwise. “This is the POS system.”, you explained, tapping a few buttons to bring up the menu, “Here are the specialty coffees, standard coffees, syrup options are over here and bakery is on this side. You’ll spend your first few shifts learning this before we even think about letting you touch the coffee machine.”

His eyes scanned the screen for all of five seconds, “That’s all?” You looked over at him, “That’s all?” He rolled his eyes, “It’s software.” You waited. He didn’t elaborate. Finally he scoffed, as though the answer should have been obvious, “I own a multi-million-dollar tech company. I think I can figure out a coffee shop POS system.”

There it was. That familiar confidence that always sounded just a little too much like arrogance. You couldn’t help but smile and for the first time, he looked slightly suspicious. Before he could ask what you meant, the bell over the front door chimed. Your head turned automatically. Then you saw who had walked in. A laugh nearly escaped you.

Every café had that one customer that tested everyone’s patience. The one whose drink ticket printed long enough to wrap around the cup twice. The one who ordered so often that the regular baristas knew the recipe would be difficult, but nobody else knew what to expect. Yours was Ms.Kim. She walked through the door in oversized sunglasses and designer heels, phone pressed to one ear while she waved absently toward the counter. She visited nearly every weekday, always at the same time, always with a drink that somehow became more complicated than the last.

You quietly stepped away from the register, “Your first customer is here.” Ms.Kim reached the counter and smiled pleasantly at Yoongi. “Oh.”, she said, “You’re new…and so handsome.” Even from a safe distance you could see the blush creep up his neck. Yoongi offered the practiced smile of a businessman who had spent years negotiating contracts and charming investors, “Good morning. What can I get started for you?”

“I’ll have a venti half-caf oat milk latte.”, she began. His fingers hovered confidently over the touchscreen. Then she continued, “…with three shots, extra hot, but not scalding. Two pumps of vanilla, one pump of sugar-free vanilla, three pumps of caramel, half a pump of hazelnut but be careful because last time they put 3/4 of a pump, cinnamon steamed into the milk, light foam, caramel drizzle around the cup and on top, whipped cream only around the edges, and two packets of raw sugar.”

His fingers stopped moving. The confidence disappeared so quickly you almost laughed. He stared at the register. Then at Ms. Kim. Then back at the register again. His expression remained impressively neutral, but after two years of arguing with him, you’d become surprisingly good at reading the tiny changes in his face.

The slight narrowing of his eyes.

The nearly invisible tightening of his jaw.

The fraction of a second where he simply…froze.

He had absolutely no idea where any of those buttons were. You bit the inside of your cheek. He’d walked into this convinced running a café would be easy because it involved a computer screen. Now that computer screen looked like it was in a completely different language.

You didn’t rescue him. Instead, you watched him try. His hand drifted uncertainly across the display as he searched for syrup options. A soft warning beep sounded. Wrong button. He frowned and tried again. Another beep. This time he’d accidentally selected iced instead of hot. He corrected it, only to lose the extra espresso shots he’d already entered. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to solve the problem himself.

The longer it took the less confident he looked. His shoulders, which had been perfectly straight moments ago, began to tense. His brows pulled together in concentration and every now and then he glanced at the screen with the same expression people wore while assembling furniture without reading the instructions.

It was strangely…endearing. You hated using that word to describe him. He wasn’t endearing. He was simply discovering that the job he’d dismissed in less than a minute required far more attention than he’d expected. Eventually, after nearly a full minute of determined silence, he let out a quiet breath. Without looking at you, he asked, “How do you find the syrups?” You blinked. That might have been the closest thing to asking for help you’d ever heard from him.

You stepped beside him, pointing toward one of the submenu tabs, “They’re hidden under modifiers. Most new people miss it.” His eyes followed your finger. Together, you worked through the rest of the order, adding each customization one by one. When the receipt finally printed, it dangled almost to the countertop. Yoongi stared at the impossibly long sticker before looking toward the espresso station where Jimin had already begun making the drink.“That’s…one coffee?”, he asked and you nodded. He watched Jimin pump syrup after syrup into the cup with the practiced speed that only came from repetition. For the first time since putting on that apron, Yoongi wasn’t looking at the café as though it were beneath him. He was watching it with genuine curiosity.

You caught the thoughtful expression before he noticed you looking and you quickly busied yourself wiping down the counter. Maybe six weeks wouldn’t be enough to change someone. But after only twenty minutes behind the register, Yoongi had already learned his first lesson. Nothing about this job was as simple as it looked.

Quickly you came to one very specific conclusion. Min Yoongi was an excellent student but he was also unbelievably irritating. He picked things up far faster than any trainee you’d ever worked with. After watching you ring in drinks a handful of times, he’d memorized the entire register. By Wednesday he was taking most orders without your help. By Thursday he had learned enough about the machines to make basic drinks under your supervision.

You should have been impressed. Instead, it only gave him more opportunities to argue with you. He questioned everything.

Why did customers insist on ordering drinks that tasted like melted candy?

Why did everyone refuse to read the menu before reaching the register?

Why did the drive for “customer satisfaction” mean apologizing when someone else’s mistake held up the line?

He challenged nearly every answer you gave him and you challenged nearly every assumption he made. Somewhere between correcting his milk steaming technique and explaining why baristas wrote encouraging notes on regulars’ cups, your conversations had settled into a constant rhythm of bickering.

Friday however, was different. You’d known from the moment your alarm went off that the day wasn’t going to be kind. Your head felt heavy. Your body ached with the kind of exhaustion sleep couldn’t fix and the dull headache sitting behind your eyes hadn’t gone away no matter how many painkillers you took or how much coffee you’d sipped before work.

To make matters worse, you’d spent nearly three hours at the emergency veterinarian the night before after your cat, Sushi, had suddenly started limping. Thankfully, the little troublemaker was going to be fine, but the bill had swallowed nearly everything you’d managed to put into your savings over the past several months. Every time you thought about the number printed at the bottom of that receipt, your stomach twisted. You’d pay it again in a heartbeat but it still hurt.

By the time you tied your apron that morning, you already felt wrung out. Even Jimin noticed. “You okay?”, he asked quietly while restocking the napkin dispenser. You forced a smile, “Yeah just tired.” He looked like he wanted to ask more, but the morning rush had already begun. For once, even Yoongi didn’t have much to criticize. He worked beside you in relative silence until the line finally thinned enough for everyone to catch their breath. He glanced toward the stack of cups you’d accidentally knocked over for the second time that morning.

“You’re unusually clumsy today Y/N.”, he said without much actual bite to it. Normally, you would’ve had an answer ready. Something sarcastic. Something that would make him roll his eyes. Instead, you simply bent down, gathered the cups, and kept working, “Sorry.” The word slipped out automatically. Yoongi frowned. You never apologized to him. He watched you for another moment before returning to the register, though you could feel his eyes lingering every so often throughout the next several minutes. He didn’t say anything else.

The café grew busy again just before lunch. Most customers were patient despite the line stretching toward the door. Drinks were flying out as quickly as Yoongi and Jimin could make them and for a little while you managed to lose yourself in the familiar rhythm of taking orders.

Then a man in an expensive business suit stepped up to your register. You greeted him with the same polite smile you gave everyone, “What can I get started for you today?” He rattled off his order without looking up from his phone. You entered it carefully before repeating it back to make sure you’d heard correctly. His head snapped up, “That’s not what I said.” You took a breath, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought…” But he cut you off, “I said whole milk.” As you typed away on the screen you corrected him, “You actually said oat milk, but I can absolutely change…” The man laughed at you, “I know what I said.” The customers waiting behind him shifted uncomfortably. You kept your voice calm, “No problem sir. I’ll fix it.” He sighed dramatically as if you’d just ruined his entire morning. “This is why nobody gets decent service anymore.”, he grumbled. You swallowed, “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.”

“No wonder you’re working a shitty cafe job. You’ll never be anything more than a struggling minimum wage barista.”

The words landed harder than they should have. Maybe because you were already exhausted. Maybe because you were worrying about rent. Maybe because you’d spent half the night sitting on the floor beside Sushi’s bed, terrified something was seriously wrong. Whatever the reason, you suddenly felt your throat tighten. You blinked quickly, willing your eyes not to sting.

“I’m fixing it.”, you said softly, “They haven’t even made the drink yet so it’s not problem.” The man shook his head, “Unbelievable. If you were my employee you’d be fired already.” Something inside you cracked. You realized that if you stayed behind that register for one more second you were going to cry in front of a lobby full of people.

“I…excuse me.”, you said and you stepped away before anyone could stop you and hurried through the swinging door into the back room. The moment it closed behind you, you leaned against the wall and covered your face with your hands. The tears came in full force then. You hated crying at work. You hated that one rude customer had managed to undo every bit of composure you’d been clinging to all morning.

A few moments later the back door creaked open. You expected Jin to scold you for walking away mid order or Yoongi to say something to annoy you. Instead, Jimin poked his head inside. His eyes were wide, “Y/N…you okay?” You laughed weakly as you wiped beneath your eyes, “Yeah I will be.” He stepped fully into the room still looking mildly stunned, “You missed…something…interesting.” He scratched the back of his neck, “The guy who made you cry started complaining again after you left. And Yoongi…” Jimin let out a short, disbelieving laugh, “…Yoongi absolutely tore into him.” You looked up, “What?!” Jimin leaned against the shelves, replaying it in his head, “He walked right up to the register and asked the guy if humiliating someone who’d been nothing but polite and hard working made him feel important.” Your eyebrows lifted, “He actually said that?”Jimin nodded, “The customer tried pulling the whole ‘Do you know who I am?’ routine.” A smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth. You couldn’t help the tiny laugh that escaped you. Jimin continued, “Yoongi looked him dead in the eye and said, “I don’t particularly care who you are. I care how you treat my co-workers.’” Your smile softened. My co-worker.

Jimin added, “He told the man that if he couldn’t speak respectfully to the staff, he was welcome to buy his coffee somewhere else.” Your eyes widened, “He…kicked him out?” Jimin nodded, “He absolutely did. Then the guy demanded to speak to the owner.” Your curiosity got the better of you, “What did Yoongi do?” Jimin grinned, “Yoongi looked in right in the eye and said…you already are.’” Jimin smiled softly, “Everyone in line clapped while the guy did the walk of shame out the door. I don’t think that customer will be coming back.” The room fell quiet again.

You stared down at your hands, still trying to picture it. Min Yoongi, the same man who rarely smiled, who lived to correct everyone around him, who had spent the better part of a week arguing with you over the smallest things….had defended you without hesitation. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, that unsettled you far more than another argument ever could.

The days slipped by almost without you noticing. Yoongi learned the names of customers before they introduced themselves. He remembered that Mrs. Park always wanted her blueberry muffin warmed for exactly fifteen seconds because twenty made it too soft. He knew Mr. Lee liked one ice cube dropped into his coffee so he could drink it immediately on his walk to work. He even started setting aside the last chocolate chip cookie every Thursday morning for the little boy who came in with his grandmother after preschool. He’d never admit he’d memorized any of it but you noticed.

You noticed a lot of things. Like how he silently restocked cups whenever he saw they were running low without having to be told. How he automatically grabbed another gallon of milk whenever Jimin reached for the last one. How he’d begun wiping down tables between customers without anyone asking. The work no longer seemed beneath him. It was simply work. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped acting like a CEO pretending to be a barista. Now he was just another member of the team.

It caught you off guard how naturally he’d settled into it. Even Jin seemed impressed. “I wasn’t sure he’d last two days.”, he admitted one afternoon while counting the register. “I only gave him two hours.”, you replied. Across the café, Yoongi looked up from changing the trash, “I heard that.” Jimin sighed loudly from the sink, “You two argue like an old married couple.” The café fell silent. You froze with a towel still in your hand. Yoongi nearly dropped the tray he’d been carrying. Jimin looked between the two of you before slowly smiling, “…Interesting.”

“There is nothing interesting about that sentence.”, you said a little too quickly. “Not at all.”, Yoongi agreed at almost the exact same moment. Jimin’s grin only widened.

Thursday afternoon brought one of the slowest shifts you’d worked in weeks. Rain slammed harshly against the café windows while only a handful of customers occupied the tables. You were wiping down the pastry case when the front doors opened. A man around your age stepped inside, shaking rainwater from his jacket before walking toward the counter with an easy smile. He was handsome in an effortless sort of way, wearing a university sweatshirt and carrying a laptop bag over one shoulder.

When he reached the register, he smiled at you, “I’ll take a vanilla latte with oat milk.” You rang it in with your usual polite smile, “Anything to eat today?” He glanced toward the display before looking back at you, “No…but I was wondering something…I’ve been coming here for a couple weeks.” You nodded, recognizing him immediately. You knew his name was Hobi thanks to having to write his name on the cup. He usually came in during the afternoon lull probably once his classes were down for the day. He continued, “…I was hoping I could finally ask if you wanted to go out to dinner with me.” Before you could answer, you heard the unmistakable hiss of steam stop behind you.

“Umm ye…”, you started but were cut off by Yoongi, “You forgot to charge for oat milk.” The interruption came from directly beside you. Yoongi stood there pointing at the POS. You looked down and quickly fixed it before handing the total to the customer.

When you looked back up, Hobi smiled again, “So…dinner or maybe lunch?” Before you could answer this time, Yoongi slid the finished latte onto the counter, “Vanilla latte..with oat milk.” Then instead of walking away he stood next to you, arms crossed, with an unimpressed look on his face. Hobi looked between the two of you before taking his cup, “Thanks.” He hesitated for a moment as though debating whether to ask again. Then he simply smiled politely and walked toward the door. The bell chimed softly as he disappeared into the rain.

You stared after him for a second before turning toward Yoongi, “That was…unusually fast.” He picked up a towel and began wiping the counter with far more concentration than necessary and ignoring your statement. You narrowed your eyes, “You’re impossible.” He walked away before anything else could be said. Across the café, Jimin had witnessed the entire exchange. He waited until Yoongi disappeared into the stockroom before wandering over beside you.

A slow grin spread across his face. You frowned. Jimin leaned closer, “I don’t think he liked that guy very much. The interruptions almost seemed…intentional.” You looked toward the stockroom door before laughing. Jimin’s grin only grew. You shook your head, dismissing the idea entirely. Yoongi didn’t get jealous especially not with you. He barely tolerated most people on a good day. Still…As you glanced toward the back room, the thought of it…for some reason made you smile.

By the fourth week of Yoongi’s training, you’d settled into a routine that felt surprisingly normal. It was strange to think there had once been a time when the two of you couldn’t stand sharing the same space. Now, even on the busiest mornings, you rarely had to think about who was doing what. Orders flowed naturally. One of you took customers while the other worked to make the drinks and somewhere along the way you’d developed an unspoken rhythm that made the café run smoother than it ever had before.

Which was precisely why Thursday evening felt like a disaster before you’d even unlocked the front doors.

Min Technologies was hosting its annual product showcase upstairs which was a flashy event that drew investors, journalists, business partners, and enough executives to fill nearly every floor of the building. The lobby had been transformed with banners and digital displays, and catering staff hurried through the elevators carrying trays of food while security guards directed guests toward the conference center.

Normally, the café was closed by 6:00pm but on this day it always stayed open until at least 11:00 to accommodate all of the extra guests.

Tonight, however, everything that could go wrong already had. Jimin had called Jin that morning with a fever high enough that he had been admitted to the hospital. The other barista was visiting family out of state and the only other one had decided to quit the night before and had blocked everyone’s phone number. And of course Yoongi was busy tending to the event. Jin had spent half the afternoon calling anyone who had ever worked a shift behind the counter. No one was available. Which left only you.

Jin looked genuinely apologetic as he hung up his apron, “Y/N I can stay for another hour.” You shook your head, “You’ve already been here since four this morning. You have two kids waiting at home and tonight is your son’s big baseball game. You need to go.” He hesitated, “I hate this.” He looked toward the growing crowd gathering outside the elevators, “I’ll keep trying to find someone. If I can’t get anyone I’ll come back as soon as the game is over.” You smiled, even though neither of you believed anyone was suddenly going to become available.

For the first twenty minutes, things weren’t too bad. Busy but manageable. The line stretched toward the door, but you managed to stay ahead of it. Orders came in steadily enough that you could ring someone up while finishing drinks with your free hand.

Then the event upstairs ended its last big presentation. The elevators opened and suddenly it felt as though the entire building decided they wanted a late night coffee at exactly the same moment. People poured into the lobby in waves. Conversations echoed off the high ceilings. The line reached out the front doors within minutes. Mobile orders began printing so quickly that the receipt machine barely paused between tickets.

You stared at the growing pile. There wasn’t even time to panic. You simply moved. Take an order. Steam milk. Ring another customer. Blend a frappé. Heat a sandwich. Package a cinnamon bun. Call a name. Apologize for the wait. Take a deep breath. Start it all over again.

You barely looked up from the register. The café filled with overlapping voices until you could barely hear yourself think. A carton of oat milk ran empty. You sprinted to the refrigerator. Someone asked for the ingredient list for the ham and cheese croissant. Another customer wanted six drinks split across three separate receipts.The mobile order printer shrieked again indicating it was out of paper for the third time.

You glanced toward the steadily growing row of cups waiting to be made and felt your stomach sink. There was simply no way. No matter how fast you moved, you were falling further behind. A customer checked her watch with obvious irritation. Another sighed loudly enough for half the café to hear. You took a slow breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. One drink at a time. That was all you could do.

Then you heard measured footsteps crossing the lobby. They stopped on the opposite side of the counter. You glanced up, expecting another impatient customer. Instead you saw Yoongi. He was still dressed for the event upstairs. A perfectly tailored charcoal suit. White dress shirt. Dark tie. Rolex on his wrist. His conference badge still hung around his neck, and his hair had been styled far more carefully than usual. He looked completely out of place standing in the middle of your chaotic little café.

For a brief second, relief flickered through you. Then you remembered who you were looking at. Your shoulders sagged. You were already exhausted. You really weren’t in the mood for one of his sarcastic comments about your inability to keep up. He looked around the café without speaking. His eyes moved from the line stretching out the door to the mountain of unmade drink stickers to the overflowing sink and then to the like of spilled sugar all over the floor and…to you.

You knew exactly what he was seeing. Your hair had long since escaped its ponytail. There was a collection of syrup on your apron. Your cheeks were flushed, and you were fairly certain you had sweated through your shirt. You looked like a disaster. You braced yourself. “I know.”, you said before he could speak, “I’m behind.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he loosened his tie. You frowned. Then he slipped off his suit jacket and carefully folded it over the back of one of the office chairs. Your confusion deepened. Without a word, he walked over and reached for the hook beside the sink and pulled down one of the spare aprons.

For a second, you simply stared as he tied it around his waist with practiced movements. “Y/N you can’t do this alone.”, he said. He rolled up the sleeves of his expensive dress shirt until they rested just below his elbows, “What do you need first?” You blinked, “What?” He pointed, “The register or drinks?” For a moment, your brain completely refused to process what was happening. Before you could respond, he stepped past you and picked up the stack of waiting drink stickers. His eyes scanned them once, “Two caramel macchiatos, an iced chai, three peach strawberry ice teas…”

He reached for a pitcher as naturally as if he’d never left, “I’ll catch up on drinks.” You stood frozen for another heartbeat. Then he looked over his shoulder, “Well?…Orders aren’t going to ring up themselves.” You snapped back to reality. The two of you fell into motion almost instantly. You returned to the register while Yoongi threw drinks together like nothing. Within minutes, the pace of the café changed. Not because the crowd had gotten any smaller but because you weren’t facing it alone anymore.

Yoongi hadn’t come downstairs because he was required to. He’d come because he’d seen you struggling and without saying a single unnecessary word he’d simply decided you shouldn’t have to do it alone.

The last customer wandered out of the café a little after eleven. The lobby that had been deafening only an hour earlier had fallen strangely quiet. Event staff wheeled empty display stands toward the freight elevator while the cleaning crew began making their rounds through the building. Somewhere upstairs, the last of the executives were saying their goodbyes.

The café, however, looked as though a tornado had swept through it. Utensils filled the sink. Used towels were piled on one counter. The pastry case sat nearly empty, except for a lonely blueberry muffin and two oatmeal cookies no one had wanted. You let out a tired sigh. The rush was over. Now came the part nobody ever thought about until the end.

Cleaning.

You filled the sink with hot water before dropping another stack of dishes into the suds. Every muscle in your body protested. Your shoulders ached. Your feet throbbed. Even lifting the sanitizer bucket felt heavier than it should have. You mentally calculated how long it would take.Two hours at a minimum. Maybe three or even four.

You’d barely finished scrubbing the first dish when you heard Yoongi’s voice drift in from the front of the café, “Y/N.” You kept washing, “What?” There was a pause, “…Don’t ‘what’ me. Just come here.’”You shook your head, smiling to yourself despite your exhaustion. Another few seconds passed. You turned just in time to see him appear in the doorway to the back room, sleeves still rolled to his forearms, apron dusted with coco and espresso grounds.

He looked at the sink overflowing with dishes before meeting your eyes, “They’ll still be dirty in fifteen minutes. They’re not going anywhere.” You nodded, “Exactly. I need to get them done.”Instead of answering, he reached over, took the sponge out of your hand, and set it on the edge of the sink, “Just…come here. I promise it’s worth it.”

There was something different in his voice. Curiosity got the better of you. You followed him out to the dining area expecting him to point out something you’d forgotten to clean. Instead, you stopped short. A paper bag sat in the middle of one of the café tables. Beside it were two bottles of water and several plastic containers. Your stomach chose that exact moment to betray you with a loud growl.

Yoongi looked down at the containers with a smirk, “I ordered us some dinner.” He slid one of the containers toward you, “The sushi place down the street was still open.” You stared at it for a long moment. Silence settled between you. Finally he pulled out one of the chairs, “Sit.” It wasn’t really an order but more like an invitation disguised as one. Your body decided before your pride did. You sank into the chair with a relieved groan, “I was more tired than I realized.”

He sat across from you and opened one of the containers. For a few minutes, neither of you said much. The only sounds were plastic lids snapping open and the faint hum of refrigerators in the background. It felt odd. You’d never imagined yourself eating dinner with Min Yoongi after work. Especially not while both of you still wore coffee-soaked aprons.

He picked up a piece of salmon nigiri, “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got a little of everything.” You smiled faintly, “Sushi is a safe choice.” You reached for a California roll, “I actually have a cat named Sushi.” His chopsticks froze halfway to his mouth, “…Your cat is named Sushi.”

You laughed, “Mhm.” He stared at you then he laughed, “That’s adorable.” You laughed along with him, “Yeah I found him behind a sushi restaurant. He was so tiny.” His expression softened and you continued, “The owner of the restaurant had been feeding him scraps for a few days, but they couldn’t keep him. I was only supposed to foster him. Then he slept on my chest the first night.” Yoongi smiled, “I suppose that was the end of fostering.” You laughed and nodded, “Pretty much.”

You found yourself telling him everything.How Sushi insisted on drinking from the bathroom faucet instead of his water bowl. How he’d once stolen an entire slice of turkey off your sandwich. How he greeted you at the door every evening with a tiny squeaky meow because he’d never learned how to meow properly. Yoongi listened. He asked questions. He laughed at all the right moments. He even admitted he’d never owned a pet because he’d spent most of his adult life working but if he ever did get one he’d get a black cat and name him Sugar.

The conversation drifted naturally after that. Cats stories became childhood stories. Childhood stories became favorite foods. Favorite foods somehow turned into travel, music, and books. The hours slipped by unnoticed. At some point you’d stopped sitting across from one another. You weren’t even sure when it had happened. One moment you were reaching for another container. The next, the two of you were sitting side by side, shoulders almost touching.

The café lights had been dimmed. Outside, rain had begun falling softly against the windows. You turned toward him, still smiling from something he’d said. He was already looking at you. Neither of you spoke. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence.

His eyes searched yours for a long moment. Your heart began beating just a little faster. Slowly…Almost hesitantly…He leaned closer. You didn’t move away. You could feel your breath catch. He was close enough now that you noticed the faint scent of coffee still lingering on his shirt beneath the citrusy cologne he’d worn to the company event.

Your eyes drifted to his lips. Just a little closer…then the front door burst open.

“There you two are!”

You both jumped apart so quickly the chairs loudly scraped against the floor. Jin stepped inside carrying his car keys, stopping the instant he noticed the distance that had suddenly appeared between the two of you. His gaze moved from you to Yoongi to the half-finished containers of sushi. One eyebrow slowly lifted, “Am I interrupting something?”

Your face immediately grew warm.

“No!”

Yoongi answered at the exact same time.

“No.”

Jin’s lips twitched, “I see.” Neither of you looked at each other. Jin looked between you once more before hiding a knowing smile, “Well…I came to help close and clean up.” He glanced at the untouched stack of dishes still waiting in the sink, “I would’ve got here sooner but there was an incident at the baseball game and I just got home from the ER…Though it seems I’ve arrived just in time.”

You quickly stood, desperate for something to do besides think about how close Yoongi had been only seconds earlier. As you hurried toward the back room, you missed the brief glance Jin sent Yoongi. It wasn’t teasing. It was understanding. And judging by the way Yoongi quietly rubbed the back of his neck before reaching for the dish towel he knew exactly what had almost happened too.

The almost kiss lingered far longer than either of you ever acknowledged. Neither of you mentioned that night after the company event. Not the dinner. Not how close the two of you had been. Not the way Jin had walked in at the worst possible moment.

Life simply continued but something between you and Yoongi had shifted. You caught him looking at you more often than before though he always found something else to focus on the second you noticed. Every now and then your hands brushed while reaching for the same milk pitcher or stack of cups, and where those moments once would’ve been followed by a sarcastic remark, now they were met with an awkward silence before one of you quietly stepped away. You’d told yourself not to read into it. It had almost worked. Until you caught yourself wondering if he thought about that almost kiss as often as you did.

Unfortunately Yoongi’s six weeks were coming to an end. The realization hit you unexpectedly one Tuesday morning when Jin mentioned it in passing while checking the schedule, “Friday’s his last shift.” You looked up from dating pastry labels. Jin smiled to himself but didn’t comment.

Instead, he continued writing on the schedule while your stomach twisted with an emotion you weren’t ready to name. You’d spent weeks counting down until the day you wouldn’t have to deal with working with Min Yoongi anymore. Now…The idea of him leaving felt strangely disappointing.

The biggest surprise wasn’t how much he’d learned. It was how naturally he’d become part of the café. Customers asked for him by name now. The regulars teased him whenever he looked too serious. Ms. Kim still insisted he was “far too handsome to be hiding behind a coffee machine,” which never failed to make him blush just enough for you to notice.

He remembered everyone’s orders without thinking. He knew exactly when to refill the pastry case, when to start another pot of coffee, and when you needed someone to quietly step in and take over the register because the line had become too long. There was no hesitation anymore. The two of you moved around each other as though you’d worked side by side for years.

Thursday afternoon was unusually slow. Rain drummed softly against the windows, leaving the café almost empty except for a few students tucked into the corner booths with laptops. You were wiping down the counter while Yoongi disappeared into the storage room to restock syrup bottles.

The quiet lasted all of thirty seconds. Then came the sound of cabinets opening. A muttered sigh. Another cabinet. More rustling. Finally, his voice drifted into the café, “Why is the chocolate syrup always impossible to open?” You smiled to yourself because even though you got along much better you still liked to know he struggled a little from time to time.

A few more seconds passed. You could practically picture him wrestling with the lid. “You need help?”, you called. There was another grunt. Followed by complete silence. Then a loud pop echoed through the stockroom. It was immediately followed by another sound. One you didn’t hear very often. Yoongi groaning in frustration followed by a string of curse words. Curious, you rounded the corner.

The sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks. Chocolate syrup was everywhere. It streaked across the front of his black T-shirt and soaked into the apron tied around his waist. Tiny speckles dotted his bangs and there was even a smear across his cheek. The bottle still sat in his hand, tilted at an awkward angle, as though it had exploded the moment the lid gave way. For a heartbeat, you simply stared.

Then the laughter came. It burst out of you so suddenly that you had to grab the doorframe to steady yourself. You tried to stop but every time you looked at him, another wave of laughter escaped.

When you finally managed to catch your breath, tears had gathered in the corners of your eyes. Your gaze drifted back to the streak of chocolate across his face. The laughter started all over again. For a long moment, Yoongi simply watched you. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of irritation on his face. Instead, the corners of his mouth slowly lifted into a smile. Not the small, reluctant smirk he wore whenever he won an argument. A genuine smile. One that reached his eyes. It was the expression of someone quietly plotting revenge. The realization hit you a second too late.

Your laughter faded, “…Don’t.” He didn’t answer. He just looked down at the open bottle still in his hand before looking back at you. Your eyes widened, “Yoongi...” He took a single step forward. Instinctively, you took one back, “Don’t even think about it.” The smile only grew. A tiny flick of his wrist sent a thin ribbon of chocolate syrup sailing through the air. It landed neatly across the front of your apron. You looked down at the brown streak. Then back at him. The café fell completely silent. Neither of you moved. Finally, you reached for the nearest can of whipped cream. Yoongi’s eyes immediately narrowed, “Oh no.” You smiled, “Oh yes.”

He laughed and took off running before you’d even managed to press the nozzle. By the time you chased him around the cafe both of you were laughing too hard to make any real attempt at revenge. You nearly caught him once before he ducked behind the counter. He retaliated with another tiny drizzle of chocolate that landed on your thigh. You answered with a cloud of whipped cream that splattered harmlessly against the floor.

The entire café echoed with laughter neither of you could seem to stop. That was exactly how Jimin found you. He walked through the front door carrying a case of coffee beans and stopped dead in the entrance. His gaze slowly traveled from the whipped cream can in your hand to the chocolate-covered apron Yoongi was still wearing to the syrup streaks now decorating the counter. Slowly he shook his head, “I don’t even want to know.” You looked at each other. Then, without warning, both of you dissolved into laughter all over again. Jimin sighed dramatically as he set the box on the counter and walked back outside.

You and Yoongi burst into laughter. For the first time since he’d walked into the café wearing that borrowed apron, neither of you could imagine what the place would feel like without the other standing behind the counter.

By Friday afternoon, the realization had finally settled over the café. It was Yoongi’s last shift. The thought lingered in the back of your mind from the moment you clocked in making the morning feel strangely bittersweet. Customers stopped by to wish him luck upstairs, though many admitted they were disappointed he wouldn’t be making their coffee anymore. Yoongi would simply roll his eyes each time but you caught the small smile he tried to hide. For someone who had spent his first week insisting he was above working in a coffee shop, he’d become surprisingly popular.

By closing time, Jin disappeared into the office before returning with a small chocolate cake balanced carefully in his hands. The words Congratulations, Yoongi! were written across the top in slightly crooked white icing. “It’s not much.”, Jin admitted, setting it on one of the café tables, “but six weeks is six weeks and longer than some have lasted.” Jimin immediately began applauding far more enthusiastically than the occasion probably warranted.Yoongi looked at the cake before letting out a quiet laugh.

For the next half hour, the four of you shared cake and stories from the past six weeks. Jin brought up the day Yoongi accidentally made three iced lattes instead of hot ones during the morning rush and then argued about why he couldn’t just microwave them instead of remaking them. Jimin reminded everyone about the caramel bottle Yoongi had somehow launched across the prep counter and into the middle of the lobby. You contributed the chocolate syrup incident. Yoongi insisted you’d exaggerated every detail.

For a little while, nobody thought about the fact that this was the last time the four of you would close the café together. Eventually, Jin glanced at the clock, “I should finish inventory and lock up.” Jimin stretched as he stood up, “I’ll help.” Within minutes the dining area had emptied, leaving only you and Yoongi finishing the last of the cleanup.

You gathered the remaining plates while he carried the leftover cake box toward the back. Neither of you noticed you’d walked toward the cooler from opposite directions until the heavy door swung open. You stepped inside at the exact moment he stepped out. The narrow space wasn’t built for two people. You instinctively moved to one side. So did he. You both laughed quietly before trying again. Again, you ended up blocking each other’s path.

“After you.”, he said. You smiled, “You first. Neither of you moved. The cooler suddenly felt much smaller than it had a moment ago. The hum of the refrigeration units filled the silence. You looked up. He was already looking at you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your heart began beating a little faster. “So…”, you said softly, “I guess this is it.” His smile faded just enough to reveal something more vulnerable beneath it, “I guess it is.”

The words settled between you. You hadn’t expected this to feel so final. Monday morning the café would open. Customers would line up. Life would continue. Only he would be back upstairs and not next to you. “I never thought I’d say this.”, you admitted with a small laugh, “but I’m actually going to miss arguing with you.” A quiet smile touched his lips, “I’ll still be here every morning for my usual coffee…I’m sure I can fit in a few jabs here and there.”

Your smile lingered. He took one slow step closer, “But…I don’t think I’ll come downstairs just for the coffee anymore.” Your breath caught. The space between you disappeared almost without either of you noticing. He hesitated, giving you every chance to step away. Instead you closed the remaining distance.

His lips met yours gently at first, almost questioning. When you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened naturally. Weeks of lingering glances, quiet smiles, shared laughter, and almost moments melted into that one kiss. Your hand found the front of his shirt almost instinctively. His hands rested lightly against your waist. Neither of you seemed eager to be the first to pull away. When you finally did, your foreheads remained close together. He smiled, “So…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

He laughed softly before leaning in again. The second kiss was less hesitant. His hand slipped gently to the small of your back, drawing you a little closer as your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt. For one dangerous moment, it became very easy to forget where you were. The cooler. The café. Jin and Jimin out front. Reality returned all at once. You reluctantly rested a hand against his chest, “Wait.” He immediately stopped and you continued, “We’re going to get caught.”

He glanced toward the cooler door before letting out a quiet laugh. You smiled, “And I like my job.” He gave you another quick kiss, “And I’d rather you keep it so I can see you every day.” He was quiet for a moment, studying you with that thoughtful expression you’d grown so fond of. Then a small smile appeared, “Let’s go to my office.” You pretended to consider it for all of two seconds, “Okay.”

A few minutes later and after some quick mumbled excuses to Jin and Jimin and a ride up to the 78th floor, the elevator doors opened onto the executive floor. You’d seen this level once before when you dropped off some coffee during a big conference meeting but that was it. Walking through it beside Yoongi felt completely different. The offices were quiet now, the day’s event long since over. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along the hallway, overlooking a city beginning to glow beneath the evening sky. He led you to the very end of the corridor.

Large solid cherry wood doors swung open into an office unlike anything you’d imagined. It was enormous. Warm wood lined the walls. Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling. A grand piano sat near one corner. The wall behind his desk was nothing but floor to ceiling glass windows, revealing a breathtaking view of the city lights stretching toward the horizon. You turned slowly, taking it all in, “…This is incredible.” Yoongi looked around the room, “Yeah…well when you pretty much live in your office you try to make it as comfy as possible.”

A faint smile crossed his face. You wandered toward the windows, resting a hand lightly against the glass as thousands of lights shimmered below, “It’s beautiful.”

You turned back toward him. He was still standing by the door, watching you instead of the skyline. Without breaking eye contact, he reached behind him. The soft click of the lock echoed through the quiet office.

Your heartbeat skipped. The room suddenly felt a little smaller, despite being the largest office you’d ever seen. “Y/N," he murmured, his voice incredibly low, thick with a dangerous combination of restraint and lingering desire, “Do I have your permission to do exactly as I please right now?"

"Yes.”, you whispered without a second thought, the word a breathless vow in the quiet room. A soft, approving hum vibrated from his chest. He walked over and reached towards his desk where a spare silk tie lay draped carelessly over the corner of his laptop. He picked it up, letting the expensive fabric slide through his fingers as he stepped into your space.

"Take your shirt off and turn around.”, he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly command. You obeyed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you dropped your shirt and bra onto the floor beside you. A moment later, he gathered your wrists behind your back. The cool, smooth silk of the tie wrapped firmly around your wrists, binding them together. He pulled the knot snug not tight enough to hurt, but secure enough to make it instantly clear that your hands were no longer yours to use. The sudden restriction sent a shiver straight down your spine. Before you could fully process the feeling of being bound, Yoongi reached onto a nearby shelf where another spare tie lay rolled. Unfurling the smooth fabric, he brought it to your face. “Close your eyes Y/N.”, he commanded softly.

You obeyed and a second later, the silk was wrapped snugly over your eyes, secured at the back of your head. Darkness descended instantly. Without your sight, the remaining senses heightened to an almost agonizing degree. The cool air of the office on your skin, the scent of his citrus cologne mixed with coffee, and the heavy sound of his breathing all filled your mind.

The feeling of being completely bound and blinded, standing before him in his own office, made a sweet, heavy ache bloom between your thighs. A soft, helpless whimper escaped your lips, a tiny sound of submission that felt incredibly loud in the quiet room. Yoongi paused, his breath catching just inches from your face. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest. "God…”, he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, “You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you make a sound like that. It sounds exactly like I imagined."

Even blindfolded and bound, a spark of playful defiance flared in your chest. "Exactly like you imagined?", you teased softly, tilting your face toward the warmth of his touch, “Have you been spending a lot of time imagining my sounds, Min Yoongi?"

The silence stretched for a heartbeat, thick and heavy with tension. When he spoke again, his voice dropped an octave, rough and completely unraveled. "More than you know.”, he admitted, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, “I've sat right here at this desk, late at night, pleasuring myself until I was completely blind just thinking about you in this office. Thinking about having you right where you are now." The sheer honesty of his confession sent a violent rush of heat straight to your core, making your knees instantly weak.

Yoongi’s hands slid up your bound arms, tracing the line of your shoulders before his fingers tangled into your hair, tilting your head back. He leaned down and kissed you, a deep, possessive, hungry kiss that tasted faintly of the chocolate cake from earlier. You gasped into his mouth, completely unraveled by the sheer dominance of his touch.

He broke the kiss, his hands guiding you back a few steps until your hips met the edge of his massive desk. He lifted you effortlessly, seating you on the polished wood. Yoongi didn't give you time to think. His hands slid down to the top of your jeans, undoing the button before hooking his fingers into the waistband. He slid them down your legs and tossed them away, completely exposing your core.

Instead of pulling you closer, Yoongi sank to his knees on the floor between your open legs. Your breath hitched as his hands gripped your outer thighs, spreading them wide. You tried to shift, but with your arms bound behind your back and your vision gone, you were completely at his mercy, forced to anticipate his touch in the dark.

When his tongue made contact with your core, your head snapped back, a sharp groan escaping your lips and echoing off the high ceilings. He was relentless, starting with long, deep strokes that smoothed over your damp heat, tasting the slickness that had already gathered there.

He discovered your rhythm instantly because you couldn't use your hands or see his movements, every sensation was magnified ten fold. His thumb found your center, applying just enough pressure to keep you pinned to his mouth, while his tongue flicked over you over and over, precise and demanding.

"Yoongi, please.”, you whined, your shoulders tensing as the friction built a frantic, coiled tension in your lower belly. He didn't slow down. He drank you in as you began to tremble, his tongue moving faster, driving you ruthlessly toward the edge. Your body arched off the desk, your breath catching in your throat as a sudden, sharp orgasm rippled through you. Yoongi stayed right there through every pulsing wave, capturing your release until your breathing slowed to ragged pants.

The heavy silence of the room returned, broken only by the sound of your synchronized, ragged breathing. Slowly, Yoongi withdrew, a low exhale leaving his lips as the sudden absence of the heat of his mouth left you shivering. But he wasn't done.

His hands returned to your waist, not to hold you, but to guide you down. With your knees trembling and your wrists still securely bound behind your back, you sank forward, guided entirely by his firm touch until the plush carpet met your knees.

You hovered there in the darkness of the blindfold, completely exposed and breathless. You heard the rustle of his movements, the soft shifting of fabric, the clink of the metal on his belt, before his fingers gently caught your chin, tilting your face upward. Slowly and gently, his hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair with a tender but unyielding grip. He guided you forward, the heat of his proximity filling your senses until the bare, rounded softness of his top pressed against your lips.

"Open.”, he commanded softly. You parted your lips, welcoming him. Yoongi let out a loud ragged groan as your warmth enveloped him. He began to move, using your mouth to pleasure himself with slow, deliberate strokes. Without your hands to hold onto him or your eyes to track his movements, every slide of his skin against yours felt magnified. The taste of him, the heavy rhythm of his hips, and the sound of his breath and even a little whimper catching in his throat filled your entire universe.

As the friction began to build an unbearable, teasing heat back in your own lower belly, you desperately needed something, anything, to press against and relieve it. Blindly, your hips shifted even closer to the floor. Your knees parted slightly as you felt the texture of soft, cotton fabric beneath you. It was the the pile of discarded clothes, bunched up and carelessly laying on the ground.

Driven by pure instinct, you leaned forward, arching your lower body and desperately grinding your sensitive, aching core against the crumpled fabric, seeking any relief from the persistent ache between your thighs.

Above you, Yoongi suddenly froze. His breath hitched violently, a sharp, ragged sound tearing from his lungs. Through the blindfold, you couldn't see the expression on his face, but you felt the sudden, intense tremor that racked his entire frame. The sight of you, bound, blindfolded, entirely submissive to his touch while mindlessly, desperately seeking friction right in front of him on his office rug shattered whatever fragile restraint he had left.

A low, guttural growl vibrated deep in his chest. His grip on your hair tightened as his pace became frantic and unraveled for a split second. He was right on the precipice, the overwhelming heat of your mouth and the sheer visual of your desperation tearing his control to shreds.

Just as the sensation built to an explosive breaking point, Yoongi suddenly gripped your hair and pulled back, tearing himself away from your lips just in time. He fell back a step and sat down in his leather executive chair, his chest heaving violently as he fought for breath, leaving you breathless, aching, and suspended in the dark.

Before you could fully recover, you felt his strong hands lift you from the floor. Still blindfolded you gasped as he guided you up so that you were straddling him. You could feel his bare, hard length pressing right against your aching entrance.

"Yoongi...", you whispered, adjusting to the sudden shift in gravity with your hands still bound tightly behind your back. "You know what to do.”, Yoongi commanded in your ear, his voice rough and uneven. His hands came to rest on your hips, guiding you downward, “Slowly."

Without your hands for balance, you had to rely entirely on the strength of your legs and the steady anchor of his grip on your hips. Guided by the darkness, you lowered yourself down onto him. Yoongi let out a low, ragged hiss through his teeth, his fingers digging into your waist as you took his length all at once. The sheer heat and fullness of him filled the lingering ache between your thighs. You paused for a fraction of a second adjusting to the sensation before you began to move your hips, sliding up and down his length in the dark.

"Fuck Y/N.,”, Yoongi muttered, his head falling back against the leather of the chair as you set the pace. His chest rose and fell sharply against yours. The rhythm was intoxicating. Every time you came down, he met your movements with a subtle, upward thrust of his hips, driving deeper inside you. The pleasure began to rebuild, sharper and hotter than before, magnified by the sensory deprivation of the blindfold.

But Yoongi’s patience was short-lived. He grabbed your waist, stopping your movement mid-stride. He lifted you off his lap, his hands firmly guiding your trembling body until your front met the smooth, cool surface of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The sudden, freezing contrast of the glass against your flushed skin made you gasp, the chill biting into your chest and thighs. Outside, the blurred, distant lights of the city stretched out into the night, but you couldn't see them, you could only feel the massive, imposing expanse of the window supporting your weight as Yoongi pressed you flat against it.

"Yoongi.”, you breathed, your voice trembling as the sheer vulnerability of the position settled in. Behind you, the room was silent except for the sound of his heavy, ragged breathing. He didn't answer with words. Instead, his broad chest flushed against your back, trapping you securely between his radiating body heat and the cool window. His hands slid down your spine to your hips, his fingers digging in with a bruising, possessive grip that left no room for retreat. He pulled your hips back slightly, arching your spine and aligning your body perfectly with his.

When the blunt tip of his length pressed against your aching, sensitive entrance, a shiver ran straight down your spine. "Don’t worry…only I can see you like this from up here.”, Yoongi murmured against the shell of your ear, his voice a desperate, gravelly sound that sent a thrill through your veins.

Then he pushed forward. He took you from behind in one deep, unyielding thrust that bottomed out inside you. A loud, breathless cry escaped your lips, echoing sharply off the glass. The sensation was overwhelming, the friction, the sudden overflowing fullness, and the cold glass stealing the breath from your lungs all collided at once. Yoongi didn't give you a moment to adjust. He established a relentless, punishing rhythm, his hips crashing against yours with a raw intensity that had been building since he first tied your wrists. Every heavy thrust pushed you harder against the window, the glass groaning faintly under the pressure of your shifting bodies.

Without your hands to anchor you, your body rumbled with every impact. You were entirely dependent on his grip on your waist to keep you upright. The sensory deprivation magnified everything to a breaking point, the slick, wet friction between your thighs, the heat of his skin against your back, and the dominant, rhythmic thud of his body driving into yours.

"Ah! Yoongi, please, it's too much.”, you sobbed out, your head tossing blindly against the cool glass as the tension coiled tight and fierce in your lower belly. "It's not enough.”, he growled in response. His pace quickened becoming faster, harder, and entirely unmerciful. He used his left hand to lift up your left thigh widening the space he had to move and allowing him to reach even deeper inside you. Then his thumb found your sensitive core, he pressed down on your clit as his right had came around and squeeze your breast. At this point he was practically holding you up with his own strength pounding into you as hard and as fast as he could against the glass. He angled his thrusts deeper, hitting the exact spot that sent electric sparks straight to your core.

The friction was blinding. You curled your toes, your thighs shaking violently as the waves of a second, even more intense climax began to crash over you. You were completely at his mercy, suspended in the dark, vibrating with a pleasure so sharp it felt like a ache.

"Yoongi…I'm going to…”

"Go.”, he ordered, his voice breaking as his own pace became frantic, pushed over the edge by the tight, pulsing heat wrapping around him, “Let me feel it. Let me feel you come undone around me. I need it. I…want it.”

With a final, devastatingly deep thrust, your body shattered. A high, fractured undone sound tore from your throat as your orgasm ripped through you, your internal muscles clenching fiercely around his length. The sheer force of your release triggered his own. Yoongi let out a low, guttural ruin of a groan against your neck, driving into you one last time as he spent himself deep inside you, his chest heaving violently against your back as the world faded into nothing but the heat of his touch.

The cold glass of the high-rise window slowly seeped into your skin, grounding you as the adrenaline began to fade. Behind you, Yoongi still buried deep inside you, remained still for a long moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade as his breathing gradually mirrored your own ragged pace.

When he finally moved, it was with an unexpected gentleness. He shifted away to give you room, but his hands stayed on your waist, steadying your trembling legs until he was certain you wouldn't collapse. A second later, you felt the restriction around your eyes fall away. The sudden bright blur of the city lights and the dimmed office lamps made you blink rapidly, the dark room slowly coming back into focus. Yoongi reached around you, his fingers deftly untying the silk knot at your wrists. As your hands were freed, you immediately brought them forward, rubbing your skin and turning around to face him. He looked completely unraveled with his hair a beautifully messy contrast to the perfectly styled look from earlier and a soft, incredibly tender expression on his face that you had never seen before.

"You okay?", he asked, his voice still low and a little gravelly. “Yeah.”, you smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself against the solid warmth of his chest, “More than okay actually." He let out a soft laugh, his arms locking around your waist to lift you slightly off your feet as he sat back down in his chair and held you close against him in his lap.

Later, after you had both gotten dressed and successfully snuck past a very knowing security guard in the parking garage, you walked out into the cool night air. The rain had cleared, leaving the city streets glistening under the neon signs.

Yoongi reached down, his fingers sliding between yours and squeezing your hand tightly as you walked toward his car. “So…”, you said, glancing up at him with a playful smirk, "what happens on Monday when you're back in your suit and I'm behind the counter?" Yoongi didn't look away from the path ahead, but a genuine, effortless smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. "On Monday, at exactly 8:10, I'm coming down to get a medium americano. And if the barista doesn't have it perfectly made in a sufficient amount of time…I might just have to make them come upstairs to my office and explain themselves."

You laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder as you walked together. The six weeks were over and the café routine would go back to normal but as you looked at your tangled hands, you knew your mornings would never be the same again.

Then you spotted your friends. 

A familiar booth near the back, an endless reservation that was accommodated to you and your friends by the owner who held a warm spot for you guys. He knew every Friday you would all arrive. Sometimes together, sometimes separately but always here. 

Three of them already sat crowded around the table, drinks half-finished, hands animated as they talked over one another. A smile tugged at your lips, of course they were already drinking without you. You were the last to arrive though you lived only a few blocks away, 40 minutes late to be exact and of course their impatience had won over waiting for you, as expected. 

As you began weaving through the maze of tables, several heads turned. Not because you demanded attention, not that you ever really tried to but because there was something effortless about the way you carried yourself. Confident without arrogance, attractive without appearing aware of it. You waved at some of them, regulars like you and your friends who preferred this small bar over all the others in the strip. 

“Shes here!” Mi-sun called, words already slurred. A chorus of greetings followed causing you to roll your eyes fondly. You couldn't lie, you had been looking forward to Friday ever since last Friday ended. You and your friends had met in college, bonding over the hardships of testing and failures and had been inseparable since then. Though, all of you had followed the path of your own lives you all had promised to meet in this small bar every week, a promise that all of you had kept for the past 4 years. 

“About time,” Ji-ho says. “We were about to order your drink and probably get it wrong.”

“You always get it wrong” you tease and laughter erupts. 

The irritation you had carried from work all day began to ease as you approached the booth, it was the way it always was. It didn't matter what problems you faced during the week because you knew you could always come back here, with these people. People who you related to and who carried the same weight on their shoulders as you. 

Of course, it all couldn’t be perfect because as you got closer you spotted him. 

Your steps faltered almost imperceptibly, there he was. He leaned lazily against the leather booth as though he owned the damn place. One arm stretched across the backrest. The other loosely held a glass of whiskey balanced between long fingers. Dark hair slightly disheveled. Shirt sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms. Looking entirely too comfortable. 

And entirely too pleased with himself. 

Of course he was here, sometimes you thought he just showed up to spite you and perhaps that was the truth. You could feel the stress build inside the pit of your stomach and your good mood that had sprouted effortless inside of you, soon began to sour. The worst part wasn't even that he was attractive, no. The worst part was that he knew it. 

Every expression Min Yoongi wore seemed crafted specifically to annoy you. like he was brought into this earth to be a pebble in your shoe, like having to pee after getting comfortable in bed, like a sneeze that wouldn’t come out, like losing your keys while you are running late for work. Inconvenient, annoying as fuck. Especially the expression he wore this very moment, a slick smirk spread across his face. 

He noticed you, his eyes meeting you from across the room. Warm brown, steady and utterly infuriating. The corner of his mouth lifted higher and there it was. That look, that smug evil look of his. As if he could already predict exactly how this interaction would go. He probably practiced at home, finding new and abundant ways in which he can make you lose your mind. 

You fought the urge to turn around and walk straight back out the door. Instead, you continued toward the table. You needed this terribly, time with your friends and a couple of cold beers with a few shots of green apple soju inbetween. This week had been the hardest you had ever had to endure and no matter how much that prick got on every single one of your 100 billion nerves you wouldn’t let him ruin this night for you. 

“Well” Yoongi drawled before you’d even reached the booth. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

Several of your friends immediately groaned, preparing themselves for what usually came with having the both of you in a room together. You imagined them preparing mentally before any plans you all made where the both of you would be present. 

“Dont start” Gina moaned, passing you a small glass of white liquid. 

“Seriously” Woo-jin called from where he sat “shes been here for like what 5 seconds?”

You ignored them, bringing the sweet liquid to your lips and taking it down your throat in a swift gulp. Ignoring him was usually impossible, but you liked to make the effort. Sliding into the empty seat, you sat your purse down and offered your friends a bright smile. 

“Hi everyone.”

Then, without missing a beat glancing in his direction:

“Who invited the dog?” 

The table exploded into laughter and his grin widened, his intense stare only growing more suffocating as he leaned closer into the table. His attention had been beckoned and you knew he was going to give you hell for it but you weren’t scared, not Min Yoongi of all people. 

“Oh, we’re doing this tonight?” he chuckled. 

“We do this every night.” you snap, your eyes falling into a cold glare, the annoyance rippling through your temples. 

“But oh how much fun is it?” Yoongi shrugged. 

“Not fun at all actually,” Woo-jin answered. 

Your eyes collapse into his, a mistake. His expression held no annoyance unlike yours, not offended or even surprised, he looked completely entertained. Like this was his favorite part of the evening, like he’d been waiting for you to walk through the door. Something tightened unexpectedly in your chest. Irritation, absolutely nothing else. 

You held his gaze for one second too long before looking away, which he noted distinctively and judging by the knowing look that flashed briefly across his face, he was already preparing whatever insufferable comment that would come next. 

Absolutely wonderful. The night had officially begun. 

A server appeared beside the table before more insults could be exchanged between the both of you. 

“The usual?” she asked, taking empty beer bottles from the table in experienced precision. 

“Please” you nodded with a lazy smile. 

The server nodded and disappeared into the crowd again and for a few seconds, conversation shifted elsewhere. Work complaints, vacation plans that might never make it past the group chat or maybe will if you all coordinated appropriately, Ji-ho shared details of a disastrous blind he had recently suffered through the previous week. You could finally feel yourself relax again, sinking deeper into the booth. Maybe, tonight wouldn’t be so bad but then Yoongi opened his mouth like always fucking did. 

“So,” 

Immediately, everyone groaned again. 

“No” Ji-ho protested. 

“Leave it alone.” 

“Don’t”

“What?” Yoongi asked innocently. “Im making conversation.”

“You’ve never made conversation a day in your life” Mi-sun stated, narrowing her eyes on him but he ignored her, his attention fixed on you. Dangerous attention, attention you utterly despised. Like a wolf deciding whether or not it wanted to bite. 

“So” he repeated, taking a sip from his glass. “How’s what’s-his-name?”

The table collectively winced and your jaw tightened at the reaction. Of course, of course this was where he’d go. A month ago you would’ve pretended not to care, probably would’ve laughed it off or made a joke to lighten the mood but now you were simply tired. 

“Dude” Ji-ho sighed. 

“What?” Yoongi asked. 

“You know what” he replied sternly. 

“I was just asking a question” Yoongi answered simply. 

“You were being an asshole,” Gina added. 

His gaze never left you as the group scolded him, his eyes melting into yours and no matter how badly you wanted to cut him in half in that very moment, you held your composure. He wouldn’t see you crack, not when it was the very thing that he wanted and you weren’t about to give it to him. 

“Same thing, apparently.”

The server arrived almost in comical timing, sliding the fresh poured beer right in front of you. You took a gulp before answering, licking the foam from your lips and allowing a heavy breath to flow out of your lungs. Honestly, you didn't even know what to answer but you had to, you couldn't allow him to embarrass you in front of your friends. 

“Dont know” you shrugged carelessly as if the bare mention of the man didn't make you want to shrink into the booth you sat in. 

“Really?” he asked mockingly.

“Really” you replied dryly. 

“Huh.”

The sound irritated you more than it should have. The single syllable, the tone. As though he’d been expecting exactly that answer. You wish you could throw the beer in your hand straight in his face but that would be a waste of good cold beer, he wasn’t worth it. 

“I forgot about him,” Gina sighed from across the table, her big round eyes trying to dissipate the hatred in the air. 

“Wish I could,” she muttered soon, unable to hold the lie in her mouth. A few sympathetic looks came her way. Everyone had watched the entire thing unfold. At first they’d tease you, because you never took anyone seriously, you never cancelled plans and never disappeared. Never allowing yourself to rearrange your life for a man but one day, you suddenly had. 

You’d skip out on Friday nights, missed birthday dinners, even turned down weekend trips which you were always the first to accept. You spent months carving out space for someone you genuinely thought might matter and then he’d vanished. No argument, no dramatic break up, just slow retreat. Texts unanswered and plans cancelled. Disappearing through excuses that ultimately left nothing for you to grasp onto. 

The realization had been humiliating, not because you had lost him but because you had cared enough to be hurt. 

“Honestly”, Mi-sun said carefully, “he wasn't worth it anyway.”

“No,” you agreed quietly. “He wasn’t” 

“Dont worry Y/n, one day you will find yourself a beefy handsome man” Woo-jin promised before throwing another shot into his mouth. 

“Why beefy?” Gina asked, furrowing her eyebrows. 

“That’s one way to put it” his voice flowed through the chatter in the bar like glass cracking in a silent room. You closed your eyes briefly, attempting to digest his voice the best way that you could. He was fucking relentless and you cursed at yourself for even replying. His voice scaled different heights of irritation, so much that sometimes you wished you could go deaf if it meant not having to hear him. 

You looked across the table, Yoongi was studying the amber liquid in his glass. He looked careless, relaxed yet you could tell his mouth prepared to pour ammunition straight at you. You allowed your top lip to quiver in annoyance, your eyebrows furrowing instantly. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say” you asked. 

“Oh, plenty” he responded, exposing his lips in a clever smile. 

You could feel the air shift around you, your friends beginning to adjust their postures. They perceived your arguments like lab rats that had been shocked into compliance, the both of you instilling trauma that they would never recover from. Like parents arguing at the dining table, tossing hatred from one end to the other. It probably was exhausting, frankly you were exhausted too. 

“Abort mission” Ji-ho whispered. 

“Don't,” Mi-sun begged. 

“I'm serious” Gina warned. 

Words that you both ignored. 

“As i recall,” he said, “everyone could see that guy was a disaster except you.”

The words landed harder than you had expected, not because they were cruel but because they were true. Somehow, making his statement worse. The signs had always been there but you had decided to ignore them, hell the man didn't even like your friends. Often referring to them as the ‘geek league’. You hadn’t even tried to defend them, laughing it off as if it was some kind of joke. You laughed….you laughed. 

And yet, they were the ones here with you now, not him. You couldn't bring yourself to expose that part to them because you knew it would hurt, you swallowed the guilt only allowing it to resurface in your weakest moments. You had been a fool and it tormented you inside. 

“Funny” you uttered bitterly, your brain prepping the hurtful words you would use against him. If he was insolent enough to go as low as to shame you for your failed love life then you would meet him down in hell. Two could play this game and you weren't one to back down. 

“Is it?” he raised an eyebrow. 

“Very” you leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. Offering him an unpleasant smile. 

“Coming from the man who cant keep a serious relationship if his fucking life depended on it.”

The table erupted into a mixture of gasps and chatter, loud cackles adding a cherry on the top. 

“Oh my god.”

“No you didn’t Y/n!”

“She absolutely did.”

“I mean she’s lowkey right dude, probably gonna marry someone when you’re like 70 or something”

Yoongi stared, the smug expression on his face finally cracking. Success.you could hear imaginary fireworks cracking in the background, Ji-ho reaching over to give you an award for the best comeback known to human kind. You cried into the microphone, thanking your mother and father for their efforts in raising you to be a cold blooded bitch who could end the man in front of you with a flick of your tongue. 

“Actually, correction” your smile widened. 

“Your last girlfriend left you for a baseball player after she went to to the game alone with the tickets she bought for your anniversary which you forgot” you added “typical of a self centered prick like you”

Ji-ho nearly choked on his drink, causing Woo-jin to double over in laughter. 

“Yoongi,” he scoffed. 

“Yoongi, tell me that's not true.”

You could see his jaw tighten and your smile spread in victory. You had struck a nerve and you would ride that high until the end of times. He wasn’t deserving of any mercy, if he wanted to embarrass you now the both of you would be. It was only fair. 

“It wasn’t our anniversary” he spoke, annoyance now riding in his stare.

“One year together and you forgot the date” you judged. 

“It wasn’t-” he began. 

“She literally had to remind you” you interjected. 

The entire booth dissolved into chaos, for the first time all evening, you felt like you were winning, hell for the first time in the entire month you were finally gaining something rather than losing. Yoongi leaned back against the booth, watching you. He wasn't laughing nor did he seem embarrassed. He just watched, the noise around them fading slightly. His gaze held yours, steady. Uncomfortably steady. Then one corner of his mouth lifted, slowly and dangerously. 

“Oh, good,” he said after a few minutes. 

Your stomach sank, you knew that look. It was familiar and agitating. It wasn't over, matter of fact he was just starting. He wouldn't go down without a fight and you knew it, he couldn't let you have anything not as long as he could draw air into his lungs. He was an asshole in that way. 

“What?” you asked. 

“There she is” he pointed at you, that smirk returning. 

“What does that mean?” 

His eyes flickered, something softer appearing for half a second before disappearing completely. Leaving you to wonder if it had been there at all. 

“You’ve been miserable for weeks” he states and the laughter around the table gradually dies. Nobody speaks, nobody moves because the conversation was taking a turn and they knew it. You knew it, you could feel it in your bones. His gaze remained locked on yours. 

“You stopped showing up” his voice grew quieter. 

“You stopped answering calls.” 

Something in your chest tightened as he listed ways in which you had failed your group of friends and though, they had been supportive. Often telling you it wasn't that big of a deal if you needed a break, the guilt inside of you persevered. You hated it and you also hated how much Yoongi could see you, how he could just stare at you and know what you were feeling. You could never hide from him, it was detestable. 

“Yoongi-” Mi-sun began. 

“No” he snapped in her direction, swirling the whiskey in his glass. 

“You want to know why everyone hated that guy?” his eyes lifted from his glass and back to you. 

“Because he made you disappear.”

The booth fell silent, you couldn’t even think of a comeback. There wasn't a joke settling in his tongue this time, his tone sincere. There was no smirk that followed either, no teasing or bickering, just pure filthy honesty. Which somehow irritated you more than all the insults combined, it would've been easier if he’d simply kept being unbearable. 

“And I don't mean that in the sense of you skipping out on us” disappointment flashed across his eyes as he spoke directly to you “I mean like you didn't even show up for yourself Y/n.” 

Silence stretched infinitely, uncomfortably. Far too long for a group of friends that normally filled every second with noise. Your body recoiled against it, you noticed how everyone suddenly seemed interested in their drinks, sympathetic glances being passed around like a hot potato. 

His holding pity. 

You looked away first, shifting in your seat and bringing the glass of warm beer to your lips but not allowing yourself to take a drink from it. A knot settled in your throat and you wanted to cry, in fact you wanted to sob. 

“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a laugh. “This got depressing.”

The spell of silence broke immediately, the chatter picking up and you sighed with relief. 

“Oh good” Gina whispered desperately. 

“We’re back.”

“I was about to throw myself through the window,” Woo-jin chuckled. 

Mindless conversations resumed, relief spreading through the table. Subjects changed and discarded and the complaints returned. About their bosses, about the economy, about how much rent has gone up. Someone ordered another round and soon, the tension dissolved or maybe everyone just pretended it did. Certainly, you did. 

Yet, every few minutes you found yourself aware of him, not looking at him but aware that he was there. Noting his laugh, the scrape of his chair when he moved to sit more comfortably, the occasional brush of his arm against the booth. Exasperating. 

Hours passed and soon the group began to thin whilst the alcohol began to rock you from side to side. Woo-jin had work in the morning, Gina had a babysitter waiting. Checks were paid and belongings were gathered. Promises were made about seeing each other next weekend but somehow you felt discouraged to agree yet, you would show up, you had to. 

Soon only a handful remained. 

Then three.

Then two. 

And somehow, through what you would later insist was a conspiracy to have you make amends orchestrated by your scheming friends, you found yourself standing outside the bar with Yoongi. 

Alone. 

The door shut behind almost too loudly, the sounds of the bar muffled instantly. The chilled air of the summer night swept through the lively street, the bars and restaurants with their neon signs glowing around you both. Streetlights reflected off damp dark pavement. In the distance, you could hear traffic vibrating, music leaking faintly through the walls of nearby businesses. 

You wrapped your arms around your frame, regret filling inside of you due to the choice of outfit you had picked when the sun was still hanging in the sky. Its rays no longer keeping your skin warm. 

“You don't have to stand there” you glanced at him momentarily then fixed your eyes on a couple that walked past. 

Yoongi looked down from where he leaned against the brick wall, his eyes taking you in for the first time since you both had walked out in complete silence. 

“Don’t tell me what to do” he chuckled, his tone slurred like yours. Both your bodies swaying under the slight buzz of the alcohol running through your veins. 

“I’m not” you replied, noting the way he didn't seem to look away from you. 

“Yes you are” he spoke almost instantly. 

“Do you really have to argue with me about everything?” you snapped, rolling your eyes. You both stared at one another, the familiar irritation returning immediately. Comforting, somehow. 

“Where’s your car?” you asked. 

“Shop” Yoongi responded simply, stuffing his hands into his jeans. 

“Again?” you retorted. 

“Unlike some people, I don't buy a new car every time a tire loses air” he mocked, making mention of your poor ability to sustain a healthy car. Maintaining a car was challenging for you to say the least, like what the hell did the radiator need water for? Or did it? 

“Why are you so annoying?” you shot back, unable to defend yourself against his factual claim. 

His grin appeared, that stupid grin. The one you disliked entirely too much. A gust of wind lifted loose strands of your hair, without thinking you ticked them back your ear. Yoongi watched the movement, his expression changing subtly. So subtle that you almost missed it. 

Almost. 

Something warm settled unexpectedly low in your stomach, you immediately rejected it. 

“Stop looking at me like that” you whined. 

“Like what?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. 

“You know exactly what” you replied. 

“I really don’t.” 

“Liar.” 

A car horn sounded somewhere down the street, neither moved. Neither seemed eager to leave which made no sense because you both had spent most of the time arguing but then again…mabe that wasn’t entirely true. Arguing implied wanting the conversation to end yet the ones you held, never did. You both could last days bickering, saying things that you would regret later on but never apologize for due to ego which kept the both of you bound to a certain hatred and annoyance. 

The realization struck you suddenly, you wondered if the reason Yoongi annoyed you so much wasn't because you truly disliked him but because he was one of the only people who could consistently get underneath your skin and worse, one of the few people you never seemed capable of ignoring. 

When you first met him, you actually got along. Not immediately but better than either of you would ever admit now. You had been studying in the library for a biology test, back then Mi-sun had been your lab partner and had bragged about how cool her friend group was and how you would meet them in the library and surely, it had happened just like that. Everyone was loud, outgoing, and eager to make friends with you, besides Yoongi that is. 

Yoongi has always been sarcastic and observant whilst you were confident, stubborn, and refused to let anyone intimidate you. Naturally, you had gravitated toward each other. You’d end up in the same conversations, the same debates always standing in the opposite stances. You challenged each other and it was enjoyable, at first. 

Then everything turned into a competition. Who was right, who got the last word, who could get under the other’s skin faster. Your friends thought it was hilarious, the two of you secretly enjoyed it until one night. A few years back, you were seeing someone, not seriously of course. Casually. He had cheated, not a devastating heartbreak but enough to embarrass you. 

Honestly, you were hurt. 

At a gathering shortly afterward, Yoongi had made a joke. To him, it was meant to lighten the mood but you, it felt cruel. 

‘Well, maybe next time don't date a guy whose known for throwing his dick at the first girl who walks past’

Everyone had laughed, you had too. Outwardly, in fact but you would never forget those words because that was the last thing you needed at that time. You wanted to feel reassured, supported. For your feelings to be validated and instead, you had received a joke. From that moment forward, you started seeing him differently. 

“You know,” he said quietly, “he was an idiot.” 

Your stomach tightened, you knew who he was referring to or perhaps, all the men he was referring to which had come into your life like storms tearing everything in their path. Your heart, your confidence, your self-worth. 

“Yoongi-” you warned, voice trembling. 

“I’m serious” his eyes lingered on you, his expression fixed. 

“You deserved better than that.” 

Your stare faltered, it was strange to see him this serious. You were waiting for him to laugh, to tease you again but his words hung in the air, the punchline never arriving. You didn't know what to say and neither did he, you both stood in silence again. Two people who never seemed to ever shut up, now speechless. 

“If i had someone like you-” he started which made you snap your head in his direction. The statement rang inside your ears, the buzz in your brain beginning to melt away. Your gut twisted anxiously as you waited for him to finish what he wanted to say. 

“I would never hurt you like that” Yoongi shrugged, his eyes traced the outline of the buildings in front of him but your stare remained on him, allowing the silence to linger and wrapping itself between the both of you. His words left their trace inside of you. For a moment you allowed yourself to indulge in them, as if somehow the universe would allow something like a relationship between you and Yoongi. 

“I would remember our anniversary” he moved his face back to you and allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips and then it was like you were brought back to reality. 

“You are drunk Yoongi” you sighed, looking away from him. 

“Fine,” he nodded, "I am but you know what they say.” 

“Shut up drunk people are not honest” you scoffed. 

“Let me walk you home” Yoongi straightened, pushing himself off the wall with a loud huff. 

“I can get home myself” you replied, looking up at the grey clouds that covered the sky. The warning that soon rain would begin to pour. You were already underdressed, the last thing that you needed was to be caught in the rain whilst walking home. 

Yoongi snorted beside you, as if you had said something comical. You glared in his direction, you would really punch him in the face if he said something stupid. You were tired and intoxicated, there was nothing stopping you from assaulting him in front of this bar. 

“Sureee” his tone sarcastic. 

“I can” you bit. 

“Last month you got lost driving to a restaurant you’ve been to for three years” he laughed. 

“Okay, first of all, the road was blocked and I had to reroute” your voice was raised, irritation clinging onto it tightly. 

Soon tiny droplets began tapping against parked cars, against awnings, onto your shoulders. Yoongi sighed, his eyes narrowing up to the sky as if he were studying the drizzle that fell. 

“Come on” he urged you, stepping forward into the sidewalk. 

“I am not asking you to take me home.” 

“And yet, I’m taking you.”

“You always do this.” 

“Do what?”

“Meddle.” 

You watched his jaw tighten, the visible implication that your words were beginning to burn into him. Yet, it was always like this. It has always been so easy for the both of you to go from 0 to 100, to lose yourselves in the frustration that brought the presence of each other. 

“Are we doing this again?” This question was answered by the roll of your eyes and the pout that formed on your lips, a clear indication of the roaring argument that sat in your tongue. 

“Yes, we are doing this again” you retorted. 

The walk began anyway, side by side beneath the growing rain with an obvious distance to demonstrate that though you both walked together, you were in fact not together. The streets were nearly empty now, most people had already sought shelter but the sheer pettiness that existed in the both of you, moved your bodies forward. 

“You act like everyone needs your help” you cut through the silence and yes, maybe you should give it up. It was late, the night had ended but you were never too tired to set Yoongi straight. You needed to voice your grievances, you needed him to understand that he needed to stop acting like an asshole, as if the world owed him something.  

“I don't,” he groaned. 

“You absolutely do,” you snapped. 

“No, I help because apparently nobody else is willing to tell you when you’re making a terrible decision.”

You laugh, a sharp and humorless laugh. 

“See? That's what i mean” you grumble “why do you feel like you know better.”

“Sometimes I do” Yoongi responds, matter of factly. 

Your head snapped in his direction, his expression remaining maddeningly calm. The argument that had been simmering for years suddenly reignited. You can feel the pent up hurt and frustrations from previous altercations rising in your throat, ready to spill onto the wet pavement below you. 

“You know what your problem is?”

Yoongi groaned, throwing his head back and closing his eyes for a moment. 

“Here we go.”

“No, seriously” rainwater dripped from the ends of your hair but you didn't care. Nothing else matters more than to finally tell Yoongi everything that you had wanted to say for years, perhaps withholding them as to not offend too deeply, as to not impact the friend group you both valued so much. 

“You can't stand not being the smartest person in the room.” 

“Oh, that's really rich Y/n.”

“It is not”you huffed, the mixture of alcohol, the cold rain, and the sudden cardio leaving you breathless. 

“You think you’re always right” Yoongi shot back. 

“So do you!” you stopped walking, you stared at each other, rain beginning to fall steadily around you. The city seemed to disappear behind the droplets, the sound swallowing away the noise around the both of you. Yoongi ran a hand through his damp black hair, his eyes scanning his surroundings and then falling back on you. 

“You know what? Fine” his voice sharpened. 

“You want honesty?” 

You folded your arms, leaning your head to the side as if studying him. 

“Please.”

“That guy was a piece of shit, a complete utter disaster” his words were bitter, tasting sour as they left his mouth but he wasn’t known for withholding anything, specially when it came to you “i bet he was the one that didn't want you around us because he knew we would tell you the truth, open up your eyes about how bad he was for you.”

“You don't get to make those judgements” your voice faltered, cracking. 

“He disappeared Y/n” he muttered. 

“Thats my business Yoongi, who i decide to be with or not be with is my business” you only realized you were yelling when passersby stared curiously but that didn't deter you, you were done with trying to be civil. 

“He disappeared” the words landed between you heavily, for a moment neither of you spoke. Rain drummed against the pavement, against rooftops, and against the silence. You shook your head and sighed, you were over it.

“You always have something to say, can you just shut up and keep your opinions to yourself” you turn and begin walking again. 

“Y/n, i just say shit like it is and you don't know how to take it” you could feel him following behind and soon, he was walking beside you again. 

“You always have to make a joke” you whispered but regardless of how fast the rain fell, Yoongi had heard you clearly. Understanding flashed briefly across his face as you opened the old wound, the one neither of you had ever brought up regardless of the many arguments. It had been years and you still harbored those words as if he had just uttered them.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Help who exactly Yoongi? Your help is always done at my expense” you shouted angrily. 

Your neighborhood had long since fallen asleep, rain whispered through the narrow streets, softening the flow of the lanterns that lined the road. The storm had settled into a steady rhythm, turning the world into a blur. 

“Thanks for accompanying me,” you said coldly. 

Yoongi watched as you stepped towards the tall wooden gate guarding the entrance to your property. It stood nearly eight feet high, constructed from dark stained timber that had weathered decades of storms. The tiled roof above the gate curved gracefully outward, rainwater cascading from its edges in steady streams. 

Most people who passed by never saw beyond it. 

The walls enclosing the property stretched in either direction, blocking the view from neighboring homes and the road alike. You reached into your purse, your hands digging for your keys which kept jingling inside but you couldn’t reach. 

“You can go now” the words were tossed over your shoulder, dismissive and stern. Yet, Yoongi remained there, rain collecting on his black t-shirt, watching as you pushed the gate open. Warm light spilling from within. He had been here before during study sessions and holiday gatherings between friends but you had re-decorated since then.

A stone pathway wound through a carefully maintained courtyard, each slate stone darkened by the rain. Low lanterns lined the walkway, casting pools of amber light across the wet ground. To the left stood a small garden enclosed by carefully trimmed hedges and flowering shrubs. Beyond it, a grove of bamboo swayed gently in the wind, their leaves whispering against one another. The house itself stood at the far end. 

You stepped through the entrance, certain he would leave after seeing you walk inside. God, he was so pretentious. He wanted to act like a gentleman but he was everything but, what was his deal? But then you heard his footsteps and your body tensed. You turned slowly, watching as he followed behind you, the gate swinging shut behind him with a heavy thud. 

“You really don't know when to quit, do you?” his jaw flexed, rainwater sliding from his hair. For a moment he simply stood there beneath the lantern light, looking more irritated than you had ever seen him. 

Not angry, utterly frustrated. 

“No,” you remarked, "I don't.”

You lunged. 

Yoongi lunged at the same moment. 

Your mouths collided more than met, teeth and heat and four years of friction and arguments igniting all at once. His hands were in your hair, pulling your head back, and your fingers were clawing at his t-shirt, dragging him closer. Neither of you were gentle, neither of you wanted to be. 

“You’re infuriating” you gasped against his mouth. 

“So are you.” his teeth grazing your lower lip. “God, you’re so-” 

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.” 

The rain swallowed you whole, cold shock. Then his body pressing against yours, steam rising where your hearts met, your tanktop transparent, exposing the pink lace of your bra. You both stumbled backward, a tangle of limbs and dripping clothes and mouths that couldn't pull apart. The concrete was slick beneath your bare feet. When did your shoe come off? The rain kept coming, relentless, turning your loosened hair into ropes and your skirt in secondary skin. 

“I hate you” Yoongi growled, backing you against the wall, the rough texture there biting into your exposed skin. 

“I hate you so much i cant get you out of my fucking mind.” 

His hand reached for your throat, not squeezing. A warm weight, his thumb tracing the outline of your pulse, your hips bucked forward without permission, seeking friction, finding the hard line of his thigh. 

“Look at you” he breathed. “Look at you, needing me.”

“I don't need anything from you.”

“Liar” Yoongi whispered. 

His mouth descended. Not to your lips this time but to your throat, to the hollow beneath your ear, to the thin material of your top that barely covered your collarbone. His teeth scraped skin, and the sound you made was nothing you had ever made before. A whisper, a plea. 

His free hand was working at your tanktop, the elastic material giving away beneath his fingers. The rain hit your exposed chest, your nipples tightened into the aching material of your bra. Yoongi pulled back enough to look, water streaming down his face, his expression something between reverence and devastation. 

“I’ve thought about you like this” his tone is torn and horse “more than i should have.”

You can see all the thoughts he’s had of you between the years flow past his gaze, brimmed with desire and desperation. His expression makes your panties grow damp from the exhilaration it causes you. 

“Show me” you hummed “show me how long you’ve wanted this.”

Yoongi drops to his knees on the wet pavement, and the sight of him there, of this infuriating, arrogant, beautiful man kneeling in the rain sends a jolt straight to your core. His hands pushed your skirt up, bunching it at your waist. His mouth found the inside of your thigh, and you shuddered. 

The sensation of his tongue warm pressing against your cold, wet skin sent chills down your spine, your body shifting forward upon contact, a low hiss escaping your lips. His mouth moved along the trace of your inner thigh until it brushed briefly against the material of your panties, the fucker was teasing you but all you could muster to do was to blend your hand into his black hair. 

One of his hands reached up and held your waist, holding you steady and the other splayed across your belly, pinning you against the wall. His mouth landed against your clothed mound, the wet cotton sticking against your clip. He moved slowly at first, then harder. Hungrily. 

“Yoongi.”

His eyes raised to meet yours whilst his tongue drew out a long line in between your folds, the corners of his mouth rising as a smile spread across them. 

“Please” you begged, never in a million years did you think you would’ve ever begged for Yoongi but here you were, melting underneath his touch. 

“Please what Y/n?” he muttered and you shivered in response. 

Yoongi pulled the fabric to the side, his mouth now on your exposed clit. Bare, hot. His tongue parted you, his groan vibrating against your clit as he moved his mouth slowly. The rain was an afterthought now, just another sensation layered over the impossible reality of Min Yoongi’s mouth between your legs, the skin of his cheeks scraping the tender skin of your inner thigh, his fingers digging bruises into your hip. 

Your heart thundered faster and your blood raced as his mouth worked you closer to your climax. How obscene, how terribly hot it was for him to be in between your legs like this, the boy you hated the most eating you up. Your legs trembled underneath the power his tongue held, your hips rocking into each movement he made. 

“Fuck” another moan, you jolted forward out of pure human desire and there was not an inch of you that was ashamed of the sounds coming out of your mouth. Under different circumstances you would’ve hid in embarrassment but you didn't want him to stop. Your mouth gasped open, your eyes shutting tightly until all you could see was sparks and complete darkness. Your head fell back and softly collided with the wall behind you. 

Yoongi’s tongue fluttered against your clit, his licks skilled and all too consuming. He ate away as if your mound was a delicious peach and he, a starving man. You couldn't form coherent words, your mind glazed with pure satisfaction. The kind that you only ever read in books or watched in movies. He was better than anyone you ever had before but you could never disclose that to him, not a chance. 

Your knees buckled and you came undone, your fingers gripping tightly onto the locks of hair. You let out a loud yelp and you were sure your neighbors would come knocking soon, his hand reached out and covered your mouth whilst you spilled moans and yelps into. 

The feeling of him removing his mouth led you to open your eyes, heaving as the high tore through you. 

Your half hooded stare found Yoongi, he stood in front of you now. His tongue licking away your juices from his bottom lip. His own eyes carried the same abundant lust as yours and before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours once again. 

You kissed recklessly, your lips and tongues consuming one another feverlish. Your hands exploring each other. Your mouth escaped his and found the trail of his exposed neck, you could feel his pulse underneath your tongue as you licked his skin, yoongi’s head rolled back, giving you access. 

His hand slid onto your outer thigh, gripping the skin there and raising it up to his waist. You felt the friction of his jeans between your legs and your waist buckled forward. 

“You see?” he groaned “you do need me.”

But now there wasn't an ounce of will power left in you willing to contradict, that which was so obvious. Your face shifted back to his and you enveloped his mouth in yours again, your teeth pulling at his bottom lip. 

“You are so annoying,” you moaned, bringing him closer. You tried to show some kind of restraint, to keep some sort of decomorum but you couldn’t. You needed him inside of you as much as he needed you. You reached for his jeans, undoing the button and zipper in a smooth movement. Leading his own waist to buckle into your touch, a small smirk pulling at your lips. 

Your hand dipped inside his boxers and the palm of your hand slid down his length, hic cock warm and painfully hard against your touch. 

Yoongi moaned, pressing his forehead against your cheek. Shuttered breaths lingering against the skin there, his moans were sweet and raspy and it only led you to move your hand slower, teasing him. You were aware of the ache building inside of his belly which was much like your own. You brought his cock out from its clothed restraint, your hand stretching around his pulsing head. Yoongi found your mouth desperately, his moans pouring into it and you swallowed his pleasure. 

You dipped his top in your entrance and lust shocked through your body. Yoongi grunted and lifted his hips to meet yours, your cunt quivering around him. Muscles tightening around his shaft comfortably. His hips began to push and draw out slowly, his grip on your thigh growing harsher, the further he reached inside of you. 

His other hand gripped your waist tightly, keeping you from falling out of his grasp. He pumped his hips faster, the sound of your skin meeting, creating a symphony against the sound of the rain. 

Yoongi’s mouth traveled to your neck then slid down to your chest, his tongue slipping past the fabric of your bra and gliding against your hardened nipple. A high pitch hum escaped you and your arms wrapped around his shoulders, he was so close but the desire to melt into him prevailed. 

You could feel his cock expanding inside of you, your juices slicking against his skin. Your leg gave out from underneath you but Yoongi grabbed onto you before you could move, lifting you of the ground entirely. You clamped around his waist, throwing your head back as your heavy sighs collided against his. 

“I make you feel good, Y/n?” His voice was hoarse and struggled. 

“Y-yes” yours winded and convulsed. 

With every one of his thrusts, every one of his kisses and nibbles he pushed you further into disarray, the feeling overwhelming and you were aware you were coming again, a heaviness settling itself in your gut. You needed more, desperate to have him encased inside of you. 

“Yoongi” your walls tightened again. 

“Fuck Y/n” your name had never sounded so good before, not like it did coming out of his mouth. His cock caressed your inner walls and you began grinding your hips as he pounded into you. harder, faster. 

“Just like that Y/n” he whimpered “you are such a good girl.”

“Yoongi”

Your orgasm arrived in a sudden rush, your juices flowing freely. Your muscles spasming and your walls hugging him tighter. Yoongi thrusted urgently, coming undone inside of you moments later, his teeth biting down onto the exposed skin of your shoulder in an attempt to stifle his groans. 

You both remained there, a mixture of struggling breaths and heaving chests. The realization of what had just happened only arriving when you felt the rain on your skin again, no longer an afterthought. You looked down at Yoongi, whose head rested on your shoulder. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered. 

“Please” he muttered “dont ruin the moment.”

“Put me down,” you said, slapping his shoulder. 

“Do i have to?” he sighed “you feel so warm.” 

You squirmed, feeling his cock still nestled inside of you. 

“Put me down you psychopath” you yelled, he remained still for a few seconds then obliged, softly placing your thighs down and sliding out of you. You moved to lower your skirt quickly, suddenly feeling overly exposed. Yoongi stared at you whilst stuffing himself back in his jeans and the irritation returned. 

“Having regrets already?” he chuckled and you grimaced in response. You didn't regret it, in fact given the opportunity you would do it all again but you avoided his question, moving your underwear back to its place. 

“You ripped my shirt” you tried to mend the torn fabric but it was no use, the material had been stretched and pulled into a mesh of nothingness. 

“You weren't complaining before,” he hummed victoriously. 

“You make me sick, y’know?” you pushed past him, stomping away from where you both had almost eaten each other alive. “Who even does that? You’re an animal.”

“Get out!” you yelled back at him, beginning to put in the code for your front door. 

“Hey Y/n” he called, you sighed and turned to him, a glare already creeping on your eyes. 

“What is it?” 

“Same time next week?"

-

Then you spotted your friends. 

A familiar booth near the back, an endless reservation that was accommodated to you and your friends by the owner who held a warm spot for you guys. He knew every Friday you would all arrive. Sometimes together, sometimes separately but always here. 

Three of them already sat crowded around the table, drinks half-finished, hands animated as they talked over one another. A smile tugged at your lips, of course they were already drinking without you. You were the last to arrive though you lived only a few blocks away, 40 minutes late to be exact and of course their impatience had won over waiting for you, as expected. 

As you began weaving through the maze of tables, several heads turned. Not because you demanded attention, not that you ever really tried to but because there was something effortless about the way you carried yourself. Confident without arrogance, attractive without appearing aware of it. You waved at some of them, regulars like you and your friends who preferred this small bar over all the others in the strip. 

“Shes here!” Mi-sun called, words already slurred. A chorus of greetings followed causing you to roll your eyes fondly. You couldn't lie, you had been looking forward to Friday ever since last Friday ended. You and your friends had met in college, bonding over the hardships of testing and failures and had been inseparable since then. Though, all of you had followed the path of your own lives you all had promised to meet in this small bar every week, a promise that all of you had kept for the past 4 years. 

“About time,” Ji-ho says. “We were about to order your drink and probably get it wrong.”

“You always get it wrong” you tease and laughter erupts. 

The irritation you had carried from work all day began to ease as you approached the booth, it was the way it always was. It didn't matter what problems you faced during the week because you knew you could always come back here, with these people. People who you related to and who carried the same weight on their shoulders as you. 

Of course, it all couldn’t be perfect because as you got closer you spotted him. 

Your steps faltered almost imperceptibly, there he was. He leaned lazily against the leather booth as though he owned the damn place. One arm stretched across the backrest. The other loosely held a glass of whiskey balanced between long fingers. Dark hair slightly disheveled. Shirt sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms. Looking entirely too comfortable. 

And entirely too pleased with himself. 

Of course he was here, sometimes you thought he just showed up to spite you and perhaps that was the truth. You could feel the stress build inside the pit of your stomach and your good mood that had sprouted effortless inside of you, soon began to sour. The worst part wasn't even that he was attractive, no. The worst part was that he knew it. 

Every expression Min Yoongi wore seemed crafted specifically to annoy you. like he was brought into this earth to be a pebble in your shoe, like having to pee after getting comfortable in bed, like a sneeze that wouldn’t come out, like losing your keys while you are running late for work. Inconvenient, annoying as fuck. Especially the expression he wore this very moment, a slick smirk spread across his face. 

He noticed you, his eyes meeting you from across the room. Warm brown, steady and utterly infuriating. The corner of his mouth lifted higher and there it was. That look, that smug evil look of his. As if he could already predict exactly how this interaction would go. He probably practiced at home, finding new and abundant ways in which he can make you lose your mind. 

You fought the urge to turn around and walk straight back out the door. Instead, you continued toward the table. You needed this terribly, time with your friends and a couple of cold beers with a few shots of green apple soju inbetween. This week had been the hardest you had ever had to endure and no matter how much that prick got on every single one of your 100 billion nerves you wouldn’t let him ruin this night for you. 

“Well” Yoongi drawled before you’d even reached the booth. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

Several of your friends immediately groaned, preparing themselves for what usually came with having the both of you in a room together. You imagined them preparing mentally before any plans you all made where the both of you would be present. 

“Dont start” Gina moaned, passing you a small glass of white liquid. 

“Seriously” Woo-jin called from where he sat “shes been here for like what 5 seconds?”

You ignored them, bringing the sweet liquid to your lips and taking it down your throat in a swift gulp. Ignoring him was usually impossible, but you liked to make the effort. Sliding into the empty seat, you sat your purse down and offered your friends a bright smile. 

“Hi everyone.”

Then, without missing a beat glancing in his direction:

“Who invited the dog?” 

The table exploded into laughter and his grin widened, his intense stare only growing more suffocating as he leaned closer into the table. His attention had been beckoned and you knew he was going to give you hell for it but you weren’t scared, not Min Yoongi of all people. 

“Oh, we’re doing this tonight?” he chuckled. 

“We do this every night.” you snap, your eyes falling into a cold glare, the annoyance rippling through your temples. 

“But oh how much fun is it?” Yoongi shrugged. 

“Not fun at all actually,” Woo-jin answered. 

Your eyes collapse into his, a mistake. His expression held no annoyance unlike yours, not offended or even surprised, he looked completely entertained. Like this was his favorite part of the evening, like he’d been waiting for you to walk through the door. Something tightened unexpectedly in your chest. Irritation, absolutely nothing else. 

You held his gaze for one second too long before looking away, which he noted distinctively and judging by the knowing look that flashed briefly across his face, he was already preparing whatever insufferable comment that would come next. 

Absolutely wonderful. The night had officially begun. 

A server appeared beside the table before more insults could be exchanged between the both of you. 

“The usual?” she asked, taking empty beer bottles from the table in experienced precision. 

“Please” you nodded with a lazy smile. 

The server nodded and disappeared into the crowd again and for a few seconds, conversation shifted elsewhere. Work complaints, vacation plans that might never make it past the group chat or maybe will if you all coordinated appropriately, Ji-ho shared details of a disastrous blind he had recently suffered through the previous week. You could finally feel yourself relax again, sinking deeper into the booth. Maybe, tonight wouldn’t be so bad but then Yoongi opened his mouth like always fucking did. 

“So,” 

Immediately, everyone groaned again. 

“No” Ji-ho protested. 

“Leave it alone.” 

“Don’t”

“What?” Yoongi asked innocently. “Im making conversation.”

“You’ve never made conversation a day in your life” Mi-sun stated, narrowing her eyes on him but he ignored her, his attention fixed on you. Dangerous attention, attention you utterly despised. Like a wolf deciding whether or not it wanted to bite. 

“So” he repeated, taking a sip from his glass. “How’s what’s-his-name?”

The table collectively winced and your jaw tightened at the reaction. Of course, of course this was where he’d go. A month ago you would’ve pretended not to care, probably would’ve laughed it off or made a joke to lighten the mood but now you were simply tired. 

“Dude” Ji-ho sighed. 

“What?” Yoongi asked. 

“You know what” he replied sternly. 

“I was just asking a question” Yoongi answered simply. 

“You were being an asshole,” Gina added. 

His gaze never left you as the group scolded him, his eyes melting into yours and no matter how badly you wanted to cut him in half in that very moment, you held your composure. He wouldn’t see you crack, not when it was the very thing that he wanted and you weren’t about to give it to him. 

“Same thing, apparently.”

The server arrived almost in comical timing, sliding the fresh poured beer right in front of you. You took a gulp before answering, licking the foam from your lips and allowing a heavy breath to flow out of your lungs. Honestly, you didn't even know what to answer but you had to, you couldn't allow him to embarrass you in front of your friends. 

“Dont know” you shrugged carelessly as if the bare mention of the man didn't make you want to shrink into the booth you sat in. 

“Really?” he asked mockingly.

“Really” you replied dryly. 

“Huh.”

The sound irritated you more than it should have. The single syllable, the tone. As though he’d been expecting exactly that answer. You wish you could throw the beer in your hand straight in his face but that would be a waste of good cold beer, he wasn’t worth it. 

“I forgot about him,” Gina sighed from across the table, her big round eyes trying to dissipate the hatred in the air. 

“Wish I could,” she muttered soon, unable to hold the lie in her mouth. A few sympathetic looks came her way. Everyone had watched the entire thing unfold. At first they’d tease you, because you never took anyone seriously, you never cancelled plans and never disappeared. Never allowing yourself to rearrange your life for a man but one day, you suddenly had. 

You’d skip out on Friday nights, missed birthday dinners, even turned down weekend trips which you were always the first to accept. You spent months carving out space for someone you genuinely thought might matter and then he’d vanished. No argument, no dramatic break up, just slow retreat. Texts unanswered and plans cancelled. Disappearing through excuses that ultimately left nothing for you to grasp onto. 

The realization had been humiliating, not because you had lost him but because you had cared enough to be hurt. 

“Honestly”, Mi-sun said carefully, “he wasn't worth it anyway.”

“No,” you agreed quietly. “He wasn’t” 

“Dont worry Y/n, one day you will find yourself a beefy handsome man” Woo-jin promised before throwing another shot into his mouth. 

“Why beefy?” Gina asked, furrowing her eyebrows. 

“That’s one way to put it” his voice flowed through the chatter in the bar like glass cracking in a silent room. You closed your eyes briefly, attempting to digest his voice the best way that you could. He was fucking relentless and you cursed at yourself for even replying. His voice scaled different heights of irritation, so much that sometimes you wished you could go deaf if it meant not having to hear him. 

You looked across the table, Yoongi was studying the amber liquid in his glass. He looked careless, relaxed yet you could tell his mouth prepared to pour ammunition straight at you. You allowed your top lip to quiver in annoyance, your eyebrows furrowing instantly. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say” you asked. 

“Oh, plenty” he responded, exposing his lips in a clever smile. 

You could feel the air shift around you, your friends beginning to adjust their postures. They perceived your arguments like lab rats that had been shocked into compliance, the both of you instilling trauma that they would never recover from. Like parents arguing at the dining table, tossing hatred from one end to the other. It probably was exhausting, frankly you were exhausted too. 

“Abort mission” Ji-ho whispered. 

“Don't,” Mi-sun begged. 

“I'm serious” Gina warned. 

Words that you both ignored. 

“As i recall,” he said, “everyone could see that guy was a disaster except you.”

The words landed harder than you had expected, not because they were cruel but because they were true. Somehow, making his statement worse. The signs had always been there but you had decided to ignore them, hell the man didn't even like your friends. Often referring to them as the ‘geek league’. You hadn’t even tried to defend them, laughing it off as if it was some kind of joke. You laughed….you laughed. 

And yet, they were the ones here with you now, not him. You couldn't bring yourself to expose that part to them because you knew it would hurt, you swallowed the guilt only allowing it to resurface in your weakest moments. You had been a fool and it tormented you inside. 

“Funny” you uttered bitterly, your brain prepping the hurtful words you would use against him. If he was insolent enough to go as low as to shame you for your failed love life then you would meet him down in hell. Two could play this game and you weren't one to back down. 

“Is it?” he raised an eyebrow. 

“Very” you leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. Offering him an unpleasant smile. 

“Coming from the man who cant keep a serious relationship if his fucking life depended on it.”

The table erupted into a mixture of gasps and chatter, loud cackles adding a cherry on the top. 

“Oh my god.”

“No you didn’t Y/n!”

“She absolutely did.”

“I mean she’s lowkey right dude, probably gonna marry someone when you’re like 70 or something”

Yoongi stared, the smug expression on his face finally cracking. Success.you could hear imaginary fireworks cracking in the background, Ji-ho reaching over to give you an award for the best comeback known to human kind. You cried into the microphone, thanking your mother and father for their efforts in raising you to be a cold blooded bitch who could end the man in front of you with a flick of your tongue. 

“Actually, correction” your smile widened. 

“Your last girlfriend left you for a baseball player after she went to to the game alone with the tickets she bought for your anniversary which you forgot” you added “typical of a self centered prick like you”

Ji-ho nearly choked on his drink, causing Woo-jin to double over in laughter. 

“Yoongi,” he scoffed. 

“Yoongi, tell me that's not true.”

You could see his jaw tighten and your smile spread in victory. You had struck a nerve and you would ride that high until the end of times. He wasn’t deserving of any mercy, if he wanted to embarrass you now the both of you would be. It was only fair. 

“It wasn’t our anniversary” he spoke, annoyance now riding in his stare.

“One year together and you forgot the date” you judged. 

“It wasn’t-” he began. 

“She literally had to remind you” you interjected. 

The entire booth dissolved into chaos, for the first time all evening, you felt like you were winning, hell for the first time in the entire month you were finally gaining something rather than losing. Yoongi leaned back against the booth, watching you. He wasn't laughing nor did he seem embarrassed. He just watched, the noise around them fading slightly. His gaze held yours, steady. Uncomfortably steady. Then one corner of his mouth lifted, slowly and dangerously. 

“Oh, good,” he said after a few minutes. 

Your stomach sank, you knew that look. It was familiar and agitating. It wasn't over, matter of fact he was just starting. He wouldn't go down without a fight and you knew it, he couldn't let you have anything not as long as he could draw air into his lungs. He was an asshole in that way. 

“What?” you asked. 

“There she is” he pointed at you, that smirk returning. 

“What does that mean?” 

His eyes flickered, something softer appearing for half a second before disappearing completely. Leaving you to wonder if it had been there at all. 

“You’ve been miserable for weeks” he states and the laughter around the table gradually dies. Nobody speaks, nobody moves because the conversation was taking a turn and they knew it. You knew it, you could feel it in your bones. His gaze remained locked on yours. 

“You stopped showing up” his voice grew quieter. 

“You stopped answering calls.” 

Something in your chest tightened as he listed ways in which you had failed your group of friends and though, they had been supportive. Often telling you it wasn't that big of a deal if you needed a break, the guilt inside of you persevered. You hated it and you also hated how much Yoongi could see you, how he could just stare at you and know what you were feeling. You could never hide from him, it was detestable. 

“Yoongi-” Mi-sun began. 

“No” he snapped in her direction, swirling the whiskey in his glass. 

“You want to know why everyone hated that guy?” his eyes lifted from his glass and back to you. 

“Because he made you disappear.”

The booth fell silent, you couldn’t even think of a comeback. There wasn't a joke settling in his tongue this time, his tone sincere. There was no smirk that followed either, no teasing or bickering, just pure filthy honesty. Which somehow irritated you more than all the insults combined, it would've been easier if he’d simply kept being unbearable. 

“And I don't mean that in the sense of you skipping out on us” disappointment flashed across his eyes as he spoke directly to you “I mean like you didn't even show up for yourself Y/n.” 

Silence stretched infinitely, uncomfortably. Far too long for a group of friends that normally filled every second with noise. Your body recoiled against it, you noticed how everyone suddenly seemed interested in their drinks, sympathetic glances being passed around like a hot potato. 

His holding pity. 

You looked away first, shifting in your seat and bringing the glass of warm beer to your lips but not allowing yourself to take a drink from it. A knot settled in your throat and you wanted to cry, in fact you wanted to sob. 

“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a laugh. “This got depressing.”

The spell of silence broke immediately, the chatter picking up and you sighed with relief. 

“Oh good” Gina whispered desperately. 

“We’re back.”

“I was about to throw myself through the window,” Woo-jin chuckled. 

Mindless conversations resumed, relief spreading through the table. Subjects changed and discarded and the complaints returned. About their bosses, about the economy, about how much rent has gone up. Someone ordered another round and soon, the tension dissolved or maybe everyone just pretended it did. Certainly, you did. 

Yet, every few minutes you found yourself aware of him, not looking at him but aware that he was there. Noting his laugh, the scrape of his chair when he moved to sit more comfortably, the occasional brush of his arm against the booth. Exasperating. 

Hours passed and soon the group began to thin whilst the alcohol began to rock you from side to side. Woo-jin had work in the morning, Gina had a babysitter waiting. Checks were paid and belongings were gathered. Promises were made about seeing each other next weekend but somehow you felt discouraged to agree yet, you would show up, you had to. 

Soon only a handful remained. 

Then three.

Then two. 

And somehow, through what you would later insist was a conspiracy to have you make amends orchestrated by your scheming friends, you found yourself standing outside the bar with Yoongi. 

Alone. 

The door shut behind almost too loudly, the sounds of the bar muffled instantly. The chilled air of the summer night swept through the lively street, the bars and restaurants with their neon signs glowing around you both. Streetlights reflected off damp dark pavement. In the distance, you could hear traffic vibrating, music leaking faintly through the walls of nearby businesses. 

You wrapped your arms around your frame, regret filling inside of you due to the choice of outfit you had picked when the sun was still hanging in the sky. Its rays no longer keeping your skin warm. 

“You don't have to stand there” you glanced at him momentarily then fixed your eyes on a couple that walked past. 

Yoongi looked down from where he leaned against the brick wall, his eyes taking you in for the first time since you both had walked out in complete silence. 

“Don’t tell me what to do” he chuckled, his tone slurred like yours. Both your bodies swaying under the slight buzz of the alcohol running through your veins. 

“I’m not” you replied, noting the way he didn't seem to look away from you. 

“Yes you are” he spoke almost instantly. 

“Do you really have to argue with me about everything?” you snapped, rolling your eyes. You both stared at one another, the familiar irritation returning immediately. Comforting, somehow. 

“Where’s your car?” you asked. 

“Shop” Yoongi responded simply, stuffing his hands into his jeans. 

“Again?” you retorted. 

“Unlike some people, I don't buy a new car every time a tire loses air” he mocked, making mention of your poor ability to sustain a healthy car. Maintaining a car was challenging for you to say the least, like what the hell did the radiator need water for? Or did it? 

“Why are you so annoying?” you shot back, unable to defend yourself against his factual claim. 

His grin appeared, that stupid grin. The one you disliked entirely too much. A gust of wind lifted loose strands of your hair, without thinking you ticked them back your ear. Yoongi watched the movement, his expression changing subtly. So subtle that you almost missed it. 

Almost. 

Something warm settled unexpectedly low in your stomach, you immediately rejected it. 

“Stop looking at me like that” you whined. 

“Like what?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. 

“You know exactly what” you replied. 

“I really don’t.” 

“Liar.” 

A car horn sounded somewhere down the street, neither moved. Neither seemed eager to leave which made no sense because you both had spent most of the time arguing but then again…mabe that wasn’t entirely true. Arguing implied wanting the conversation to end yet the ones you held, never did. You both could last days bickering, saying things that you would regret later on but never apologize for due to ego which kept the both of you bound to a certain hatred and annoyance. 

The realization struck you suddenly, you wondered if the reason Yoongi annoyed you so much wasn't because you truly disliked him but because he was one of the only people who could consistently get underneath your skin and worse, one of the few people you never seemed capable of ignoring. 

When you first met him, you actually got along. Not immediately but better than either of you would ever admit now. You had been studying in the library for a biology test, back then Mi-sun had been your lab partner and had bragged about how cool her friend group was and how you would meet them in the library and surely, it had happened just like that. Everyone was loud, outgoing, and eager to make friends with you, besides Yoongi that is. 

Yoongi has always been sarcastic and observant whilst you were confident, stubborn, and refused to let anyone intimidate you. Naturally, you had gravitated toward each other. You’d end up in the same conversations, the same debates always standing in the opposite stances. You challenged each other and it was enjoyable, at first. 

Then everything turned into a competition. Who was right, who got the last word, who could get under the other’s skin faster. Your friends thought it was hilarious, the two of you secretly enjoyed it until one night. A few years back, you were seeing someone, not seriously of course. Casually. He had cheated, not a devastating heartbreak but enough to embarrass you. 

Honestly, you were hurt. 

At a gathering shortly afterward, Yoongi had made a joke. To him, it was meant to lighten the mood but you, it felt cruel. 

‘Well, maybe next time don't date a guy whose known for throwing his dick at the first girl who walks past’

Everyone had laughed, you had too. Outwardly, in fact but you would never forget those words because that was the last thing you needed at that time. You wanted to feel reassured, supported. For your feelings to be validated and instead, you had received a joke. From that moment forward, you started seeing him differently. 

“You know,” he said quietly, “he was an idiot.” 

Your stomach tightened, you knew who he was referring to or perhaps, all the men he was referring to which had come into your life like storms tearing everything in their path. Your heart, your confidence, your self-worth. 

“Yoongi-” you warned, voice trembling. 

“I’m serious” his eyes lingered on you, his expression fixed. 

“You deserved better than that.” 

Your stare faltered, it was strange to see him this serious. You were waiting for him to laugh, to tease you again but his words hung in the air, the punchline never arriving. You didn't know what to say and neither did he, you both stood in silence again. Two people who never seemed to ever shut up, now speechless. 

“If i had someone like you-” he started which made you snap your head in his direction. The statement rang inside your ears, the buzz in your brain beginning to melt away. Your gut twisted anxiously as you waited for him to finish what he wanted to say. 

“I would never hurt you like that” Yoongi shrugged, his eyes traced the outline of the buildings in front of him but your stare remained on him, allowing the silence to linger and wrapping itself between the both of you. His words left their trace inside of you. For a moment you allowed yourself to indulge in them, as if somehow the universe would allow something like a relationship between you and Yoongi. 

“I would remember our anniversary” he moved his face back to you and allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips and then it was like you were brought back to reality. 

“You are drunk Yoongi” you sighed, looking away from him. 

“Fine,” he nodded, "I am but you know what they say.” 

“Shut up drunk people are not honest” you scoffed. 

“Let me walk you home” Yoongi straightened, pushing himself off the wall with a loud huff. 

“I can get home myself” you replied, looking up at the grey clouds that covered the sky. The warning that soon rain would begin to pour. You were already underdressed, the last thing that you needed was to be caught in the rain whilst walking home. 

Yoongi snorted beside you, as if you had said something comical. You glared in his direction, you would really punch him in the face if he said something stupid. You were tired and intoxicated, there was nothing stopping you from assaulting him in front of this bar. 

“Sureee” his tone sarcastic. 

“I can” you bit. 

“Last month you got lost driving to a restaurant you’ve been to for three years” he laughed. 

“Okay, first of all, the road was blocked and I had to reroute” your voice was raised, irritation clinging onto it tightly. 

Soon tiny droplets began tapping against parked cars, against awnings, onto your shoulders. Yoongi sighed, his eyes narrowing up to the sky as if he were studying the drizzle that fell. 

“Come on” he urged you, stepping forward into the sidewalk. 

“I am not asking you to take me home.” 

“And yet, I’m taking you.”

“You always do this.” 

“Do what?”

“Meddle.” 

You watched his jaw tighten, the visible implication that your words were beginning to burn into him. Yet, it was always like this. It has always been so easy for the both of you to go from 0 to 100, to lose yourselves in the frustration that brought the presence of each other. 

“Are we doing this again?” This question was answered by the roll of your eyes and the pout that formed on your lips, a clear indication of the roaring argument that sat in your tongue. 

“Yes, we are doing this again” you retorted. 

The walk began anyway, side by side beneath the growing rain with an obvious distance to demonstrate that though you both walked together, you were in fact not together. The streets were nearly empty now, most people had already sought shelter but the sheer pettiness that existed in the both of you, moved your bodies forward. 

“You act like everyone needs your help” you cut through the silence and yes, maybe you should give it up. It was late, the night had ended but you were never too tired to set Yoongi straight. You needed to voice your grievances, you needed him to understand that he needed to stop acting like an asshole, as if the world owed him something.  

“I don't,” he groaned. 

“You absolutely do,” you snapped. 

“No, I help because apparently nobody else is willing to tell you when you’re making a terrible decision.”

You laugh, a sharp and humorless laugh. 

“See? That's what i mean” you grumble “why do you feel like you know better.”

“Sometimes I do” Yoongi responds, matter of factly. 

Your head snapped in his direction, his expression remaining maddeningly calm. The argument that had been simmering for years suddenly reignited. You can feel the pent up hurt and frustrations from previous altercations rising in your throat, ready to spill onto the wet pavement below you. 

“You know what your problem is?”

Yoongi groaned, throwing his head back and closing his eyes for a moment. 

“Here we go.”

“No, seriously” rainwater dripped from the ends of your hair but you didn't care. Nothing else matters more than to finally tell Yoongi everything that you had wanted to say for years, perhaps withholding them as to not offend too deeply, as to not impact the friend group you both valued so much. 

“You can't stand not being the smartest person in the room.” 

“Oh, that's really rich Y/n.”

“It is not”you huffed, the mixture of alcohol, the cold rain, and the sudden cardio leaving you breathless. 

“You think you’re always right” Yoongi shot back. 

“So do you!” you stopped walking, you stared at each other, rain beginning to fall steadily around you. The city seemed to disappear behind the droplets, the sound swallowing away the noise around the both of you. Yoongi ran a hand through his damp black hair, his eyes scanning his surroundings and then falling back on you. 

“You know what? Fine” his voice sharpened. 

“You want honesty?” 

You folded your arms, leaning your head to the side as if studying him. 

“Please.”

“That guy was a piece of shit, a complete utter disaster” his words were bitter, tasting sour as they left his mouth but he wasn’t known for withholding anything, specially when it came to you “i bet he was the one that didn't want you around us because he knew we would tell you the truth, open up your eyes about how bad he was for you.”

“You don't get to make those judgements” your voice faltered, cracking. 

“He disappeared Y/n” he muttered. 

“Thats my business Yoongi, who i decide to be with or not be with is my business” you only realized you were yelling when passersby stared curiously but that didn't deter you, you were done with trying to be civil. 

“He disappeared” the words landed between you heavily, for a moment neither of you spoke. Rain drummed against the pavement, against rooftops, and against the silence. You shook your head and sighed, you were over it.

“You always have something to say, can you just shut up and keep your opinions to yourself” you turn and begin walking again. 

“Y/n, i just say shit like it is and you don't know how to take it” you could feel him following behind and soon, he was walking beside you again. 

“You always have to make a joke” you whispered but regardless of how fast the rain fell, Yoongi had heard you clearly. Understanding flashed briefly across his face as you opened the old wound, the one neither of you had ever brought up regardless of the many arguments. It had been years and you still harbored those words as if he had just uttered them.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Help who exactly Yoongi? Your help is always done at my expense” you shouted angrily. 

Your neighborhood had long since fallen asleep, rain whispered through the narrow streets, softening the flow of the lanterns that lined the road. The storm had settled into a steady rhythm, turning the world into a blur. 

“Thanks for accompanying me,” you said coldly. 

Yoongi watched as you stepped towards the tall wooden gate guarding the entrance to your property. It stood nearly eight feet high, constructed from dark stained timber that had weathered decades of storms. The tiled roof above the gate curved gracefully outward, rainwater cascading from its edges in steady streams. 

Most people who passed by never saw beyond it. 

The walls enclosing the property stretched in either direction, blocking the view from neighboring homes and the road alike. You reached into your purse, your hands digging for your keys which kept jingling inside but you couldn’t reach. 

“You can go now” the words were tossed over your shoulder, dismissive and stern. Yet, Yoongi remained there, rain collecting on his black t-shirt, watching as you pushed the gate open. Warm light spilling from within. He had been here before during study sessions and holiday gatherings between friends but you had re-decorated since then.

A stone pathway wound through a carefully maintained courtyard, each slate stone darkened by the rain. Low lanterns lined the walkway, casting pools of amber light across the wet ground. To the left stood a small garden enclosed by carefully trimmed hedges and flowering shrubs. Beyond it, a grove of bamboo swayed gently in the wind, their leaves whispering against one another. The house itself stood at the far end. 

You stepped through the entrance, certain he would leave after seeing you walk inside. God, he was so pretentious. He wanted to act like a gentleman but he was everything but, what was his deal? But then you heard his footsteps and your body tensed. You turned slowly, watching as he followed behind you, the gate swinging shut behind him with a heavy thud. 

“You really don't know when to quit, do you?” his jaw flexed, rainwater sliding from his hair. For a moment he simply stood there beneath the lantern light, looking more irritated than you had ever seen him. 

Not angry, utterly frustrated. 

“No,” you remarked, "I don't.”

You lunged. 

Yoongi lunged at the same moment. 

Your mouths collided more than met, teeth and heat and four years of friction and arguments igniting all at once. His hands were in your hair, pulling your head back, and your fingers were clawing at his t-shirt, dragging him closer. Neither of you were gentle, neither of you wanted to be. 

“You’re infuriating” you gasped against his mouth. 

“So are you.” his teeth grazing your lower lip. “God, you’re so-” 

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.” 

The rain swallowed you whole, cold shock. Then his body pressing against yours, steam rising where your hearts met, your tanktop transparent, exposing the pink lace of your bra. You both stumbled backward, a tangle of limbs and dripping clothes and mouths that couldn't pull apart. The concrete was slick beneath your bare feet. When did your shoe come off? The rain kept coming, relentless, turning your loosened hair into ropes and your skirt in secondary skin. 

“I hate you” Yoongi growled, backing you against the wall, the rough texture there biting into your exposed skin. 

“I hate you so much i cant get you out of my fucking mind.” 

His hand reached for your throat, not squeezing. A warm weight, his thumb tracing the outline of your pulse, your hips bucked forward without permission, seeking friction, finding the hard line of his thigh. 

“Look at you” he breathed. “Look at you, needing me.”

“I don't need anything from you.”

“Liar” Yoongi whispered. 

His mouth descended. Not to your lips this time but to your throat, to the hollow beneath your ear, to the thin material of your top that barely covered your collarbone. His teeth scraped skin, and the sound you made was nothing you had ever made before. A whisper, a plea. 

His free hand was working at your tanktop, the elastic material giving away beneath his fingers. The rain hit your exposed chest, your nipples tightened into the aching material of your bra. Yoongi pulled back enough to look, water streaming down his face, his expression something between reverence and devastation. 

“I’ve thought about you like this” his tone is torn and horse “more than i should have.”

You can see all the thoughts he’s had of you between the years flow past his gaze, brimmed with desire and desperation. His expression makes your panties grow damp from the exhilaration it causes you. 

“Show me” you hummed “show me how long you’ve wanted this.”

Yoongi drops to his knees on the wet pavement, and the sight of him there, of this infuriating, arrogant, beautiful man kneeling in the rain sends a jolt straight to your core. His hands pushed your skirt up, bunching it at your waist. His mouth found the inside of your thigh, and you shuddered. 

The sensation of his tongue warm pressing against your cold, wet skin sent chills down your spine, your body shifting forward upon contact, a low hiss escaping your lips. His mouth moved along the trace of your inner thigh until it brushed briefly against the material of your panties, the fucker was teasing you but all you could muster to do was to blend your hand into his black hair. 

One of his hands reached up and held your waist, holding you steady and the other splayed across your belly, pinning you against the wall. His mouth landed against your clothed mound, the wet cotton sticking against your clip. He moved slowly at first, then harder. Hungrily. 

“Yoongi.”

His eyes raised to meet yours whilst his tongue drew out a long line in between your folds, the corners of his mouth rising as a smile spread across them. 

“Please” you begged, never in a million years did you think you would’ve ever begged for Yoongi but here you were, melting underneath his touch. 

“Please what Y/n?” he muttered and you shivered in response. 

Yoongi pulled the fabric to the side, his mouth now on your exposed clit. Bare, hot. His tongue parted you, his groan vibrating against your clit as he moved his mouth slowly. The rain was an afterthought now, just another sensation layered over the impossible reality of Min Yoongi’s mouth between your legs, the skin of his cheeks scraping the tender skin of your inner thigh, his fingers digging bruises into your hip. 

Your heart thundered faster and your blood raced as his mouth worked you closer to your climax. How obscene, how terribly hot it was for him to be in between your legs like this, the boy you hated the most eating you up. Your legs trembled underneath the power his tongue held, your hips rocking into each movement he made. 

“Fuck” another moan, you jolted forward out of pure human desire and there was not an inch of you that was ashamed of the sounds coming out of your mouth. Under different circumstances you would’ve hid in embarrassment but you didn't want him to stop. Your mouth gasped open, your eyes shutting tightly until all you could see was sparks and complete darkness. Your head fell back and softly collided with the wall behind you. 

Yoongi’s tongue fluttered against your clit, his licks skilled and all too consuming. He ate away as if your mound was a delicious peach and he, a starving man. You couldn't form coherent words, your mind glazed with pure satisfaction. The kind that you only ever read in books or watched in movies. He was better than anyone you ever had before but you could never disclose that to him, not a chance. 

Your knees buckled and you came undone, your fingers gripping tightly onto the locks of hair. You let out a loud yelp and you were sure your neighbors would come knocking soon, his hand reached out and covered your mouth whilst you spilled moans and yelps into. 

The feeling of him removing his mouth led you to open your eyes, heaving as the high tore through you. 

Your half hooded stare found Yoongi, he stood in front of you now. His tongue licking away your juices from his bottom lip. His own eyes carried the same abundant lust as yours and before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours once again. 

You kissed recklessly, your lips and tongues consuming one another feverlish. Your hands exploring each other. Your mouth escaped his and found the trail of his exposed neck, you could feel his pulse underneath your tongue as you licked his skin, yoongi’s head rolled back, giving you access. 

His hand slid onto your outer thigh, gripping the skin there and raising it up to his waist. You felt the friction of his jeans between your legs and your waist buckled forward. 

“You see?” he groaned “you do need me.”

But now there wasn't an ounce of will power left in you willing to contradict, that which was so obvious. Your face shifted back to his and you enveloped his mouth in yours again, your teeth pulling at his bottom lip. 

“You are so annoying,” you moaned, bringing him closer. You tried to show some kind of restraint, to keep some sort of decomorum but you couldn’t. You needed him inside of you as much as he needed you. You reached for his jeans, undoing the button and zipper in a smooth movement. Leading his own waist to buckle into your touch, a small smirk pulling at your lips. 

Your hand dipped inside his boxers and the palm of your hand slid down his length, hic cock warm and painfully hard against your touch. 

Yoongi moaned, pressing his forehead against your cheek. Shuttered breaths lingering against the skin there, his moans were sweet and raspy and it only led you to move your hand slower, teasing him. You were aware of the ache building inside of his belly which was much like your own. You brought his cock out from its clothed restraint, your hand stretching around his pulsing head. Yoongi found your mouth desperately, his moans pouring into it and you swallowed his pleasure. 

You dipped his top in your entrance and lust shocked through your body. Yoongi grunted and lifted his hips to meet yours, your cunt quivering around him. Muscles tightening around his shaft comfortably. His hips began to push and draw out slowly, his grip on your thigh growing harsher, the further he reached inside of you. 

His other hand gripped your waist tightly, keeping you from falling out of his grasp. He pumped his hips faster, the sound of your skin meeting, creating a symphony against the sound of the rain. 

Yoongi’s mouth traveled to your neck then slid down to your chest, his tongue slipping past the fabric of your bra and gliding against your hardened nipple. A high pitch hum escaped you and your arms wrapped around his shoulders, he was so close but the desire to melt into him prevailed. 

You could feel his cock expanding inside of you, your juices slicking against his skin. Your leg gave out from underneath you but Yoongi grabbed onto you before you could move, lifting you of the ground entirely. You clamped around his waist, throwing your head back as your heavy sighs collided against his. 

“I make you feel good, Y/n?” His voice was hoarse and struggled. 

“Y-yes” yours winded and convulsed. 

With every one of his thrusts, every one of his kisses and nibbles he pushed you further into disarray, the feeling overwhelming and you were aware you were coming again, a heaviness settling itself in your gut. You needed more, desperate to have him encased inside of you. 

“Yoongi” your walls tightened again. 

“Fuck Y/n” your name had never sounded so good before, not like it did coming out of his mouth. His cock caressed your inner walls and you began grinding your hips as he pounded into you. harder, faster. 

“Just like that Y/n” he whimpered “you are such a good girl.”

“Yoongi”

Your orgasm arrived in a sudden rush, your juices flowing freely. Your muscles spasming and your walls hugging him tighter. Yoongi thrusted urgently, coming undone inside of you moments later, his teeth biting down onto the exposed skin of your shoulder in an attempt to stifle his groans. 

You both remained there, a mixture of struggling breaths and heaving chests. The realization of what had just happened only arriving when you felt the rain on your skin again, no longer an afterthought. You looked down at Yoongi, whose head rested on your shoulder. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered. 

“Please” he muttered “dont ruin the moment.”

“Put me down,” you said, slapping his shoulder. 

“Do i have to?” he sighed “you feel so warm.” 

You squirmed, feeling his cock still nestled inside of you. 

“Put me down you psychopath” you yelled, he remained still for a few seconds then obliged, softly placing your thighs down and sliding out of you. You moved to lower your skirt quickly, suddenly feeling overly exposed. Yoongi stared at you whilst stuffing himself back in his jeans and the irritation returned. 

“Having regrets already?” he chuckled and you grimaced in response. You didn't regret it, in fact given the opportunity you would do it all again but you avoided his question, moving your underwear back to its place. 

“You ripped my shirt” you tried to mend the torn fabric but it was no use, the material had been stretched and pulled into a mesh of nothingness. 

“You weren't complaining before,” he hummed victoriously. 

“You make me sick, y’know?” you pushed past him, stomping away from where you both had almost eaten each other alive. “Who even does that? You’re an animal.”

“Get out!” you yelled back at him, beginning to put in the code for your front door. 

“Hey Y/n” he called, you sighed and turned to him, a glare already creeping on your eyes. 

“What is it?” 

“Same time next week?"

-

Namjoon simply shrugged and threw the cooler filled with bait onto the sand, “He gets so worked up over nothing – frustrated with everyone but we really didn’t mean to make him angry,” He shrugged confused but still sympathetic to his friend's feelings.

Yoongi never got upset over “nothing”. Sure, he could be grumpy and easily annoyed by small things, pouting to you that something wasn’t right in his mind but storming off a boat after what was supposed to be a nice afternoon with his friends, whom he loved? That wasn’t your Yoongi and you stayed silent, not agreeing with Joon on this one.

“Well whatever happened, I’m sure he’ll be over it by dinner.” You sighed, willing your words into reality for the sake of the holiday.

The band needed a break and there was only a small window between album recording and post-production that gave them a chance to rent out a huge beach mansion in Malibu. You had been invited along with some of the other wives and girlfriends, all under strict conditions by the record label to lay low. But everyone knew the drill by now, sworn to secrecy. And Yoongi was excited for the break, relishing in the idea of seeing you and spending time with his friends without the pressure of work.

But you knew there was always going to be a diva moment; you just didn’t think it would be your husband losing his cool. Especially with Jin making sure everyone was keeping the house clean and acting like a maniac. 

Jimin nodded in agreement, knowing Yoongi was never upset for long. Thankfully he changed the subject and sent Namjoon on a mission to get him another beer from the beach cooler. You took the break in conversation to return to your room where you assumed your husband was brooding alone, probably grumbling to himself in the otherwise silent room.

And you were right. As soon as you clicked the door open, you heard it. The unintelligible Korean – quietly cursing whoever was coming to ruin his peace and quiet. But you didn’t care if he was annoyed by your presence; you’d been together for long enough to sense what the other needed, especially if something was upsetting them. 

He would've done the same for you.

“Don’t throw a pillow at me. I come in peace,” You said, rounding the corner and surrendering your power with your hands up beside your face.

He looked exactly as you expected; propped up against the bed head, reading glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and his eyes trained on the book you’d gotten him from the farmers market that morning. At first he ignored you, pretending to be completely immersed in the book he was reading. 

But the quick glance up in your direction was enough to make you smirk. The pout he had on his face when he breezed past you on the beach a few minutes ago was still there, shoulders tensed around his neck. The only difference now was that he was shirtless, gloriously toned and looking painfully beautiful lying on the white linen sheets. 

“You didn’t need to come at all.”

Okay, so maybe not perfect all the time.

“Well I came up because the boys were worried that they’d made you angry…”

Yoongi’s eyes snapped up to yours and rolled, “Well I wouldn’t be angry if they didn’t act like fucking idiots all the time.”

“What did they do?” You asked curiously, sitting on the edge of the bed with caution.

“You know who I’m talking about, right? The question is more, what didn’t they do? Because everything they did pissed me off,” He grumbled and you nodded – trying not to feed into his anger, “But maybe I got too fired up…”

“Do you think you might have overreacted? Because they think you hate them,” You posed the question as delicately as you could, watching Yoongi’s shoulders slouch in defeat. 

“Maybe,” He mumbled under his breath, “I don’t hate them – it was just irritating. They were shouting and we were supposed to be fishing…” He trailed off, rolling his eyes with a huff when he saw the small smile creeping onto your face.

“Sounds like you overreacted, baby.” 

Yoongi groaned and tilted his head back against the headboard. “I’ll go down and apologise when I’ve calmed down,” He added and you understood. 

Rightly or wrongly, he was clearly fired up; fight or flight mode activated with the former winning out. There weren’t many things that really got under Yoongi’s skin but when things were getting out of control and there was nowhere to hide, like a sailboat, he felt trapped. He was the sweetest person you had ever met but when he didn’t like what was happening, it was extremely rare for him to bite his tongue. The truth hurts, he would always say.

Grumpy Yoongi was a force to be reckoned with and you probably should’ve given him space but you thought it would be a shame to let all of that pent up anger and frustration go to waste, you thought.

“Fair enough, honey,” You whispered and stood up, smoothing your oversized shirt out as he went back to his book, “I’ll give you some space but I’m not wearing any underwear right now… Just thought you should know that.”

In true Yoongi fashion, he didn’t even flinch at your words, not even a glance nor did he stop you from leaving at first. It wasn’t until your hand was gripping the door handle that you heard him yell out from the bedroom, “And where do you think you’re going then?”

His voice sounded hoarse, deep and tantalisingly sexy as you trotted back to where he was, now sprawled out on the bed and waiting for your return. The book he was seemingly so enthralled in when you left was still open but discarded as you crawled up beside it with a smirk, merely imitating the expression on his face as he watched you. 

Eyes forever trained on yours, tempting you up onto his lap that he was patting. Your fingernails dragged along the exposed skin on his thighs that the short shorts weren’t covering. Strong and supple, mind reeling from the things they could do.

Yoongi was pouting when you leaned in closer to his face, telepathically sending signals for you to kiss him. It had been a rough afternoon but having you take his mind off it well and truly made up for it. You smiled and pressed your lips to his, arms snaking around his neck as you settled onto his lap, letting the weight of the day melt into his touch. 

His hands crept around your waist and naturally dropped lower to your backside that he was always mesmerised by. There was hardly ever a moment when you were alone that he wasn’t either touching it or gawking at it and you loved it. The attention, the physical touch – he had you wrapped around his finger, and him yours.

“Let your frustration out on me, baby.”

Your permission ignited something deep inside Yoongi. A little spark in his eyes caught on as you pulled back and captured his stare, aroused by the darkness and the steeliness as he tugged you into his chest. He was groaning under his breath as you moved above him, stirring that feeling he couldn’t ignore and that you could feel between your thighs.

“You drive me insane,” He whispered as you reached up and removed the reading glasses from his beautiful face, peppering kisses all over his cheeks.

“I think these make you look so sexy but I don’t want to break them,” You confessed and he simply smirked as he lifted your hips up and pulled his shorts down, freeing himself from the tight material. 

“I know you do, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and licked your palm before grasping his growing stiffness in your hand, delicately rolling your wrist to get him to where you needed him. It never took long and with all of the kissing and teasing you’d done to him all morning; Yoongi was pretty much hard on sight. But you loved how big he felt in your hand and the way his eyebrows scrunched together when you gripped him a little too tight, a hiss slipping from his lips every time.

“Actually you look sexier like this,” You smiled and kissed him again as he started bunching up your oversized shirt, moaning as you continued to pleasure him, tease him. But he got you back, sliding his calloused fingertips through your slick and pushing two fingers into you without warning, jerking you forward over his shoulder.

“Oh my god!” You shouted, both hands now gripping the back of his head as he fucked you, knuckle deep and revelling in the fact that you were now on the receiving end of his pleasure. 

Yoongi gently placed his other large palm over your mouth, giggling quietly at how vocal you could get. As much as he loved hearing every little sound he could elicit from your lips, he knew how thin the walls were and he didn’t like the idea of his friends hearing you. 

“Shh, I can hear people in the other room, jagiya,” He whispered facetiously, voice taunting.

“Well don’t shove your fingers inside of me without warning and I would be quiet,” You snapped back before he hit that sweet spot, causing you to return to the crook of his neck with a whimpering moan.

“Asshole.”

Yoongi snickered at you waving your metaphorical white flag. He loved you taking control and that’s what you did once you sunk down on him, taking his thick cock all the way until you bottomed out. A low, raspy moan slipped from your throat when you felt him twitch inside you, hips snapping up in an attempt to get you to move. 

“Don’t rush me, baby. You feel so fucking big… God, why do you feel so big?”

“Because I am huge,” Yoongi shamelessly retorted, head tilted back and watching squirming on top of him. You rolled your eyes and straightened your back; now feeling like you had a point to prove. 

As you sat up, you pressed your hands to his chest, hips rolling achingly slow and taking full advantage of your position.

“Okay, with that kind of arrogance and the way you’ve been moping around all day, you’ve lost your touching rights, my love.”

You slapped his hands off your thighs and watched his eyes glaze over with lust, “Hands off.”

Yoongi pouted and reached out with his grabby hands, “Ani, please. I have to touch you.”

There was a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips as he pleaded with you, and you could see right through his façade. Even with his unbelievably thick cock filling you to the brim, brushing against that spot deep inside you that would usually have you unravelling in a matter of seconds, you didn’t crack. Not even a little.

“Hands. Off.”

And with those stern words, Yoongi simply laid back on the pillows and tucked his hands behind his head, watching as you gave him a show. He couldn’t have loved you any more than he did in that moment – for making him feel like his entire body was on fire and for remedying his bad mood. 

You really were a miracle worker. And you were all his.

There was something so innately wicked about Yoongi and how quickly he could have you tied in knots behind closed doors, quivering into his grasp. And with anyone else, you’d be mortified by how quickly you came, arched into his heaving chest while his lips floated beside your ear, spurring you on. But you were both equally hooked on each other, a perfect match.

“Ahhh, jagiya, you feel so good,” He whimpered through gritted teeth as you sank back down onto him with a soft hum and took control. He clawed at your delicious hips rolling over him, again and again, sending him into another dimension entirely.

Yoongi looked almost angelic with his pretty eyes clamped shut, eyelashes fluttering over his freckled cheeks as every surge of pleasure twitched at his knitted brows. You knew he was nearing the end of his tether when his pink lips slightly parted and nostrils flared; the deep grumble of pleasure changing from rough and calculated to soft, high pitched whimpers. It was his tell and you’d loved it from the second you heard it – it was desperate and unabashed and god it made you shudder with pleasure every time without fail.

“Close, honey?”

“Uh-huh,” He panted, eyes shut and death gripping your shaking thighs.

“Want you to come inside me.”

“Uh-huh. yep. God, yes please.” Oh, he was detonating.

“Feel so full, Yoon – give it to me,” You coaxed and ran your fingertips along the intricate muscles dancing under the skin of his tensed neck, admiring until his jaw slacked open. Maybe you were a bit hasty to cover his mouth with your firm hand, gasping when you met a set of wide, shocked eyes looking up at you.

“Baby I’m so sorry,” You pouted but held the pace you knew he needed to get off and he nodded in time with the steamy whimpers he was muffling into the palm of your hand, "But you're loud."

“You’re so good to me,” He managed to mumble before his strong arm slipped around your waist to hold you down, bottoming out in your slick, tight cunt as he shakily bucked through the blinding white light.

Yoongi frantically hummed praise and adoration in a voice many octaves lower than yours as he painted your insides, nipping every inch on your damp neck as he floated down from the clouds; a dazed smile etched into that look you knew all too well. 

“Maybe I should be grumpy more often,” He teased, earning a soft slap to the chest.

“Don’t even think about it.” 

You were driving home together when it happened. Yoongi was parking the car, had put it in reverse, looking out the rear window with his arm slung around the back of your seat while backing into the open spot. You’d told him something about - what even was it...? Some random post you’d seen online about sourdough. And he didn’t listen because he was busy concentrating on parking. He’d asked you to come again once he turned off the car and you said something along the lines of it’s alright, you never listen to me anyway. 

It was supposed to be a joke. Obviously! You’d even grinned while saying it but had turned your head away from him to look out the window in a dramatic display of feigned offense. Yoongi didn’t catch the sarcasm. And he huffed. Then shook his head and got out of the car without another word. That’s when you started to get pissed. He really thought you were that much of a bitch, huh? Okay then. 

Neither of you were in the mood to address it, busy seething with a subtle broil of pent up irritation as you entered your shared apartment. He tried to ease the tension by pushing your shoulder with a playful nudge of his while you slipped out of your shoes. You scoffed though, still griping about him believing you’d be upset over something so trivial. And yes, the irony was lost on you. He let you be then, knowing you’d come around after a while and needing a minute to clear his head himself.

Some hours have passed since, the cool down phase in full effect and you drop on the couch after a long shower that brought some sense of balance to your brain. This ‘fight’ was so stupid, it almost makes you laugh. You shake your head, pulling your bath robe tighter as you swipe on your phone when he walks past you, then stops. He’s testing the waters, you can tell from the way he monitors your body language; how you will or won’t react to his presence. You raise a brow while looking up at him, the corner of your lip pulling upwards. A truce. One he decides to accept, judging by the way he trudges closer.

“You feel better?” he asks and you know he worded it that way on purpose, so as not to ask you if you’ve finally calmed down. 

You huff out a breath, laughter mixed with a hint of reluctance, because that question still suggests that you’ve been overreacting. You don’t pin him down on it, though. Not yet at least. Rather, you return it. “And you?”

“Mhm.” He bends his knees until he’s crouching before you, his eyes now level with yours, one hand resting on your knee for support. “We were both being stupid, huh?”

Yeah, he’s right. Still, you don’t have to admit it right away. “I was just joking, you know? When I said you never listen to me.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he sighs. “An hour too late, I guess.”

The honesty makes you laugh and you drop your phone somewhere in the cracks of the couch cushions. 

Yoongi takes it as an invitation - an unspoken extension of the truce that, if handled correctly, could even lead to peace. “I’m sorry baby,” he says before he leans in. “Let me make it up to you.”

You’re closing in as well, meeting his lips for a single kiss. Smiling now, you might have an idea on how he could fulfill that proposition. “And how would you do that?”

Yoongi cocks his head to the side with a smirk, eyelids narrowing as he thinks about it. He moves from crouching to resting on his knees on the floor before you, hand on the back of your head pulling you forward, so you’re still face to face even though he’s positioned lower than before. He kisses your cheek, lips wandering along your jaw and down the side of your throat where he sucks lightly, making your breath hitch. When his nose traces your earlobe he detaches from you but stays close, whispering, “I’ll do the thing for you.”

“The thing?” Oh, you know exactly which thing.

“Yeah,” he breathes against your neck while his right hand reaches for the lapel of your robe. He rubs the soft material between his fingers before gently pushing it aside and slipping them under. “The thing you like so much, you know.”

With the back of his hand now resting on the supple skin of your chest he pulls his head back to look at you. 

“Hm, I don’t know what you mean,” you lie as you move closer for another kiss. He leans in harder now, sighing against your lips and pushes his tongue into your mouth. He flicks it against yours lightly, barely grazing you with its tip and it makes you chuckle how he’s subtly trying to help you remember. You pull back but keep him near by cupping his cheek. “Ah, that thing.”

His hand under your robe inches down, knuckles brushing over your nipple and the sensation makes it harden instantly. He finds the belt around your waist with his other hand and unties the knot with his thumb. His eyes widen slightly as the fabric falls open and drops loosely around your sides. It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you a million times before. Still, his lids show the tiniest of flutters every single time, the dilation of his pupils barely detectable. 

Yoongi leans in, not taking his gaze off your tits and latches onto your chest. With his lips around one nipple and his hand on the other, he sucks with a slight graze of his teeth and simultaneously rolls his fingers, pulling a gasp from you. 

The smirk on his face is dangerous, bordering on vicious, when he looks up at you. “You know, sometimes I think you’re only provoking those small fights for the make-up sex.” 

He straightens his back when you don't respond, his knees still on the floor and leans backwards as he snakes his hands beneath your legs. With a firm pull, he drags you down the cushion, so your ass rests at the edge of the sofa, your back now flat against the seat. His hands run up the skin of your thighs, grabbing them gently by the backs of your knees and pushing your legs up against your belly while spreading them. “Keep them like this for me, alright?” 

You do what he asked and hold your legs up with your hands, anticipation coiling tightly in your abdomen as you watch him with bated breath.

“So pretty,” he muses quietly when he looks down at you, nodding to himself as if he’s confirming his own remark while his eyes stay glued to your core. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?”

You nod even though he doesn't wait for your answer anyway, already tilting his head down again but not closing in. He purses his lips a good few inches above your pussy and releases a dense wad of spit, letting it drop slowly so it stretches into a thick string, before it lands directly on your clit. You suck in a breath of surprise at the feeling, your hip jerking as hot slick that’s cooling down quickly trickles down your folds and Yoongi grins as he watches how it coats you.  

When he finally comes closer, his lips trace down the inside of your thigh, kissing and sucking the skin on his way. “Gonna eat you out so good baby,” he mumbles while his thumbs draw lazy circles around the outer edges of your labia. “You want that?”

“Yes,” you whine, mouth agape as you watch him descend. If you weren’t wet before, you certainly are now. “Want it so bad.”

Yoongi chuckles against your skin, hot breath fanning over the slick across your core. His lips are soft when he brushes them from where his thumbs work, up to your mound and his eyes snap to yours just before he closes the last bit of distance to place a kiss on your clit. You shudder at the contact, brows furrowed into a needy frown, to which he only grins. 

His tongue glides across you in calculated motions and - oh - when he flicks it, he’s really doing the thing that always makes your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, removing your hand from your shin and bringing it down to stroke through his hair. Yoongi’s lids fall shut when your fingers catch hold of a thick strand to pull him even closer and he releases a muffled groan against you. 

He runs his tongue up and down your pussy in unhurried strokes, lapping at your entrance and tracing its outline before coming back up. His finger pushes into you right when his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly and kissing it softly as he applies pressure to his hand, entering you with one single, slow thrust. Your head falls back into the couch cushion when he pumps it in and out, curling it just right, so he hits the spot you need him to. 

“Right there,” you moan, fingers tightening around the hair close to his scalp. He knows, of course he does, that you like it right there and doesn't relent, his tongue still working its wonders while he adds a second finger, pushing and pulling and curling on their way out, making you feel like you’re going to explode. 

Fuck, the muscles in your abdomen are straining, breaths turning shallow and your legs begin to shake already. You're about to come, pulling him even closer and he groans against your pussy again. 

When you tear your eyes open to look at him, you notice him shuffling around a bit and wonder what he's doing. The coil in your belly relaxes at the slight distraction, eyes wandering over his hunched figure. Ah, he moved his free hand down into his pants. You twist your torso a bit to get a better view and take another peak to confirm. Yes, he pushed down his sweats and is jerking himself off while eating you out. 

You giggle, feeling yourself getting even wetter at the thought of him enjoying this so much he has to touch himself, but Yoongi looks up at you at the sound. 

“What's so funny?” he asks, a bit out of breath. 

“Nothing,” you answer as your fingers run across his scalp. “Just didn't expect you to multitask.”

His gaze drops down to his dick, a slight flush on his cheeks before he pulls up his pants. 

“No, don't stop. I like it.”

“Not planning on stopping,” he says as he stands up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Just changing the setting.”

You let him pull you up and guide you into the bedroom, where he pushes the bath robe from your shoulders and takes off his shirt. He pulls you to sit at the edge of the bed, tips of his fingers ghosting up your arms before he tangles them in your hair to pull you in. Your lips meet for a hungry kiss, Yoongi’s nonchalance slowly but surely dissipating. His hands roam your whole body and end up on your tits for a harsh squeeze while you sigh against his lips, desperately wanting to touch him too. You reach out for him, palming him over his sweats and earn a sharp exhale from him. He doesn't grant you access for long though as he pulls back, eager eyes now dark and almost impatient, taking in your figure before he slips away. 

You watch him moving up the mattress where he throws the pillows down to the floor and lays down flat on his back, his head right where the pillows were a second ago. 

“Come here and sit on my face,” he says as his hand already snakes down into his pants again. 

No need to ask you twice, of course you’re going to, you’re already on your way actually. You climb onto the bed and swing a leg over him, straddling his face between your thighs. Yoongi smiles up at you before pulling you closer by your hip. 

“Now let me finish this.” His words slur against your skin as you grab the headboard for support in hopes that it'll help you to come out of this alive. 

His strokes are quick now, diligently lapping at your dripping heat, making you throw your head back, nails digging into the wood in front of you. 

“God, fuck,” you sigh, wanting to tell him how good it feels but alas, you're lost for words, thoughts currently swimming somewhere too far away for your brain to catch up and form a coherent sentence.

You're afraid of suffocating him between your legs, thighs flexing absentmindedly to hold most of your weight up even though his left arm on your hip keeps pulling, pulling, pulling you down and you finally give in and relax. Now that you're really sitting down, he breathes out a groan so content, it vibrates through your whole body. 

Without a doubt he’s giving his all to make it up to you, kissing, tongue swirling, slurping you up until you see stars. Your hips start rocking on him on their own, needily grinding over his face as you chase your release and he seems to like that, judging by the way he hums against you at the constant back and forth. 

“Shit, I’m so close,” you gasp as he’s guiding your movements across his face, tongue rolling over your clit every time you glide over his lips. The coil in your belly tightens as you feel him stir and you turn your head only to see that he’s pushed his sweats down again, hand closed around his dick and stroking himself. The image propels you across the edge, fingers on the headboard digging harder into the wood while your other hand finds his hair to hold on to. With your head spinning and ears ringing, you shudder above him, riding out your high in quick motions, pussy clenching around nothing while he eats you out like you're his favorite meal. 

He’s not stopping his feast, still licking your throbbing clit until you have to pull off of him with a moan that ends up sounding more like a cry. Your body betrays you as you move and you practically fold, falling down on the mattress right next to him and landing on your back with a thump. 

Yoongi gets up on his knees while you gasp for air, towering over your figure with his sweats shoved down his thighs and he immediately presses himself against you, hand on his hard dick, rubbing it up and down your sensitive core. 

“Shit baby,” he grits out with his eyes closed, mouth glistening with your essence as he leans in for another kiss. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Yeah?” you ask, buying yourself a bit more time to calm down. You reach for him and replace his hand with yours, fingers wrapping tightly around his erection. “I’m still so sensitive though.”

His tip is halfway inside of you and his head falls back when you start pumping him slowly, dragging out the moment before he can push in further. “Please baby, you feel so good.”

It makes you chuckle when he begs and he knows you like it, so you can't help yourself from playing that game, still pumping him lazily while he holds himself back from sinking in fully. “Are you sure you've made it up to me properly? You were really mean earlier.”

“Shit, don't do this to me,” he almost whines. “I was so, so good to you, wasn't I? Made you come so hard.”

“Yeah, you did,” you tell him, gripping him a bit tighter as you roll your wrist on him and drawing another sharp breath from his lips while you kiss him. “So you’d say you’ve earned it, huh?”

“Yes!” He nods like you asked him if you should gift him a million dollars right now. “Yes, I’ve earned it. Please baby. Please.”

Can't deny him his wishes, not when he begs so nicely, can you? 

“Alright, yeah,” you whisper while changing the angle of your hold to line him up perfectly. “Go on and fuck me, baby.”

He thrusts in fully without any warning, pushing a moan from your lungs at the sudden intrusion and his lids scrunch together when he does. “Shit, sorry,” he mutters as he stills. “That wasn't… Couldn't help it. Did I hurt you?”

Your hands intertwine behind his neck as you shake your head and relax, getting used to the stretch. “No, it's alright.”

He leans in for a kiss, tongue twisting against yours as he pulls his hip back before he thrusts into you again. He sighs with each move, groaning when your lips part. Gripping your hips as he leans back, he holds you in place, fucking into you with force now and his eyes roll back like he’s losing himself in the feeling. “Always so fucking tight for me.”

The noise of your combined moans, your high pitched whines and his low grunts fill the room, accompanied by the quieter sound of his groin snapping against yours, quite like a beat to the carnal melody that the two of you are creating. 

Yoongi slides his hands down your legs and moves them to drop your ankles upon his shoulders, creating an angle that allows him to go even deeper than before. You're gasping for air from how he plows into you, the roll of his hips making his cock drag across your g-spot with every thrust. 

He grows frantic, spitting out curse words here and there before he takes your hand and guides it between your legs. “Make yourself come on my cock,” he directs with his head falling back between his shoulders. “That’s it baby, I can feel how close you are. Fucking squeezing me.”

He’s right, you are close again, now rubbing yourself in tight circles like he asked and it's like there's no air left in your lungs to exhale. Your muscles tense all over and you bite your tongue to relieve the pressure, watching him pump in and out of you over and over, a vein on his neck straining against his skin like it's about to burst.

“Come for me,” he groans, voice breaking to a tone so wrecked, you both know that no one will ever hear him sound like that but you. 

You follow his command, it’s not like you have a choice, another orgasm crashing all over you and draining your mind from everything that isn't him inside of you. Limbs convulse and sweat drips down your temple as the shuddering waves ripple from your core throughout your whole body. 

Your pussy clenches around him frantically and pulls him over the edge as well, so he can't help the moan from slipping out as his hips stutter with every spurt of cum that he fills you with. His head falls into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your sticky skin, still moving, still pressing himself in as deep as he can, like he wants to bury himself inside of you. 

“Shit,” he curses, muffled and drawn out, panting and revelling in the feeling of your cunt still wrapped around him so tightly. “I’m never pulling out of you, just so you know.”

You chuckle as you bring your arms around his back, fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “You sure about that?”

He’s still breathing heavily and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he nods. “No doubt about it.” He lifts his head to look into your eyes. “Still mad at me?”

“Never was.”

Masterlist

— gets quieter before leaving but not in a sad way. more thoughtful. like he’s mentally trying to memorize your routines before he has to be away from them again

— the type to casually ask “you’ll call me if something happens, right?” instead of directly admitting he’s worried about leaving you

— absolutely makes songs while thinking about you but will deny it immediately if you point it out

— starts sleeping later before tour because he doesn’t want to waste time unconscious when he could still be beside you :(

— prefers quiet nights together before leaving. takeout containers on the coffee table. tv playing softly. your legs thrown over his while he scrolls through random videos

— acts completely normal the morning he leaves but holds your hand a little tighter right before he has to let go

during tour boyfriend!yoongi :(

— terrible texter during busy days but sends random messages at like 3am because that’s when he finally slows down enough to miss you properly

— the type to send pictures with zero explanation : blurry studio setups. late night ramen cups. city lights outside hotel windows

— facetimes you while laying in bed half asleep, voice rough and quiet because he’s too tired to pretend he isn’t exhausted

— honestly misses silence with you the most. just existing in the same room without pressure to talk

— sends short voice notes instead of paragraphs. little “heard this and thought of u” messages attached to unfinished demos or songs he’s working on

— definitely falls asleep with the tv running in hotel rooms because complete silence feels too empty without you there

— when he misses you really badly he gets clingier in subtle ways :( answering your texts faster, staying on calls longer, asking what you’re doing every hour

— secretly rereads your messages before concerts sometimes because they calm him down more than he’ll ever admit

— acts like tour is just work to him but quietly tells you one night that every hotel starts feeling the same after a while

after tour boyfriend!yoongi :)

— coming home with him feels calm :) no dramatic entrance. just him dropping his bags, pulling you into his chest, and staying there for a long moment like he finally relaxed

— immediately changes into comfortable clothes and settles beside you on the couch like he’s reclaiming his spot again

— domestic affection with him is quiet but constant after tour :) forehead kisses while passing by, hand resting on your knee, pulling you against his side while watching movies

— absolutely the type to stand in the kitchen late at night eating snacks with you while talking softly about random things he thought about during tour

— loves the peaceful parts of being home most : hearing you in another room while he works, falling asleep beside you, rainy mornings where neither of you has to be anywhere

— starts bringing you into his studio more after tour because he missed your presence there while he was away

— spends the first few nights back sleeping deeper than he did the entire tour because being beside you finally lets his body relax again

— after tour he loves you in an even quieter way. comfortable. steady. like home became less about a place and more about wherever you are

Perm taglist : @kimmynammy @celliez @alphabetically-deranged @m4aimm @raceme2hell @bo-rimmy @mustanggbabyy @divakoo (comment or ask to be added)

That night, Seoul was at its coldest. Light rain had been falling since the afternoon, making the apartment air feel cool and cozy. You had already showered, wearing one of Yoongi’s oversized shirts that somehow had been staying in your closet more often than in his own lately. Your hair was still a little damp when you climbed onto the sofa carrying a thin blanket and a glass of iced americano with almost-melted ice.

The TV had actually been playing a drama for a while, but you weren’t really watching it. Your focus was only on mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Your FYP that night was completely random—people reviewing spicy food, Jungkook gym edits, videos of angry cats getting bathed.

Until suddenly…

A concert video.

The lights were insanely bright. Fans screaming loud enough to burst your ears even through your phone speaker.

And in the middle of the screen—

Yoongi.

You automatically stopped scrolling.

His hair was soaked with sweat, his breathing still visibly heavy after performing. He was wearing a thin white tank top underneath and a black outer jacket that had already fallen halfway open. His face was red from the heat and exhaustion, but he still looked absurdly handsome in the most annoying way possible.

The caption said:

“HE ACCIDENTALLY TOOK OFF EVERYTHING 😭”

Your eyebrow instantly lifted.

“Hah?”

The video kept playing.

Yoongi was seen pulling off his jacket from behind his neck, probably because he was hot. But somehow, the inner shirt got dragged up with it.

And a split second later—

The entire venue literally exploded.

“KYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAA—”

The fans’ screams cracked from how loud they were.

The camera recording immediately shook violently. Someone dropped their phone downward. Someone else only recorded the venue ceiling because they got too hysterical.

Meanwhile Yoongi…

His expression was priceless.

He instantly stopped moving, blankly staring for one second like his brain was buffering, then quickly pulled his shirt back down while laughing shyly.

You immediately covered your mouth.

Then burst out laughing alone in the living room.

“OH MY GOD.”

Replay.

Replay again.

And the more you replayed it, the funnier it got because he genuinely looked like it was completely accidental. Even the member next to him turned around with a shocked-but-laughing expression.

The next TikTok appeared from another angle.

One zoomed in on Yoongi’s face.

One was in slow motion.

One used dramatic Titanic music.

Another one had the caption:

“Mexico survived earthquakes but not this.”

You practically collapsed against the sofa laughing.

“Poor him…”

But you still replayed it again.

Honestly, it wasn’t just funny.

Yoongi looked way too good there.

That white tank top clung to him because of the sweat. His arms were full of veins after performing. His black hair fell slightly onto his forehead. And his embarrassed, panicked expression somehow made everyone lose their minds even more.

Your phone even started constantly buzzing.

The BTS group chat instantly became chaotic.

Jimin: hyung trending 😭😭😭

Hoseok: I TOLD YOU NOT TO TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET ON STAGE

Jungkook: Mexico will never move on

Namjoon: internet is gone

You laughed again while screenshotting several videos.

Then without thinking, you opened Yoongi’s chat.

For a few seconds you were still smiling to yourself before finally typing.

You: [5 screenshots] Congratulations

Typing…

Typing stopped.

Typing again.

Yoongi: I want to disappear

You immediately laughed again.

You: No seriously 😭 This is so funny

Yoongi: I just wanted to take off my jacket

You: And accidentally took off your dignity too

Read.

No reply for a few seconds.

Then—

Yoongi: You’re enjoying this way too much huh

You: Very much

Yoongi: Mean

You: An entire stadium screamed like they got jumpscared

Yoongi: I was shocked too

You: Your face was so funny 😭😭😭

You replayed the video again while grinning to yourself.

Especially the part where Yoongi immediately pulled his shirt back down with an expression like “what the hell just happened?”

You even zoomed in on a certain screenshot.

Oh.

Oh no.

His arms were insane though.

Without realizing it, you took another screenshot.

You: Btw are your arms even legal?

Yoongi took longer to reply this time.

Maybe he was showering. Maybe eating. Or maybe regretting his life because the entire internet was now filled with fancams of him.

Finally the chat bubble appeared again.

Yoongi: Are you thirst tweeting now too?

You: I’m a victim of the timeline

Yoongi: Delete TikTok

You: Can’t The entertainment tonight is too good

Yoongi: I’m tired

You: But handsome

Read.

No reply for about a minute.

Then suddenly your phone screen showed an incoming video call.

You instantly laughed before answering.

The moment it connected, Yoongi’s face immediately filled the screen.

His hair was still slightly wet after showering. He was now wearing a loose black shirt with the collar hanging lower on one side. His skin was still slightly flushed from the concert and hot shower. He sat leaning against the hotel sofa while staring at you with a tired face.

“Just keep laughing.”

The second you heard his raspy post-performance voice, you laughed even harder.

“Sorry—really sorry but this is genuinely funny…”

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly while letting out a long sigh.

“I opened my phone and it was pure chaos.”

“Well that’s your fault.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“You know people are saying Mexico lost their minds tonight?”

“I want to uninstall the internet.”

You were still smiling widely while staring at the screen.

And damn it, the more you looked at him now, the more you kept thinking about him earlier on stage.

Sweaty. Heavy breathing. Tense arms.

God.

Yoongi watched your face for a few seconds. Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly.

“Oh.”

“What oh.”

“So you were freaking out too apparently.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I was just surprised.”

“How many times did you replay it?”

You instantly went silent.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes slightly. “Exactly.”

“…a few.”

“How many is a few?”

“Well… several.”

“You took screenshots too.”

Your eyes widened immediately.

“How do you know?!”

“I can tell from your face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look guilty.”

You let out a small huff while leaning back against the sofa again.

Yoongi watched you with a faint smile. Even exhausted like that, he still had energy to tease you.

“You seriously…” you muttered quietly.

“What?”

“You made an entire country hysterical.”

“One country is exaggerating.”

“No it’s not. Their screaming was terrifying.”

Yoongi just laughed softly.

And oh my god, that soft laugh. You hated how easily he made your heart feel weird just from his voice alone.

“You need to see the edits now,” you said while reopening TikTok. “Someone already made a slow motion version.”

“Don’t show me.”

“Too late.”

You played one video.

The second the hysterical fan screams blasted from your phone, Yoongi immediately covered his face with one hand.

“OH MY GOD.”

You burst out laughing again.

“Your expression is so funny!”

“I’m genuinely embarrassed.”

“It’s rare seeing you this embarrassed.”

“Because it wasn’t intentional.”

“You literally buffered on stage.”

“I panicked.”

“It showed.”

Yoongi sighed deeply while sinking further into the hotel sofa. His shirt shifted slightly higher around the sleeves. And you… unconsciously glanced again.

Yoongi noticed. Very noticed.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?”

“You keep staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You think I don’t know?”

You instantly got flustered.

“Fine, maybe a little.”

“You said it was funny.”

“It is funny.”

“So what is it now?”

You bit your lip briefly before quietly answering,

“…handsome too.”

Yoongi went silent for a few seconds. Then he smiled very slightly. A thin smile. The kind that made your heart melt because he genuinely looked happy hearing it.

“You make me feel confident so easily.”

“Hey don’t get too confident.”

“Why?”

“Or you’ll intentionally take your shirt off at concerts.”

He immediately laughed.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You sure?”

“You’ve already seen it plenty of times too.”

And like someone pressed pause—

You instantly froze. “…what?”

Yoongi casually leaned back while looking at you.

“Why are you pretending to be shocked now?”

“MIN YOONGI.”

“What?”

“That’s a different context.”

“What’s the difference?”

“AN ENTIRE STADIUM SAW THIS.”

“But who sees it the most often?”

Your cheeks instantly heated up.

“That’s not the point—”

“You literally sleep hugging me every night.”

“STOP.”

“And now you’re embarrassed?”

You immediately covered your face with a sofa pillow while groaning in embarrassment.

Yoongi just laughed victoriously from the other side.

“Finally embarrassed too.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You started it earlier.”

“But now you’re doing it on purpose!”

“Hm.”

“What do you mean hm.”

“It’s cute seeing you flustered.”

You peeked from behind the pillow.

Yoongi was still smiling faintly while watching you. His face looked far more relaxed now compared to the beginning of the call.

And strangely enough, you really loved being the reason he relaxed after a long concert like this.

“You’re really tired huh?” you finally asked, your voice softer.

Yoongi nodded slightly.

“A little.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah.”

“Drink water?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Yoongi.”

He laughed softly again.

“I drank.”

You watched his face for a few seconds.

His eyes were slightly red from exhaustion. His voice sounded heavier too. But he still called you just because you teased him about that stupid wardrobe malfunction earlier.

Your chest warmed on its own.

“You should sleep later,” you said quietly.

“Later.”

“Don’t keep saying later.”

He looked at you for a moment.

Then quietly said,

“I miss you.”

Your expression instantly softened.

“…it’s only been a week.”

“Long.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Yeah.”

You smiled faintly.

And for a few seconds, you just stared at each other through the screen, both exhausted but comfortable.

Until Yoongi finally spoke again casually,

“But seriously.”

“Hm?”

“You were more excited than the Mexico fans.”

You instantly glared.

“Because that’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh so you were jealous?”

“A little.”

“Aigoo…”

“What do you mean aigoo.”

“You’re cute.”

“Not cute.”

“You’re jealous over an accidental shirt slip.”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“Because it is funny.”

You huffed in embarrassment.

And Yoongi, who had looked half-dead exhausted this whole time, just smiled even softer while quietly saying,

“The one who sees the most is still you anyway.”

You immediately collapsed backward onto the sofa while covering your face.

“OH MY GOD MIN YOONGI.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You were still lying flat on the sofa with your face covered by a pillow, while Yoongi’s soft laughter kept coming from your phone speaker.

Satisfied laughter. The kind of laughter from someone who realized he had successfully made his girlfriend malfunction.

“Get up.”

“No.”

“Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because you said it like that!”

“But it’s true.”

You lowered the pillow slightly, glaring at the screen.

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t flirt when your face still looks like this after a concert.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Why?”

“Dangerous.”

That smile immediately appeared again. Small, crooked, annoying.

“I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Yoongi laughed softly while resting his head against the hotel sofa. The dim room lighting made the lines of his face look even sharper. His black hair was still slightly damp and falling over his forehead in a way that looked way too good for someone claiming to be exhausted.

And the thing making your heart race the most— He looked so comfortable right now. Relaxed. Soft. But his eyes hadn’t left you this entire time.

“You seriously…” you muttered quietly while avoiding his gaze, “you just caused internet chaos and still have time to tease me.”

“Because I miss you.”

His answer came too fast. Too honest. Your heart instantly skipped weirdly.

“You usually get clingy when you’re tired,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“And?”

“And right now I can’t hug you.”

Yoongi went quiet for a moment.

His expression immediately softened a little more.

“I know.”

The atmosphere suddenly became calmer.

You were already used to tour schedules. Used to video calls from different countries. Used to falling asleep on call until one of you passed out first. But somehow this time felt different.

Maybe because Yoongi’s schedule was too packed. Maybe because you had gotten too used to being close before he left. Or maybe because right now he was looking at you like that while seeming like he really wanted to come home.

“You know,” he suddenly said, his voice low and raspy, “right after the concert, the first thing I did was check my phone for your message.”

You instantly looked back at the screen.

“Seriously?”

“Hm.”

“Why?”

“I already knew you’d make fun of me.”

You laughed softly.

“And you still looked for it.”

“Because I missed you.”

God. You genuinely couldn’t handle it when he suddenly got soft like this. Especially when he followed it up with a tiny smile while secretly staring at you.

“Yoongi…”

“Hm?”

“You make it hard to sleep.”