Mic Mic Bungee

The quiet click of the door made Yuta’s lips quip up into a grin, and he stares down at the bottle in his hand instead of properly greeting his new guest.

“You’re late,” he half-laughs, taking another sip. He hears a groan behind him and after a few seconds of shuffling, a familiar figure huddles next to him.

“Why can’t you hang out in a coffee shop or a bar like a normal person?” Doyoung grumbles, pulling the sleeves of his cardigan over his hands and rubbing his arms. Yuta gives him a sidelong glance before reaching behind him, pressing a second beer into Doyoung’s hand.

“Baby,” he replies, pretending the biting wind isn’t bothering him as well. He watches Doyoung fish out a bottle opener from Yuta’s backpack, opening the beer with a fluid movement before taking a swig and sitting down next to him. He swallows down with a grim expression, eyes squinting and mouth carved into a severe frown.

“Please stop buying cheap shit if you want me to keep hanging out with you,” Doyoung whines, glancing down at the label on the bottle. Yuta rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder into the other man’s before looking back up at the sky through the chain link fence. The rooftop was large and mostly forgotten about, only a backup generator for the dorms tucked away in a corner

“At least it’s clear tonight,” he murmurs, squinting as he tries to make out constellations amongst the seemingly endless number of stars. After a moment, he hears Doyoung sigh and he turns to look at him. One of his elbows is propped up on his knee from his position on the cold concrete, bottle resting loosely in one hand and dark hair shifting slightly with the breeze. Dark lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones, visible even from the streetlights below them. Yuta had noticed in the past that Doyoung was handsome, sure-- but tonight felt different. Something about the way he sat next to him so peacefully crawled into Yuta’s mind and refused to let go.

“You know, I can feel you staring at me,” Doyoung says after a moment, eyes still closed but a lopsided grin on his face. When Yuta sputters, tripping over his words, Doyoung cracks one eye open to look at him.

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” Yuta manages, staring down his beer bottle. The condensation slowly rolls down the bottle and onto his hand, cooling in the breeze that wraps around them. Yuta hears the melodic laugh of the man next to him, but he knows if he looks up, he’ll give himself away.

“Sure, sure,” Doyoung replies, resting his own bottle on his lower lip. “Keep telling yourself that.”

                                               *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Cheap beer goes down much smoother when you're in a bad mood.

That's what Yuta tells himself as he pries open his third beer, tossing the bottle opener and cap in his backpack and taking a hearty swig. He scowls out into the night from his spot on the roof, watching people walk through the city like they don't have a care in the world. Yuta wishes he could be like them, to not have the pressure of being an idol under a major company where his life revolves around dance practices and song recordings.

He loves his life, he really does, but sometimes he wishes it was easier. He leans down and rubs his ankle gently, flinching as it smarts. He thinks back to their earlier dance practice, when he nearly collided with Taeyong mid-song. Yuta stopped just short, instead tweaking his ankle at an unnatural angle. He had slipped away when the rest of the group returned to dancing, his escape going unnoticed over the sound of blaring music and squeaking sneakers.

Or so he thought, because soon Yuta can hear the door of the nearby stairwell click open. Soon a familiar mop of dark hair pops out from the space, Doyoung’s lean arm curling around the doorframe to look at Yuta.

“You gotta start finding better spaces to sulk,” Doyoung chirps, walking onto the roof and closing the door behind him. His shirt is sticking to his chest, dark from sweat and looking almost uncomfortable. Yuta frowns as Doyoung shakes out his hair, combing through his bangs several times with his fingers to keep the strands off his forehead. He walks over to Yuta’s spot near the fence, groaning as he makes himself comfortable on the ground. His hand drops to his shirt, fanning himself with the fabric as he sighs.

“At least it’s nice out tonight,” he says, looking out into the night sky. His round eyes follow a rowdy group of twenty-somethings as they walk by, visibly tipsy even from several stories up. The sight brings a smile to Doyoung’s face, but it falls once he makes eye contact with Yuta again.

“Don’t tell me you’re still beating yourself up over practice today?” he asks, reaching out to snag the backpack by Yuta’s feet. His brow arches as he takes in the several already-empty bottles inside, but when Yuta waves him off he merely takes an unopened bottle and cracks it open. Yuta takes another sip of his own beer before replying.

“Just sucked, that’s all,” he says flatly, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes train on the stars illuminating against the velvet sky, a frown tugging on his features. Yuta can feel Doyoung’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t acknowledge him. That is, until he feels something pressing up against his shoulder. He looks down to see Doyoung’s cheek resting on his shoulder, his round eyes looking up at him.

“What do you want?” Yuta groaned, shrugging his shoulder in attempts to shake the other man off. The action just made Doyoung nuzzle in closer, looping his arm through Yuta’s.

“Nothing,” he replies, his voice trailing off into something melodic at the end. He snuggles close, bottle wedged between his legs, and sighs contentedly. Something tells Yuta that Doyoung won’t let up anytime soon, so he gives in and rests his head on top of Doyoung’s. They stay like that for an hour, with Doyoung occasionally rubbing circles with his thumb into Yuta’s arm. The two of them trade stories, making each other laugh as they drain their bottles. In a lull in conversation, Yuta nuzzles into Doyoung’s hair, breathing in the comforting scent of his shampoo.

“I’m all sweaty,” Doyoung whines, squirming under the touch. Yuta merely laughs and places a kiss on the crown of Doyoung’s head.

“I don’t mind.”

                                                *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It wasn’t uncommon for Yuta to find the roof already occupied by the time he got there, but it was usually the younger members goofing off and making too much noise. The fact that Yuta heard nothing as he climbed the stairwell gave him the sense of security to sort out his thoughts. His shoes felt heavy as he climbed the steps, weighed down by the fact that he was dealing with a difficult-to-deny attraction to his best friend. He chewed his bottom lip as his fingers grazed the railing, stalling on the last landing before the door to the roof. The last time he was up there, he was with Doyoung. Their conversation was light, but Yuta’s heart felt heavy every time he looked into his round eyes or watched his long fingers play with the cap of his bottle. His laugh had begun to sound all the more musical, and his smile was bright enough to rival the stars that scattered overhead.

In short, Yuta knew he was in deep in his feelings for his best friend.

This thought made his heart sink and his head spin in anticipation for Doyoung’s refusal. They were bandmates, friends-- something like this could jeopardize both of those things. Yuta took a deep breath before ascending the last set of stairs, his hand heavy on the door handle. He knows his time on the roof would not be out of of joy tonight, but filled with practiced conversations and planning on how to break the news to Doyoung.

He pulls the door open, the cool air hitting his face and making him shiver. Yuta glances up at the sky as he rubs his hands together for warmth, noticing how the stars seem brighter than ever before. When his eyes fixate back towards his favorite spot on the roof, he notices he isn’t alone.

Even in the dark, Yuta can make out the familiar profile. The sharp features, the dark hair-- it seems that Doyoung finds this spot as comforting as Yuta does.

Yuta has half the mind to turn on his heels and immediately go back to his room, but the sight of Doyoung turning his head just enough to notice him makes Yuta stop in his tracks. Unable to turn away now, Yuta clenches his hands into fists at this sides. His short nails digging into his palms keep his mind focused, formulating the words he needs to as he approaches the other man.

“Looks like this place is growing on you,” Yuta says as he approaches, meeting Doyoung’s eyes. The latter has a soft expression on his face, one that makes Yuta’s stomach flip and his head spin. He swallows hard and his gaze drops to Doyoung’s hands, holding a bottle in each hand.

“Yeah, something like that,” Doyoung replies, holding the bottle out to Yuta. He takes it, using the bottle opener sitting on the concrete ledge before taking a sip. It feels smoother on Yuta’s tongue than usual, and he glances down to see an unfamiliar label. He looks at Doyoung with a raised brow, and he laughs in response.

“I thought we might as well splurge every once in a while,” Doyoung says after his chuckle dies off, clinking the neck of his bottle with Yuta’s before taking a swig of his own. He turns his attention to the night sky, tilting his head to the side as he takes in the view. They stay silent for a few minutes, admiring the view, before Yuta finds his voice.

“Listen,” he starts, wanting to get the words out as quickly as possible. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, and it’s great, but--” Yuta slams his bottle down a little too hard on the ledge in front of him, the noise ringing out into the night. Doyoung jumps, wrapping his hand around Yuta’s wrist to steady him.

“Careful there,” he says with a laugh, and all Yuta can focus on is how warm Doyoung’s hand is. When Yuta doesn’t reply, Doyoung takes both of his hands and makes Yuta face him. Doyoung’s turned fully in front of him, holding both of Yuta’s hands between them. He’s wearing a curious expression, peering into Yuta’s eyes with a mixture of concern and amusement. Yuta can’t find it in him to continue, so he squeezes Doyoung’s hands instead.

“But you think you like me, right?” Doyoung offers. “And you’re worried it’s gonna mess things up?” Yuta nearly falls over, his eyes wide and his hands clutching Doyoung’s. “What?” he chokes out. Doyoung smiles, his expression achingly sweet. Yuta expected a refusal, a look of pity, even a laugh-- not this. Yet when Doyoung pushes the hair out of Yuta’s eyes, he leans into the touch.

“Are you gonna keep being a baby, or are you gonna let me kiss you?” Doyoung asks, and it makes Yuta laugh, his smile wide and eyes crinkling at the edges. “Thought you’d never ask,” Yuta replies, covering Doyoung’s hand with his own where it rests on Yuta’s face. Doyoung smiles before leaning in, slotting their mouths together in a gentle kiss. It tastes like too-expensive beer and something sweet. As they part, Doyoung presses his forehead to Yuta’s and they laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Their lips meet again under the stars, and Yuta thinks it’s the best kiss he’s ever had.

“What are they thinking, putting us in these things?” Jaehyun asks to break the silence, his face tugged crooked with a lopsided grin. Taeyong’s eyes flash up to the younger man for a moment, before sliding to the ground by his feet.

“Yeah” he replies, a laugh already beginning to die in his throat. Jaehyun frowns at this, tossing his jacket on a nearby chair before walking over to the older man.

“Are you okay?” Jaehyun asks, stopping just in front of Taeyong. The latter’s eyes trail up him, eventually leaning back on the heels of his palms to look up at Jaehyun. With a slight nod Taeyong’s hands curl into fists, gripping the white sheets beneath him.

“I’m fine" he replies, his voice coming out as more of a breathy whisper. He tilts his head slightly, and Jaehyun can see the way the dangling chain in his ear catches the light. He swallows thickly, glancing down to slot their feet together.

“If you say so" Jaehyun says, not entirely convinced. Perhaps he was more concerned with his own wellbeing, the way that his eyes glanced over Taeyong’s chest bordering on something far less innocent than his words took him for. Taeyong must have picked up on this because he leans forward, hands untangling from the sheets and slender fingers playing with the buttons of Jaehyun’s shirt. He unbuttons several of them, exposing Jaehyun’s throat and halfway down his sternum. Jaehyun takes a slow, deep breath before meeting Taeyong’s eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks, brow arched in amusement to hide the shakiness in his voice. Taeyong’s eyes flick up to him before placing his palm flat against the plane of Jaehyun’s chest.

“Experimenting” he replies, voice coming out quiet and even. After a moment, Taeyong’s hands find Jaehyun’s belt, undoing the buckle and fumbling with the button of his jeans. Something stirs inside Jaehyun, and he finds himself ripping off the mesh shirt clinging to Taeyong’s skin. He pushes the older man back against the sheets, climbing over his smaller frame. Jaehyun admires the way Taeyong’s hair fans out against the stark white of the bedding, the way his chest heaves with every breath.

“Pretty” Jaehyun murmurs, his fingers trailing across Taeyong’s lips and down his body until they reach his chest. Taeyong hums under the touch, letting one of his hands tangle in his own hair and arching his back to lean into the touch. Jaehyun’s large hands find either side of Taeyong’s ribs, his thumbs fitting perfectly in the spaces inbetween. He hears Taeyong whine, and he glances up to meet a pair of eager eyes.

“Fuck me already” he whimpers, reaching out to tug at Jaehyun’s shirt again. Jaehyun complies, stripping the two of them until there’s nothing left but the silver metal in Taeyong’s ears and his hair balled up in Jaehyun’s grasp.

☾

Amber, Jaehyun thinks. Taeyong is amber.

The thought comes to him as he stares into Taeyong’s eyes, fiery and passionate as they take in the younger man. They’re holed up in some bathroom backstage, Taeyong insisting he needed a break from the repetitive choreography practice. Taeyong is perched on the counter, his long legs crossed at the ankles behind Jaehyun’s back. The younger man has his hands sliding up under the thin cotton shirt Taeyong is wearing, tracing patterns into the skin of his waist. It was always his favorite part of Taeyong, the way his ribs and hipbones fluttered underneath the skin drew in Jaehyun. He watches as he pushes the shirt up farther, exposing the dip in Taeyong’s waist where his hands fit perfectly. Jaehyun smirks, sliding his hands up until they rest in the curve and tugging him closer to his body.

Taeyong sighs at this and taps the underside of Jaehyun’s jaw, his silent way of asking for a kiss. Jaehyun is all too happy to comply, tasting the mix of salty sweat and black coffee as he captures Taeyong’s lips with his own. It’s a combination that most would find bizarre, but Jaehyun thinks there’s something charming about it on someone seemingly as perfect as Taeyong. They part after a moment, the older man burying his face into Jaehyun’s neck and nipping at the skin there. Jaehyun’s eyes flicker down to the bead of sweat that rolls down Taeyong’s own neck and disappears underneath the collar of his t-shirt. A part of him wants to chase the sweat with his tongue, but Jaehyun shakes himself of that thought when he feels Taeyong shift underneath his touch.

The flush from the exercise is lighting the older man’s face from within, the high points of his cheeks glowing an almost amber color beneath tanned skin and artificial lighting overhead. Jaehyun slides his hands out from underneath Taeyong’s shirt and cups his face between his palms, calloused thumbs brushing over cheekbones. The touch leaves a delayed heat sending sensation to the nerve endings in Jaehyun’s digits, making Taeyong seem as if he’s made of flames.

“We have to go back soon” Taeyong murmurs, leaning his face into Jaehyun’s palm. A carefully-formed pout is tugging the corners of his lips downward, and Jaehyun resists the urge to kiss the expression away. Instead, Jaehyun lets his hands slide down to Taeyong’s neck, rubbing circles with his thumbs just beneath his ears.

“I know” he replies, giving him a small smile. After a moment, he presses his forehead to Taeyong’s and closes his eyes. He feels slender fingers wrap around one of his wrists, holding him close. Over the sound of the overhead lights flickering, he can hear Taeyong inhale slowly and tighten his grip on Jaehyun’s wrist.

“I want to be good” Taeyong whispers in the space between them. Jaehyun furrows his brow and opens his eyes, taking in the older man’s troubled expression. There’s a storminess to Taeyong’s gaze, a kind of conflict that Jaehyun had seen in moments before with the hardworking man. He always practiced harder, sang louder, and gave more of himself in every performance than anyone Jaehyun knew. Because of this, he found himself tracing his thumbs across his cheekbones, across the knitted brow that graced Taeyong’s normally serene features.

“I know” Jaehyun replies. There was no use in trying to convince him otherwise; Jaehyun knew that Taeyong often set nearly impossible standards for himself. Always striving to be better, always reaching for a goal that seemed to be two steps ahead. There is a quiet fire underneath Taeyong’s skin, and all Jaehyun can do is hold on and pray he doesn’t get burned.

☾

It’s morning, Jaehyun can tell by the way the sunlight streaming through the curtains warms his back. His eyes slide open, and he blinks several times to chase away the remnants of sleep. Once his vision adjust, he seems a familiar mop of sandy brown hair peeking out beneath the covers. He chuckles, peeling back the duvet just enough to scoot closer to the smaller man’s body. Jaehyun is close enough to trace the knots in Taeyong’s spine through his shirt, so he does so as he buries his nose in the back of his hair. Most mornings are spent like this, with Jaehyun caressing the older man until he wakes, enjoying the moments of uninterrupted admiration.

The occasional nosing into his hair must have woken Taeyong up, because soon a quiet little groan escapes his lips and he leans back into Jaehyun’s touch. The latter smiles and plants a kiss to whatever he can reach-- this time, the shell of Taeyong’s ear.

“Good morning” Jaehyun murmurs, and Taeyong can feel the rumbling against his back as Jaehyun speaks. It brings a smile to Taeyong’s face, and he shifts until he’s laying on his back, glancing over at the younger man.

“What’s my reward for getting up so early on a Saturday?” Taeyong asks, his brow arched and a serious scowl gracing his features. Their eyes meet, and Taeyong’s severe expression melts away as the two of them erupt into a fit of giggles.

Taeyong’s lifted laughter filled the bedroom, and Jaehyun turned to see him with his arm thrown over his eyes. Even though he tried to obscure his face, Jaehyun could see the crinkling at the corner of Taeyong’s eyes and the way his nose scrunched up as he laughed. A soft smile tugged at Jaehyun’s lips as he took the other man in, but the sight of Taeyong’s shirt lifting slightly upward caught the younger man’s attention.

In the golden light of morning, the sun seemed to backlight Taeyong’s already glowing skin into something enticing. Several months off of touring meant they no longer had to stick to a strict diet, and Taeyong was no longer rail thin. The way his stomach curved out slightly as he arched his back drew Jaehyun in until he found his hands trailing the skin there. Taeyong’s laugh choked off and his arm immediately ripped off his face. His left hand threaded through Jaehyun’s hair, playing with the strands between slender fingers.

“What are you doing?” Taeyong half-whined, his nose scrunching up again, this time in dissatisfaction. Jaehyun looked up at him through his lashes, huffing out a laugh when he saw the older man’s pouting expression.

“Admiring you" he replied simply, grazing his thumbs over Taeyong’s tanned skin. Jaehyun swung his leg over Taeyong until he was straddling him, his hands roaming over the older man’s body. Taeyong squirmed into the touch but soon his head fell back into the pillow as a sigh of content escaped his lips. Jaehyun smirks, flattening his palms against Taeyong’s sides and sliding his hands down until they reach his hips. His nimble fingers play with the waistband of Taeyong’s pajama pants until the older man lets out a breathy laugh. Instead, Jaehyun trades his fingers for his lips and soon finds himself trailing open-mouth kisses across the skin of Taeyong’s stomach. His lips graze across the thin skin covering his ribs, nipping slightly at the hipbone that ripples underneath Taeyong’s skin as he squirms. The sight is beautiful, any only a single thought comes to Jaehyun’s mind.

The minutes pass by, the only sound being the rhythmic sound of Ten breathing and a fan oscillating in the corner of the room. Johnny blinks up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing patterns in the gray paint. After a moment, he plucks up the courage to turn on his side and quietly slip open the drawer on the nightstand. His fingers graze the bottom of the drawer before finding what he’s looking for. His hand grips the object, sliding the drawer closed with the other. He gently turns to face Ten, movements slow as to not wake the smaller man. Johnny’s gaze lands on the same dark eyelashes barely grazing Ten’s cheek and he smiles.

In the stillness of morning, Johnny waits for Ten.

ii.

“Hey, you almost ready?” Johnny called out as he scrolled through his social media feed on his phone. His arm was resting on the armrest of the couch, his large hand propping his head up as he lazily flicked through his phone. “Yeah, just give me a minute” a melodic voice replied, echoing out of the small bathroom of their shared apartment. The overhead fan ticked slightly, trying to accommodate the high setting Johnny had flipped it on earlier in attempts to cool their place down. The breeze made the collar of Johnny’s t-shirt flutter slightly against his collarbones, the thin material being no match for the high-powered fan.

“How do I look?”

The question made Johnny’s brow arch, looking up to meet the source of the question. He was eye-level with Ten’s waist, its slim curve highlighted by a thick leather belt and his black tee tucked into snug jeans. Johnny let his gaze drag up Ten’s body slowly, taking in the sight of the smaller man’s frame. By the time he met Ten’s gaze, the latter had a smirk playing on his features and his hands on his hips.

“Any more staring and I’d have to charge you" Ten replies smugly, cocking his hip to one side. The movement makes the already tight denim stretch across his defined thighs. Johnny’s phone slides out of his limp hand, clattering to the floor. He attempts a reply, but trips over his words. Instead, Johnny tilts his head in a silent question. The smaller man nods slightly, taking his bottom lip between his teeth to bite back a smile.

In a flash, he takes Ten’s hand and pulls him into his lap. Johnny’s hands find Ten’s waist, the tucked-in t-shirt highlighting his slim frame. He tugs Ten closer into his lap by his belt buckle, and he's met with a raised brow.

“Like what you see?”

Johnny licks his lips and shoots him a smirk. “Maybe.” His large hands rest on Ten’s thighs, nails scratching lightly at the classic blue denim. Ten hums at the sensation, shifting his weight so he can lean in close enough to breathe on Johnny’s neck.

“You sure know how to tease a guy" Ten whispers scandalously, his hot breath dancing across Johnny’s skin and making him shudder. The latter snakes his hands upward, fingers grazing the smooth leather belt and scrambling for purchase. Ten picks up on this and grins, his bottom lip nestled between his teeth. He moves his hips in a figure eight, the action making Johnny’s head lull back as he groans.

“Fuck, you know we have somewhere to be in fifteen minutes" he hisses, fingers digging into Ten’s hips hard enough to leave bruises.

Johnny can feel Ten smile against the thin skin of his neck “I know.” He presses a shallow kiss in the junction between Johnny’s jaw and neck as his hips move against the taller man. Ten’s hands slide up Johnny’s chest until they lace around his neck, pulling him closer and letting his mouth fall into an open-mouthed kiss against the skin there. Ten grinds his hips against Johnny’s in a slow, calculated motion, using the friction of their jeans to his advantage. It works, Johnny’s hands suddenly palming Ten’s ass to pull him flush against his chest.

The movement makes Ten gasp, leaning back enough to look Johnny in the eye. Johnny leans in to capture Ten’s lips with his own, but is stopped by the smaller man’s index and middle finger against his lips.

“Let's not get too carried away, mm?” Ten practically purrs, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. Johnny finds himself pursing his lips against Ten’s fingers, but he nods in agreement. With a final roll of his hips, Ten slides off Johnny’s lap and strides into the hallway, throwing a we’re going to be late over his shoulder.

iii.

The smell of small-batch coffee infiltrates Johnny’s senses as he pours it into his mug. He watches the dark liquid melt the sugar resting on the bottom of his cup, reaching for the cream in order to make the coffee more appealing for his palette. The sound of his spoon stirring the drink was the only sound in the apartment, save for the fan in the living room. It was a quiet time, Johnny being the only of the two awake at eight in the morning.

He takes a seat at the table, swirling the mug in his hand as he scrolls through his phone. His leg bounces as he takes a sip, the sweet caramel notes of the coffee filling his mouth. Johnny remembers the day Ten eagerly brought home the coffee beans with bright eyes, a rare treat on their normally tight college budget. Recalling Ten’s enthusiasm for something so simple made Johnny smile, and he only hoped that Ten would wake up soon to enjoy it with him.

His wish was granted mere minutes later when he heard a loud yawn from the hallway. Glancing up, Johnny saw Ten pad into the room. His blue-black hair was almost comically messy from sleep, and he was clad in boxers and an oversized hoodie-- Johnny’s, he would smugly remind you.

“Didn’t think you’d crawl out of bed before noon on a Saturday” Johnny says, words dripping with amusement. He laughs when he hears Ten’s nghin response as he props his chin up on the kitchen counter by his hand. The sight makes Johnny’s heart clench, the urge to go over and kiss Ten’s pouted lips stronger than ever.

Instead, Johnny tells the smaller man that there’s coffee ready for him.

Ten nods slightly, pushing himself off the counter and reaching for a mug. Yawning, he pours himself coffee and takes a sip. His eyes are blinking back sleep, but widen slightly when he registers the familiar brew.

“You made my favorite” he says in disbelief, looking at Johnny with a slack jaw. Johnny bites back a laugh as he turns in his chair, giving Ten a smile instead.

“Well yeah, why wouldn't I?” he replies, locking his phone screen and placing it face down on the table. As if an invitation, Ten pads over and places the mug on the table. He takes the chance, crawling into Johnny’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck. Settling his head in the crook of Johnny’s neck, Ten lets out a little sigh. After a moment of shock, Johnny wraps one strong arm around Ten’s waist.

“If this is the response I get every time I make you coffee, remind me to do it everyday” Johnny laughs, his breath tickling the hair on top of Ten’s head. The latter only replies by placing a kiss to Johnny’s collarbone, nuzzling into the skin there.

iv.

The mood is lively, the neon signs of downtown bathing the group in a warm glow as the group huddles outside a bar. Doyoung and Yuta are chatting aimlessly about some shitty movie they saw last week, heads tilted towards each other to be heard over the ambiance of the city at night. Mark is leaning into Johnny’s side, elbowing his ribs as he challenges the taller man to another round of shots. Johnny laughs as he pushes him off, his eyes finding Ten as he listens to Taeyong rave about some great new band he discovered. Ten has a cigarette hanging from his nimble fingers, tapping the ashes off every once in awhile to the sidewalk below.

Johnny catches himself staring at Ten, almost entranced by the way smoke leaks out of his lips and into the inky black night. He’s smiling and nodding along to whatever Taeyong’s saying, occasionally looking at the ground with a smile tugging on his lips. Johnny feels the urge to go over there, but he’s brought back to the present by a familiar nagging. He can vaguely feel a tugging on his sleeve, and his eyes slide over to the shorter man to his right with wide eyes.

“I’m just saying, man" Mark rambles, already a drink too far into being comfortably buzzed, “that I could totally own your ass if it was you, me, and a bottle of Cognac.”

Johnny finds himself snorting, scraping his boot across the dirty sidewalk. “Who the fuck does shots of Cognac out of all of us? It’s like twelve bucks a shot.”

“It’s worth it to hold over your head for the rest of the summer" Mark replies smartly, jabbing a finger into the center of Johnny’s chest. “But if you're too chickenshit, forget it.”

“I’m not chickenshit--" Johnny starts, pausing when Ten strides up to him and hands over the cigarette. He takes a drag, letting the smoke filter out his nose before turning back to Mark with a glare “I’m just on a budget.”

“Yeah, whatever” Mark scoffs, rolling his eyes as Ten rests his head on Johnny’s shoulder. Looking to the taller man, he adds “Looks like you two should get out of here.”

Johnny knits his brow together, looking down at the man leaning against his body. Ten’s eyes are half-lidded, his body weight pressing up against Johnny as he yawns. With a smile, he wraps his arm around the smaller man’s shoulder and hoists him up.

“Probably” he replies, shaking Ten slightly until his eyes slide open. Peering down into his face, Johnny says “can you make it to the car?”

“Sure can” comes Ten’s melodic reply, staring up at Johnny through eyes that seem to shine. Their noses nearly brush, with Ten almost on his tiptoes to meet Johnny’s gaze. After biding their farewells, the two of them stumble down the sidewalk in a fit of laughter and too-close conversation.

As they get farther from the busier part of downtown, Johnny can hear the rhythmic sound of their shoes hitting the pavement. Ten has one arm wrapped around Johnny’s waist, and Johnny is resting his arm across Ten’s shoulders. The latter is using his other hand to thread through Johnny’s fingers, playing with them aimlessly as they walk. Every so often, Ten’s hip bumps into Johnny’s side. He thinks of their encounter just over a month ago, where Johnny left perfectly-shaped bruises that match his fingers against the skin of Ten’s waist. He clears his throat and looks up at the inky black sky.

It’s Ten who speaks up first. “You always get that same look on your face when you’re deep in thought.”

“Do I?” Johnny smirks, looking over to see Ten peering at him out of the corner of his eye. There’s a serene smile on his face as he idly twists the ring on Johnny’s index finger. The pair passes under streetlights, the warm glow bouncing off Ten’s sharp cheekbones. Johnny feels the urge to reach out and glide his fingers across the illuminated skin, but the moment passes when he Ten slips out of his grasp and leans up against Johnny’s car.

“You gonna tell me, or are you gonna keep looking at me like that?” Ten asks, reaching out to tug on the thin fabric of Johnny’s tee. With a smirk, Johnny lets himself be pulled into the smaller man’s chest. His hands find his hips, pushing Ten’s shirt up enough to graze his thumbs against tanned skin.

“Hmm, dunno” he muses, lazily looking Ten up and down as he leans against the silver exterior of the car. The latter’s lips quip into a grin, shrinking after a moment to something more dangerous. His hands loosen their grip on the thin cotton shirt, snaking their way up to the nape of Johnny’s neck and playing with the strands of hair there. Johnny takes the opportunity to lean in, nipping at the thin skin of Ten’s collarbones. The sensation makes Ten’s breath hitch in his throat, tugging lightly on Johnny’s hair and eliciting a groan from the taller man. Johnny pulls up until he’s nose-to-nose with Ten, leaning in to take his bottom lip between his teeth. Before he can, Ten hands slide down Johnny’s chest and into the front pockets of his jeans.

“What are you--” but he’s cut off by the familiar beep coming from his car. Johnny pulls away from Ten just in time to see him dangling Johnny’s car keys in front of his face before slipping inside the vehicle. He watched Ten wave at him from the other side of the tinted glass, and all Johnny could do was shake his head and laugh as he climbed in the driver’s seat and started the engine.

He was acutely aware of Ten’s slender hand wrapped around his thigh the entire ride home.

v.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me?”

The words bubbled out of Johnny’s lips as they were sprawled out on Ten’s bed, admiring the fairy lights strung across the ceiling in intricate patterns. The hand that was fiddling with Johnny’s ring faltered for a moment, but soon began twisting the metal again. Eventually, Ten shifted to look at the taller man, the sheet slipping off his frame to reveal his bare shoulder.

“It’s too intimate” he replied quietly, his lips quipping into a smirk but his eyes reading something conflicted. Ten’s brows knitted together as he added “plus, your breath stinks.” The two of them collapsed into a laughing fit, Johnny pulling the smaller man into his chest. After a while the laughter subsides, with Ten huffing out a breath and looking back up at the warm glow of the fairy lights. Johnny’s thumb absently traces against the back of Ten’s arm, the soothing motion making Ten lean into the touch. Ten glances up at Johnny, taking in how the low light makes his tanned skin glow, his t-shirt hanging loose around his shoulders. He idly reaches up to ghost his fingers against Johnny’s exposed collarbone, humming when Johnny’s eyes slide shut.

“When I was little” Ten murmured, eyes trained on the way his fingers glide across Johnny’s skin “my mother told me people are like ships.” “Oh yeah?” he asks, something about Ten’s voice making it difficult for Johnny to look at him. He can feel Ten’s head bob slightly as he nods.

“They come and go like the tides, you know? People don’t really stay” Ten replies, his voice quiet. Johnny’s hand freezes on Ten’s arm, the muddled emotion in the smaller man’s voice making him hold his breath.

“Maybe they just need something to make them say" Johnny murmurs thoughtfully. Ten rests his chin on Johnny’s chest, looking up at him curiously.

“Like what?”

Johnny thinks for a moment, meeting Ten’s gaze. He sees the warm twinkling of fairy lights in the gleam of his eyes. “Well, ships need anchors, right?”

“Anchors" Ten repeats, his eyes scrunching up as he smiles gleefully. Johnny can feel a slight vibration in his chest when Ten speaks again. “I like that.”

Johnny gives him a soft smile in return, pushing a stray lock of hair out of Ten’s eyes with a gentle touch. Ten leans into Johnny’s palm for a moment, eyes fluttering shut as he hums in contentment. His lips are slightly parted, and Johnny takes the opportunity in stride. Johnny runs the pad of his thumb across Ten’s bottom lip experimentally, half expecting Ten to push him away. When he doesn’t, Johnny resumes trailing his thumb across the soft skin of Ten’s lips.

Eventually his hand falls away, the smaller man shifting his weight so he can rest his head against Johnny’s chest and over his heart. The larger man smooths down Ten’s hair and closes his eyes, enjoying the rare moment of intimacy between the two of them. It’s what Ten says next that strips the moment away, making Johnny’s nerves pit at the base of his spine.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

vi.

There are a lot of things Johnny admires-- nice sunsets, the beach on a clear day, the sound of rain on the window, but he’s pretty sure the sight in front of him beats them all. Ten is sitting on Johnny’s lap, legs pressed against either side of his thighs as he mindlessly scrolls through his phone. His dark hair is sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat. There’s a lollipop hanging out of the side of his mouth-- cherry, Johnny thinks based on how Ten’s lips look more red than usual. Johnny drums his hands on Ten’s hips to get his attention, the latter lowering his phone to arch a slender brow.

“What’s up?” Ten asks, pulling the candy from his mouth with an almost-lewd pop. It makes Johnny shudder, but he shakes it off and gives the smaller man his best pout.

“You’re the one that pinned me to this couch and you’re not even going to pay me any attention?” he asks, an overdramatic whine escaping his lips on the last syllable. Ten smirks, leaning in close enough so their noses are almost touching. Johnny can smell the artificial cherry on his breath, but before he can lean in Ten presses the lollipop to Johnny’s lips.

“Hold this for me?” he purrs, lookin at Johnny with something darker in his eyes. Johnny complies, his mouth filling with the sugary taste as the candy hits his tongue. Ten hums in contentment, sitting back up and running his hands through Johnny’s hair. The sensation is soothing, with Johnny sliding his hands up Ten’s shirt to brush against his bare waist.

“What color is this?” Ten asks in English, his brow furrowed as he stares at Johnny’s hair. “It’s like the… like the pots we have outside.”

Johnny almost chokes on the lollipop, but he manages to mumble around the candy. “Terracotta?” he offers. He watches Ten’s nose scrunch up as he laughs.

“Terracotta!” he repeats, the unfamiliar word tumbling out of Ten’s mouth in a fit of giggles. Whatever sensual mood they had now gone, Johnny wraps his arm around Ten’s waist and pulls him into his chest as they both laugh. After their giggles subside, Johnny takes the lollipop out of his mouth and passes it to Ten. The latter takes it with a quiet thank you and snuggles further into Johnny’s chest. The minutes tick by with the two of them tangled together, and Johnny finds himself pressing his lips to the top of Ten’s head.

This will have to be enough for now.

i. (revisited)

The early hours of morning always give Johnny time to reflect, and to observe.

Long lashes casted shadows against the smooth skin of Ten’s cheek, fluttering slightly as he slept. By now, the warm rays of the sun are casting across Ten’s bare shoulder, reaching across to Johnny’s pillow. Soon Johnny will have to crawl out of bed and pull the blinds closed, but the way the light hits the high point of Ten’s cheekbone is too mesmerizing to look away.

As fate would have it, the smaller man stirs and slowly opens his eyes. He meets Johnny’s gaze, blinking back the blurriness of sleep for a minute before smiling softly.

“Good morning” Ten says in a quiet voice. It’s rough and scratchy from sleep, but it still makes the nerves at the bottom of Johnny’s spine tingle like a live wire. In a moment Johnny will muster up the courage to give Ten what he’s been thinking about for the better half of the summer, but for now he merely cradles the smaller man’s face in his hand and brushes the hair out of his eyes.

“Good morning to you, too” he replies, a laugh escaping his lips when he sees Ten squint in the bright morning light. Johnny slips out of bed and pads over to the window, twisting the blinds closed. Turning around, he sees Ten sitting on the edge of the bed. He lets out a yawn, stretching his limbs and using slender fingers to slide the strap of his tank top back onto his shoulder. Johnny takes this opportunity to crouch down in front of him and take his hand. Ten looks at him quizzically, but Johnny only smiles and slips the object into his hand and closes Ten’s fist around it.

“What’s this?” Ten asks, pulling his hand from Johnny’s grasp and opening up his fist. In the center of his palm, a familiar ring is laced through a delicate silver chain.

“My anchor” Johnny replies quietly, his nerves hidden behind a smile. “You have it now.”

Ten takes a moment to process the words, his fingers brushing lightly over the silver band. When he finally meets Johnny’s eyes, he senses nothing but sincerity. The overwhelming emotions threatening to bubble up out of Ten are suppressed when he winds his fingers in Johnny’s chestnut locks, tugging him close enough to press their lips together. It’s a cautious kiss, but one that’s achingly sweet. When they pull apart, it’s only enough to glance at each other before Johnny is pulling Ten into another kiss. Ten slides off the bed as the kiss turns to something hotter, and the motion ends up with the two of them on the floor.

“Sorry” Ten mumbles into the kiss, taking Johnny’s lip with his bottom teeth. Johnny only responds by carding his fingers through Ten’s hair, holding the back of his head to deepen the kiss. Eventually their passionate kisses turn to playful pecks, with Ten resting his body against Johnny’s chest.

“I guess I can assume you like it?” Johnny asks between kisses, not even bothering to hide the smile tugging at his features. Ten pulls away, sitting up enough to clasp the chain around his neck. The silver band hangs in the hollow of his throat, catching the morning light with every subtle movement.

“Yeah, I like it” Ten replies, his voice quiet but steady. He cups Johnny’s jaw and leans down, kissing him slow and deep.

In the back of Johnny’s mind, he thinks this is one anchor he wouldn’t mind drowning with.

Author Notes: This is my first venture into writing NCT, I just love JohnTen so much. Thank you Vic for beta’ing this! I now take requests for BTS and NCT! | twitter | curiouscat | 

After they got a block or so away, Yoongi mumbled under his breath “what was that for?” Hoseok smiled, pressing his lips to the top of Yoongi’s head.

“Maybe I wanted to go smoke, sue me.”

Hoseok didn’t need to look at Yoongi to know he rolled his eyes, the sigh escaping his lips being enough of a sign.

It wasn’t a long walk, the pair of them lived in a small studio in the heart of downtown. All too soon they were at the front entrance of their building, and Hoseok had to reluctantly slide his hand out of the pocket of Yoongi’s jeans to fish for the keys. At some point during his search, Yoongi produced his lighter and began playing with it. He flicked it on and off with his nail, the neon green plastic glowing warm with the light from the flame. Hoseok smirked as he finally found the right key and slid it into the door, swinging it wide to let the smaller man in.

Yoongi immediately peeled off his jacket, tossing the lighter onto the couch and toeing out of his shoes. By the time Hoseok had followed suit, Yoongi was pulling books off of their bookshelf.

“Bong or blunt?” he asked, his voice slurred as he fought back a yawn. Hoseok flopped himself on the couch before answering.

“Blunt.”

It wasn’t because Hoseok liked the intimacy of sharing a blunt (he did), but he loved watching Yoongi roll one. He watched as Yoongi brought over the supplies, carefully laying out a rolling paper and setting it aside. Grabbing their beloved Death Star grinder, Yoongi got to work. He could sense Hoseok watching him, but he ignored it as he rolled a perfect blunt. Nimble fingers were done in a flash, and he held up the finished product with a smirk.

Hoseok let out a low whistle “Nice job, baby.”

“I am a master of my craft” Yoongi replied smugly, feeling around for the lighter. Hoseok found it wedged between two couch cushions, passing over the neon green tool and watching Yoongi flick it on with his thumb. Letting the blunt dangle between his lips, he brings the lighter forward. Hoseok watches idly as he inhales, holding it for a few moments before letting the smoke trickle out of the corner of his mouth. Hoseok finds himself licking his own lips, before he tilts his head to the side and beckons Yoongi over with his hand.

“Bring that over here.”

Yoongi glances over, smoke filtering out of his nose. He pushes himself off the ground, blunt perched expertly between his fingers. Hoseok leans back into the couch, his head lulling back and his eyes half-lidded. His hands find Yoongi’s hips as he crawls into the taller man’s lap.

“Don’t be so greedy" Yoongi mumbles, taking a drag and holding it almost until it hurts, the white smoke filtering out of his mouth like a white cloud between them. Hoseok reached for the blunt, but a flash of hesitance crossed Yoongi’s features. Instead of hanging it over, he took a particularly long hit. Slender fingers pressed on either side of Hoseok’s jaw, bringing it down slightly to part the younger’s lips. Yoongi leaned in until their faces were mere centimeters apart before exhaling directly into Hoseok’s mouth.

Hoseok snaked a large hand around Yoongi’s waist, holding him there as Yoongi took another hit. This time, he pressed his lips to Hoseok’s, sighing into the kiss and letting Hoseok take both the hit and himself in greedily. Hoseok holds Yoongi’s hips tight enough to bruise, the smaller wriggling into the touch. After a moment they part, Hoseok instead turning his attention to Yoongi’s neck. He trails kisses down the soft flesh, letting the white smoke dance across his skin. He hears Yoongi hum contently, and Hoseok presses an last open-mouth kiss to his collarbone.

“You like that?” he mumbled into Yoongi’s skin. The latter sighs, nodding and looping his arm around Hoseok’s shoulder. Hoseok pulls away just enough to take the blunt out of Yoongi’s hand, taking a hit before capturing Yoongi’s lips in another kiss. The smoke is subtly sweet between them, making the hits easy and encasing the pair in a comfortable high. They trade off playful and lazy kisses like this until the blunt is spent, the remnants in a nearby ashtray and Yoongi’s head curled into the junction between Hoseok’s neck and his shoulder.

“You wanna go to bed?” Hoseok asks as he feels Yoongi yawn against his skin. The smaller man nods and Hoseok hooks his arms under his legs. Standing up, Hoseok prompts Yoongi to wrap his legs around his waist. He complies, nails digging slightly into the fabric of Hoseok’s hoodie. Hoseok glances down, and he swears he sees a sly smile.

Yoongi’s head hits the pillow, the soft sheets welcoming his small frame. The room is dark, but he can just make out Hoseok slipping off his socks and jeans. Yoongi grumbles something, and Hoseok looks up with an arched brow in a silent request to repeat his words.

“‘Iscold” he replies, toes curling after being exposed to the cool air of their bedroom. Hoseok nods and instantly his hand is reaching behind his back, pulling off his Stussy hoodie with a quick motion and tucking it into Yoongi’s hand.

“Better?” Hoseok asks, flashing him a small smile. Yoongi pulls the garment over his body and tucks his face into the collar before nodding slightly. Hoseok bites his lip, peeling out of his own clothes and grabbing a pair of discarded basketball shorts from the floor. In this time, Yoongi crawls under the covers and tucks himself into a ball. Hoseok follows suit soon after, fitting his body perfectly against Yoongi. Hoseok cards his hand through Yoongi’s dark hair, noticing the feline-like state he’s currently in with a chuckle. Yoongi lets out another yawn and snuggles into Hoseok’s chest. The latter chuckles, placing a kiss to the shell of Yoongi’s ear.

Yoongi stretches as he walks over to the balcony. Sliding the glass door open, he sees Hoseok leaned up against the railing. His foot is hanging off the edge, taut muscles flexing as he swings his bare foot over the alleyway below. His mirrored sunglasses are hanging low on his nose, and a white stream of smoke is filtering out of his nose. Yoongi sighs and flops down across from him.

“You know the neighbors bitch when you get high” he says, sitting cross-legged and cracking his neck as he looks at Hoseok. The latter flashes him a grin and tilts his head back, placing the blunt between his lips.

“Not my problem” he replies, taking another hit. “Maybe they should get high too.”

Yoongi squints in the sun, running a hand through his hair. “Why are you out here? It’s the middle of July.” He watches Hoseok shrug and push the glasses up his nose.

“It’s still early, you get the light without too much of the heat.” He grasps the blunt between slim fingers and passes to Yoongi, who accepts. He watches Yoongi take a hit, parting his lips after a few moments to let the smoke trickle out.

The two of them spend another half hour on their tiny balcony, smoking and humming along to the cars that blast music as they pass by. The sun rises to the center of the sky, forcing the two men to scramble inside and find more comfort on the cool tile floor of their kitchen than they do their couch.

☀

“If you don’ quit movin’, I’m gonna end up squirtin’ hair dye into your ear.” The words are muffled, Yoongi balancing a plastic hair clip between his teeth. There’s a small portable fan propped up on the only clean spot on the bathroom counter, oscillating between the pair in the tiny space. Hoseok has his legs stretched out as much as he can in the bathtub. His basketball shorts are sliding down his thighs, the silky material unable to stay up in this position. Hoseok whinces slightly as Yoongi pulls a strand of hair back too much, earning a quiet sorry from the older man.

Yoongi is perched on the tiny ledge around the back of the tub, his back pressed up against the gaudy mint green tiles. His white tank top is slowly becoming littered with flecks of pastel pink and purple, Yoongi long since giving up trying to keep the garment clean. “I bet Namjoon-hyung is gonna laugh when he sees my hair” Hoseok replies, and Yoongi can practically hear the shit-eating grin in his words. The smaller man plucks the clip from between his lips, using it to fasten the slipping towel from his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“Nah, I bet he’ll like it” Yoongi mumbles, squirting the artificial color onto Hoseok’s mop of half-wet hair. The bottle makes an obscene noise, and Hoseok guffaws in response.

“Real mature” Yoongi barks, trying to bite back his own laugh. In an attempt to refocus himself, Yoongi cards his gloved fingers through Hoseok’s hair. It’s mostly pink, the younger man waving the container of Fleurs de Mal in Yoongi’s face at the drugstore earlier that day. Yoongi plucked a container of Velvet Violet from a nearby shelf and beckoned Hoseok to the checkout counter, the older sneaking a peak at Hoseok’s sandy locks that had been lightened considerably by the sun the past two months.

Not the two of them sat in the stuffy bathroom,overhead fan blaring in attempt to keep them from breathing in the fumes too much. Yoongi uses the windowsill to roll a blunt, leaving their Death Star grinder on the sill as he lights up. Taking a hit, he blows white smoke out the window before leaving back to hand off the blunt. Hoseok takes it eagerly, trading hits as the dye sets.

“Can I start calling you cotton candy?” Yoongi asks, gesturing to Hoseok’s still-damp hair as he rinses it out in the sink. Hoseok still his hands for a moment as he kicks Yoongi, now seated on the back of the toilet. He laughs, blunt nearly falling out of his grasp as he tries to dodge the younger’s kick.

It takes them twenty minutes to clean the bathroom, both from the scent of their hotboxing adventures and their hair coloring fiasco. Their bathroom tiles are speckled purple and pink even into late September.

☀

The sidewalk is still radiating heat as Yoongi turns the corner and heads down the side street. His feet slap against the pavement, sliders nearly falling off as he makes his way to the front door of the studio. It’s an inconspicuous entrance, tucked in between a quirky cafe and a dry cleaners. Yoongi can smell the roasting beans as he passes by the dinky coffee shop, bracing his forearm against the studio door as he pushes it open. He shouts out a greeting as the overhead bell jingles, toeing out of his slides and letting his feet settle on the cold hardwood floors with a satisfying sigh. Yoongi can hear the faint, muffled beat of some song bumping from the other room. He drops his keys and his phone on a nearby counter, knowing only Hoseok was left in the building at this hour. The song gets louder as he makes his way to the back of the studio, knowing Hoseok loved this particular room because the windows were floor-to-ceiling.

Pushing open the door quietly, Yoongi confirms his suspicions. Hoseok is there, pop locking to something with a dirty beat and fast lyrics. With a smirk, Yoongi slips inside and sits on the floor, his back pressed against the mirror. The chill is inviting, and he presses his back against the cool surface. Hoseok catches his glance in the mirror and gives him a thousand-watt smile, his freshly colored hair sticking to his forehead as a bead of sweat trickles down his temple.

“Hey” he shouts over the music, pausing his choreography to use the bottom of his shirt as a makeshift towel. He stretches the fabric up to wipe his brow, exposing his tanned and muscular torso. Yoongi swallows thickly, eyes snapping up just before Hoseok catches him staring. The comfortable high nestles just under his skin, making his spot on the floor all the more comfortable.

“What’s up?” Hoseok asks, striding over to where Yoongi is sitting and resting his hands on the older man’s knees. He leans in close, until their noses are only centimeters apart, Hoseok’s breath hot on Yoongi’s skin. The teasing sparkle in Hoseok’s eye turns to something darker.

“Did you really get high in the ten minutes in between when I called you to come get me and now?” His words are accusatory, but his tone is light. Yoongi scowls, flicking Hoseok’s forehead with his middle finger and thumb.

“Maybe” he replies lamely, letting his hand drop into his lap while Hoseok grins at him. The younger man leans in to kiss Yoongi’s nose before he hops up, his newfound energy making Yoongi’s brow arch skeptically. Fishing in his shorts pocket, Hoseok produces a tiny remote, switching the song to something more sensual. Before Yoongi has a chance to react, Hoseok is moving his body to the beat. His hips sway and his body rolls, Hoseok keeping eye contact with Yoongi as he moves. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, Hoseok slowly starts to slide his shirt up as he makes his way over to where Yoongi is seated--

Until he trips over his own two feet, catching himself with one hand and narrowly missing his head hit the floor. It’s so unexpected and completely ruins any semblance of a mood that Yoongi and Hoseok break out into howls of laughter. Hoseok lets his body crumble to the ground, holding his sides as laughter bubbles out of his mouth. Yoongi is arched forward, gummy smile on full display as he cackles.

“S-Stop” Hoseok wheezes, using his leverage to crawl over to where Yoongi is hunched over, forcing himself to half-lay on the older man.

“You should have seen your fucking--” Yoongi cries, stifling his laughter to wipe a tear from his eye. It lasts only a moment, Yoongi’s eye contact with Hoseok erupting an entirely new round of giggles. “Your fucking face.”

Hoseok’s eyes form into half-crescents as his smile pushes his cheeks up, grinning so wide Yoongi almost wonders if it hurts. They stay like that for a while, until Hoseok leans in to press a kiss to Yoongi’s mouth in between a fit of giggles. It’s mostly teeth and breathy laughs, still laughing from the absurdity of the situation.

Afternoons were usually reserved for Jungkook tapping on the steering wheel of his car, following the beat to some indie playlist as Yoongi sat in the passenger seat. The younger would drop him off at Namjoon’s until dinner time, letting Yoongi and Namjoon work while Jungkook taught at a dance studio downtown. After the sky had turned an inky blue, Jungkook would rapt on the metal door of Namjoon’s workshop before peering inside. Round eyes brightened when they met the two older figures in the room, Namjoon waving with a smile as Yoongi collected his things for the day and left hand-in-hand.

At the end of the day, Yoongi would sit at the foot of the bed, picking at the frayed edges of the rips in his jeans until Jungkook finally decided to peel himself away from his online gaming. He’d pad his way into their bedroom, the stress of a long day etched into his handsome features until Yoongi cupped his jaw on one large hand. The touch made all the tension in Jungkook’s shoulders ease away, a peaceful smile playing upon his lips.

This was their time, Yoongi thought. This was when they could simply be.

“Tell me what it’s like” Yoongi would prompt, breaking the comfortable silence. Jungkook’s small smile broke out into a grin at this.

“Tell you what?”

“What it feels like to love me” Yoongi murmured, his words sounding slurred and half-drunk, his usual drawl making Jungkook nose into the palm on Yoongi’s hand.

“Incredible” he would whisper after a moment. There was no sense in lying, no reason to act coy in moments like these. Yoongi’s lips would part as he took in the words, as if he could swallow them and somehow make himself experience what Jungkook did with every shy glance and every laugh he breathed against his skin when they tangled together at night.

Eventually they would collapse into bed, the younger man nestling his head under Yoongi’s arm and against his chest like a pillow. It was comfortable for the two of them, it was safe.

(Yoongi and Jungkook have a routine.

They always did, carving aspects of their lives around each other. To the outside looking in, most people would think they were in a perpetual honeymoon state.)

What they didn’t see was how by the end of the morning, only one of their mugs would be empty. The other one, long since pressed into a large hand, had grown cold and untouched. Breakfast dishes would be left on the counter, only one plate having any sign of being touched. Eventually stopped bringing out the second plate, the waste of food making Jungkook’s nose scrunch in distaste. Even so, Yoongi would still cradle the coffee close to his chest.

The tapping on the steering wheel was predictable because everything was predictable to Yoongi. He knew every word of the playlist crooning out of Jungkook’s car speakers, regardless of it was one they just created together or the same rotation of songs they had on repeat for months. Jungkook would wave to Yoongi as he drove off to the studio, and the elder would tredge his way up the steps to Namjoon’s workshop. They would spend only part of their time working on music, the rest of their day turning to monitoring Yoongi and Namjoon tinkering with new gadgets until the sky turned an inky blue. The hand that would wrap around Jungkook’s at their reunion was cold compared to the tan skin of the younger.

Yoongi would cradle Jungkook’s jaw in the late hours of the night, the pad of his thumb grazing over his cheekbone. He could feel the heat radiating off of him, the warm breath dancing across Yoongi’s skin when he’d nose into his palm.

“Tell me what it’s like” Yoongi would ask, not merely out of curiosity or as a way to tease the younger. Still, his heart would clench all the same when Jungkook would utter ‘incredible’ into Yoongi’s palm like it was a secret. He would ask constantly, but he never tired of the answer.

Yoongi wanted to know. He needed to know-- because as much as he tried to fight it, he was starting to forget.

He would catch the small flecks of melancholy in Jungkook’s eyes as he pushed Yoongi back on the bed, nestling under his arm and against his chest like a pillow. Eventually, Jungkook would lull to sleep with the muffled whirl deep within Yoongi’s chest, the mechanics keeping his core processor running making the constant noise.

(He remembers once when Namjoon offered to change the pace of the machinery, turning the constant whirl into one with a steady pattern.

“It’s not a heartbeat, but it’s as close as we can get right now” he warned. Yoongi knew this, but still he took the chance.

Jungkook cried himself to sleep the night he heard it, clutching Yoongi’s shirt like a lifeline. He crept out of bed early the next day to Namjoon’s workshop, where he reversed the process.)

Eventually Yoongi decides the moments in the darkness are too still, too quiet with the boy nestled against his chest dreaming of things Yoongi would never again see. It’s then that he presses his index and middle finger to the base of his neck, until what little light surrounds them fades away as Yoongi powers down until the first break of sunrise.