let my star rise on your night

jimin’s back is arching, his nails and digging into yoongi’s shoulders, and yoongi knows he’s got to be close, judging from the way that jimin whines, high and breathy at the back of his throat while yoongi fucks him with deep, slow thrusts, just so the bed doesn’t shake too much and yoongi can stare down at the sweat clinging to jimin’s eyelashes. 

jimin stares back up at him, eyes hazy, and he looks half wrecked, fucked out, and yoongi swears that he could get off purely on the way jimin’s moans and whimpers tumblr off his lips. yoongi starts to speed up just the tiniest bit when jimin rocks his hips up to meet yoongi’s thrusts, but then jimin is looping his arms around yoongi’s neck, pressing his lips to yoongi’s ear, and—

“take me to hong kong,” jimin whispers, and he sounds serious.

yoongi pulls back at that. “what?” he says, not understanding. was this some kind of code? some reference to a film? was that supposed to be sexy?

jimin seems to dislike the loss of momentum, shifting his hips slightly as if he means for yoongi to keep moving, but yoongi settles back into a kneeling position, jimin letting out a small cry when yoongi pulls out.

“why did you stop,” jimin whines, and yoongi for the life of him does not understand.

“what did you mean,” yoongi asks back, “why hong kong, do you want to go there? did i miss something? is it an anniversary?”

“no,” jimin says, groans, really, “i didn’t mean that literally, it’s a saying, a phrase, i—“

“okay,” yoongi says, and he runs a hand through his own hair. he isn’t that much older than jimin, he really doesn’t know how he could not be versed in the art of phrases and snazzy metaphors or whatever jimin is going on about. yoongi also notices a little sadly that both their erections have wilted. “what does it mean?”

jimin seems to colour an even deeper shade of red, and he sputters out an answer. “it means like. just. i. i don’t know how to explain it, how do you not know what it means oh my god.”

“are you sure you used it in the right context? because you’ve definitely said a lot of things out of context, park jimin—”

“i’m sure, oh my god, i know i’m sure but maybe people don’t say it… in real life or something i—“ he’s babbling now, and yoongi would feel smug if he were teasing but now it seems like both of them don’t understand what either are saying and yoongi told himself before they became serious that he’d do his part in maintaining an open and honest relationship, but now jimin is jut confusing the fuck out of him.

jimin’s groan (not out of pleasure, this time) breaks yoongi out of his thoughts. he’s rolled over to his side and he looks like he’s attempting to stuff his face into a pillow. yoongi pinches his waist, and jimin flips over to hiss a, “what,” back at him.

“explain it to me,” yoongi says, stubborn as always. does he need to ask seokjin about this? namjoon? hoseok? anyone? “do i need to google this? jimin. hey. jimin. don’t go to sleep. what does it mean? jimin, hyung can’t take you to hong kong or to macau or wherever you want to go unless you tell me what it means—”

"Stop it," Byungjoo hisses, as quietly as he can.

Hansol drops his hand from Byungjoo’s hair with a pout that Byungjoo chooses to ignore. He’s long past the point of playing into Hansol’s hands. It’s not that Hansol isn’t just as dazzling to Byungjoo as he was when they first met, when Jiho had introduced them to each other, but Byungjoo has learnt how to save the praises and affection for places other than their living room couch. 

Hansol huffs a little, settling down into the couch beside Byungjoo, and Byungjoo rolls his eyes. He peeks a little out of the corner of his eye, watches Sanggyun and Taeyang work on lyrics at the dining table, Taeyang mumbling suggestions every now and then. Byungjoo lets his eyes slide back to Hansol’s place beside him when Sanggyun nods at Taeyang, calm, understanding, less sensitive than he used to be, and Byungjoo sighs as he stares at Hansol’s sock clad feet, ankles are crossed over Byungjoo’s knees. It’s clear that in the years they’ve spent together, their maknaes have grown up while Hansol keeps proving to get more childish when he doesn’t get his way.

Byungjoo wiggles his knees. Hansol’s feet don’t budge. When Byungjoo sets his book down to look at him, the look on Hansol’s face is smug. “What,” Hansol says, almost a drawl , voice teasing. He’s trying to get a reaction out of Byungjoo, and after being constantly interrupted over the past hour, Byungjoo will give him what he wants.

He can’t exactly punch Hansol in the face, not when the two of them are the prettiest out of the 15 of them, and Byungjoo doesn’t want Jiwon to scold him like he did the last time he and Hansol got so rough with each other to the point that Byungjoo had almost twisted his ankle and Hansol had ended up with something close to a bruised rib. So Byungjoo goes for the next best thing.

The bite takes Hansol by surprise, if his yelp is anything to go by. Byungjoo digs his teeth into Hansol’s shoulder, probably hard enough to sting but hopefully not hard enough to leave a mark. He still gets Hansol riled up, which is what he expected, but Hansol has his fingers in Byungjoo’s hair again, twisted around the out of shape curls and pulling taut at his black roots. They’re both causing a commotion now, with Hansol swearing and Byungjoo growling around Hansol’s sleeve, but Byungjoo isn’t going to back down, isn’t going to lose. He can hear alarmed voices coming from the bedroom, and if he backs down then there won’t be a chance to bite Hansol again before Sehyuk or Dongsung come out to pull them apart. Byungjoo would rather take a chance with what little time he has to retaliate while Taeyang doesn’t care and Sanggyun laughs. 

He lifts his mouth away from Hansol quickly, and Hansol’s grip loosens in his hair, tension leaving his fingers, but his relief is short lived because Byungjoo has other plans. The gasp that Hansol lets out when Byungjoo tackles him into the couch to bite at the juncture of his neck and shoulder is music to his ears.

“Hyung,” Jimin says slowly, and his voice is quiet, almost scared, “Is this all right?”

He’s looking down at their hands, clasped together, palm to palm, fingers threaded, and it reminds Seokjin of a time long ago, before their first debut stage, when Jungkook was so nervous he’d needed an equally frazzled Hoseok to soothe him with gentle smiles and words of encouragement. Jimin had been so worried about their first stage that he almost looked like he was going to be physically ill, and Seokjin hadn’t had the words to tell him that everything would go fine, just took Jimin’s hand in his own and stroked his thumb across Jimin’s wrist bone, as reassuringly as he could. 

Seokjin still doesn’t have the words today, not when they’ve done this tens, hundreds of times, Jimin tugging on his fingers to show him things, to get Seokjin to sit next to him in the van, to help Seokjin learn the hardest moves to their choreography. But then there’s the hand holding before performances, and sweat sticky palms sliding against each other in the van, fingers brushing under the dinner table. There’s all of that, and there’s the look of sheer adoration in Jimin’s eyes and in the way that he says hyung, Seokjin hyung, sheepish but sometimes eager, and so willing to please.

They’ve run across the basketball courts under the cover of the trees lined up by the side of the fence, Yoongi tugging on Hoseok’s sweaty hand to get him to move faster, dammit.

“Hoseok, come on, if you don’t get moving we’re really going to get caught—“

“Hyung, we’ve already been seen by Jimin, he’s not gonna tell on us but he’s probably gonna tell Jungkook and Jungkook is gonna tell on us—”

“No one is gonna tell on us, Christ, Hoseok, stop staring at the windows and keep running.”

Honestly, this is not what Hoseok expected when Yoongi said he had an idea for a potential date during school hours. Hoseok was brought up to think and know that skipping school was bad, was breaking the rules, was probably going to go down in his personal records if they’re not careful, but Hoseok wasn’t brought up knowing he’d eventually end up dating a perpetually grumpy boy from Daegu in his final year of highschool.

Hoseok would sigh, if he could, if he didn’t think that Yoongi was entirely worth it and that their relationship was one of the best things to happen to him, but he saves the sigh for a later date when Yoongi isn’t holding his hand almost tighter than the feeling in Hoseok’s heart, tugging him past the sleeping security guard and through the school gates and out to the promise of freedom.

-

“This isn’t what I expected when you mentioned ‘freedom’, Hoseok,” Yoongi says. They’re both in street clothes, dressed down and out of their uniforms, and Hoseok finally feels like he can breathe a little bit easier. He doesn’t even care that Yoongi is staring at him, unimpressed. If anything, Hoseok just wants to kiss him on the cheek, but that will have to wait for later.

“Well,” Hoseok starts, as he digs through the pile of costume clothing, character headbands, and sequinned tutus in the box before them. “You told me that if we went on a date on a school day of your choice, you’d let me choose what we’d do, and this is what I want to do. With you.” 

Yoongi picks up a bright red wig and skull cap. Hoseok thinks that the wig’s styling would make him look like a rather underwhelming Spock. “I choose one day for us to spend together, one day where we could have gone to Everland or something, and all you want us to do is take sticker photos in the mall?”

“Hey, I like sticker photos,” Hoseok mumbles, just the tiniest bit defensive, “and there’s nothing wrong with us spending our day eating a nice lunch—“

“—Hoseok, we got cheap burgers at Lotteria—“

“—and taking a bunch of photos together, ok, I don’t need fancy trips to theme parks when all I want to do is spend some time with you.”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to go all out and say that. Hoseok feels a little red in the face from that tiny confession, though they’ve been comfortable with their feelings for each other for a while now, and from the looks of it, Yoongi is probably embarrassed too. If he could squint hard enough, Hoseok’s almost sure that the tips of Yoongi’s ears are pink. It’s nothing compared to the smug grin that Yoongi has on his face though, and Hoseok rolls his eyes at him before throwing a pair of googly-eyed glasses at his face that Yoongi deflects easily with one raised hand.

Hoseok lifts up a pink tutu and admires the way the sequins glint in the bright lighting of the sticker photo booth. “This colour would suit you,” he says finally, and when he looks at Yoongi it’s with the biggest smile he can muster on his face. It’s a wonderful thing to have found out that Yoongi likes it best when he smiles, and Hoseok can see from Yoongi’s sudden fidgeting with a propeller cap that Yoongi’s resolve is faltering. 

“Hoseok, no,” Yoongi starts to say, but he doesn’t move when Hoseok moves in closer to hold the skirt up to Yoongi’s hips. It’s a already huge contrast to the plain black shirt Yoongi’s wearing, not to mention the beanie on his head with Swag emblazoned across the front, but it would have to do. Hoseok just has to push that little bit harder, and Yoongi will crumble. 

A small pinch to Yoongi’s hip gets Hoseok a sharp intake of breath and a half-assed grumble of “I’m telling you I’m not wearing that,” but Hoseok just leans in closer until he has Yoongi pressed up against the back of the booth and his chin digging into Yoongi’s shoulder, utilising only his most aegyo-filled whines and whispers of hyung, please to get his way. As expected, it only takes one brush of Hoseok’s lips against Yoongi’s jaw to get him to break.

“Okay, okay, god I get it ok, I’ll put on the damn tutu for you.” He steps away from Hoseok, just a tad bit red in the face, and Hoseok is still elated despite the fact that Yoongi is pulling the elastic up his denim clad legs. Yoongi’s very nice denim clad legs. The sequins swish when Yoongi finally gets the waistband around his belt, and Hoseok feels like he’s on cloud nine until Yoongi throws a pair of plastic shutter shades and a green top hat at him.

-

seokjin snorts from beside him, already drinking up his watery cendol. "you think you say anything then he do meh?" he asks yoongi, and he taps his bata sandals on the greasy floor of the kopitiam. yoongi counts the beats and hums under his breath.

namjoon chooses then to arrive, half melted ice kacang in hand and a box of rojak in the other. his white -- or rather, off white, now -- tank top is loose fitting, and his back is drenched in sweat. almost like all the times when he comes out of the shower and refuses to wipe his back. "wait a little bit cannot is it," he says, placing the bowls onto the table. yoongi continues to stare at him. 

"stare what stare lah," namjoon tells him, ticked off just the slightest bit.

yoongi leans back in his chair, balancing on the two rear legs of it, namjoon is eying a crack going through the plastic of one leg warily when hoseok speaks up this time, "you bring food but you never bring the spoon you think we can eat ah? use what as spoon, my hand meh?" 

namjoon is about to retort when the sound of motorbikes interrupts their conversation. the sound only gets louder and louder until three scruffy teens pop into the kopitiam. 

"jin kor!" the shout is happy, and suddenly the three of them are barrelling up to their table. it's much too happy and much too loud for a kopitiam at 3pm in the afternoon. yoongi sees that the taufoofah man stares at them a little bit angrily, and makes a note not to order anything from his stall on that day, just in case anything extra would be added into their syrup.

taehyung is the one who reaches seokjin first, and seokjin takes one look at him before telling him off for going on rempit rides wearing his actual school uniform. "you think just because you hang out with some leng zhais at the kopitiam means we'll tell your teachers that you're good boys meh, think again lah please."

taehyung almost seems apprehensive when jungkook laughs. "jin kor, you guys are less like leng zhais and more like lau ah peks ok." jungkook, youngest but boldest out of all of them, yoongi has known this for years, ever since jungkook has been working at his aunt's wantan mee stall at the kopitiam. 

jimin is the most out of place in their group, despite being the one with the body to actually be part of a rempit gang, abs and arms and muscle gone to waste with his cute face and charming features. "don't talk about us can or not, with jimin in your group, you guys are just gonna end up looking like macam yes tapi bukan," hoseok says, and yoongi watches a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face. fuck, it's hot.

jimin says nothing, quietly sits in the vacant seat on yoongi's other side that's meant to be namjoon's, and namjoon doesn't even say anything, or at least, he would have, if jimin didn't look at him with his charming smile. it's the same smile he uses on the pisang goreng makcik down the street under the rambutan tree on the corner who always ensures that jimin gets only the biggest, sweetest banana fritters ever. yoongi always tells the group that their rempit status is no action talk only, and jimin never objects. 

it doesn't stop jimin from somehow being the most manja, though. 

"yoongi kor," he says, leaning across the table to stare at the bowls namjoon brought over. "you eating ice kacang ah." yoongi raises an eyebrow at him. "abuden? if not ice kacang then what? bubur chacha? pssht."

namjoon manages to bring them a few out of shape spoons and satay sticks, and after a while they're all sitting around the tiny table fighting for the last piece of jambu in the rojak box. yoongi sits back in his chair and leans his head over the back, staring at the ceiling fan boredly and half listening to jungkook try to chat up hoseok.

"kor, do you go to mamak often? 'cuz i dah teh tarik dengan you"

"waliao eh."