All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t || MYG
(banner by @/itaeewon)
Title: All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t
WC: 11k
Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (theyâve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)
Summary: You havenât seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if theyâre not⊠where does that leave you?
Rating: NSFW - minors DNI
Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in loveÂ
A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic!Â
I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!
Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!
âAnything new with you? Howâs work?â
You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjinâs girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies.Â
You admit to being a little bit on edge.Â
Youâve attended Taehyungâs annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. Itâs tradition, and itâs one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world.Â
Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadnât attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that heâs an absolute Grinch⊠or maybe itâs your presence that keeps him away. You didnât waste too much time thinking about it. Youâre just always happy he isnât there.
Until this year.
No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.
You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.
You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but heâs betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. Theyâre currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.
âWorkâs good,â you say, finally answering the question. âNothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?â
âNothing new to report!â she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. âSorry,â she says, âIâm not trying to be rude, Iâm just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.â
âHey! Whatâs the rule tonight?â a voice bellows from the living room. Itâs Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl youâre talking to.
She must know something you donât, because while youâre baffled, she looks chagrined. âDonât talk about the blizzard,â she recites by rote.Â
âDonât talk about the blizzard,â he repeats. âHave another drink. Itâs Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.â
âYouâre the only person I know whoâs optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night theyâre calling for the storm of the century,â Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyungâs scoldings.Â
âThey say that every time,â Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then heâs up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out.Â
There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and itâs starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below.Â
Jimin comes up beside you. His dateâs lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.
âYouâre a hot mess,â you tell him affectionately.Â
âI think weâre gonna head out,â he tells you, ignoring the jab.
You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. âItâs not even nine,â you point out.
âThe roads are going to get slick,â he tells you, suddenly serious. âYou should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.â
âYouâre going to break Taehyungâs heart,â you inform him. âI think heâs starting to catch on that people are leaving.â
âHe should have rescheduled the party!â Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. âWe could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!â
Jiminâs date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. âReady?â she asks, voice like silk.Â
âBye,â you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye.Â
You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.
You knew it would happen at some point tonight - youâre alone in the living room with Yoongi. Youâd just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker.Â
He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money.Â
Heâs dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends.Â
Heâd never had long hair like this before. Itâs a crime how fucking good it looks.Â
Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, âItâs been a while.â
Five years. But whoâs counting?Â
âIt has,â you allow. You hate confrontation, you donât want this to be a thing. Youâre determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. âHow have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?âÂ
He wiggles his head. âEh. You know Iâm not into all that holly, jolly shit.â
âItâs a Christmas party,â you point out flatly. âHolly, jolly is kind of the point.â
He shrugs. âThe point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. Itâs been a long time since we were all together.â
He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.
You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.
âYou always did hate the holidays,â you observe absently.Â
âWe donât have to do this, you know,â he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.
âDo what?â
âRehash everything,â he says with a shrug. âTalk about everything we remember. Talk at all.â
âIf you donât want to talk to me, then donât,â you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. âYou came over here, not the other way around.â So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.
âThatâs not what I meant,â he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like heâs surrendering. âI just meant⊠donât feel like you have to, if you donât want to. Donât do it for my sake.â
Your temper settles, but you still feel a little⊠disgruntled, unsettled. âIf I didnât want to talk to you, I wouldnât be,â you grumble.Â
He smiles at this. âThatâs right. You never do anything you donât want to do.â
Maybe that used to be the case.Â
The liquor takes over your mouth. âI didnât want to break up,â you say pointedly, âso I guess thatâs not true.â
He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. âYou always just say shit,â he murmurs. âTo hell with the consequences.â
âWhat consequences?â you demand, turning to face him fully. âAre you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.â
He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - heâs right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when youâd wished heâd yell.Â
âItâs because,â heâd told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, âwhen you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.â
Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. âWhat Iâm hearing you say,â he says slowly, âis that youâre still mad at me.â
Thatâs all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - thatâs always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard.Â
âI think Iâm mad at our circumstances,â you correct quietly. âAnd I think Iâve had too many of these.â You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.
He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. âDonât blame the drinks,â he says, shaking his head. âYou never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.â
Heâs right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.
Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle.Â
âIâm trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,â he admits, looking between you, âand I honestly canât tell.â
âRescue him from me,â you say. âHeâs been nice and Iâve been prickly.âÂ
âYou?â Namjoon says in mock surprise. âPrickly? No way.â
You flip him off, smiling.Â
Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. âI think weâre going,â he says, looking past you to the snow outside. âI donât want to drive once the roads are slick.â
Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. âI was having fun,â he says sadly. âBut Iâm probably not too far behind you.â
âNooo,â Taehyung whines from the dining room. âEveryone stop leaving! Itâs just a little snow!â
Seokjinâs girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. âWeâre supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,â she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. âWe need to get moving.â
When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you werenât too mean to him. Which⊠thatâs fair.Â
The truth is, you arenât mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadnât been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.
Thatâs where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, heâd laid out the reasons you shouldnât stay together like they were a grocery list.Â
Like it didnât hurt him at all.Â
None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? Youâd been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldnât he have felt something, too?
Youâd dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone?Â
No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi.Â
It didnât matter. It didnât matter then, and it doesnât matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You werenât mad at him, but you definitely resented that.
Youâd had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and youâre starting to think that even a lifetime of years wonât be enough for that.
Thatâs enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but itâs occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace.Â
The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, âPah-rum-pum-pum-pum!â
âHi, JayKay,â you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.
âOh, hey!â he says brightly. âI was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? Itâs getting worse out there.â
âI was just going to Uber,â you tell him.
âBetter do it soon,â he warns. âSoon the drivers arenât going to want to be on the roads.â
âGood point,â you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.
Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone.Â
Not here, in front of him.Â
Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyungâs guest list.Â
The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but youâre persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.
From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. âNo one is picking up for me,â he grumbles, seemingly to himself.Â
âGood,â Taehyung says seriously. âDonât leave me.â
You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.
âBetter luck next time, bud,â you tell him kindly.Â
Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.
You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. âStill nothing?â
He shakes his head. âI donât even see anyone on the map.â
You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. âI have one,â you tell him. âJoin mine - weâll just request the extra stop.â
Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, âAre you sure?â
You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you donât want him in a car with you, he wonât push it.Â
âYeah,â you say. âOf course. Iâm not going to leave you stranded here.â
âWhy not?â Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest.Â
âMy carâs just here though,â you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party.Â
âIâll grab my coat,â Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.
âSorry, Taehyung,â you say sympathetically. âI know youâre sad.â
He refuses to look at you.Â
After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You donât look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app.Â
In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongiâs not sitting quite as straight as you, but thereâs a tightness to his shoulders, like heâs holding himself carefully so he doesnât touch you by accident with the carâs inertia.Â
You had put in your parentâs address when you requested the ride, since thatâs where youâre staying until New Yearsâ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town youâd both grown up in, that youâd run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parentsâ house is, the car slows to a stop.
âI canât go through this way, Miss,â your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. âThereâs a powerline down up there.â
âOh shit,â you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly.Â
âI think you can get to the development from the other side,â you muse, âbut weâd have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other sideâŠâ
âLetâs just go to my place,â Yoongi interjects. âThe roads are getting worse, and itâs close.â
You frown. Yoongiâs parentsâ house - which youâd been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you arenât here to argue.
Or maybe you are.
âI donât know, Yoongi,â you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. âHow will I get home from there?â
âYou might have to stay,â he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive.Â
You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?
He scoffs at you. âItâs fine. We can handle one night.â
You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongiâs parentsâ address.Â
âWait,â Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address.Â
The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.
âDid your family move?â you ask finally.
Hereâs the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasnât changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know itâs guilt.
âYoongi?â you prod, suspicious.
He mumbles something, still not looking at you.
âWhat?â you snap. âYou what?â
âI sort of moved back last monthâŠâ he repeats to the floor.Â
âYou live here?â you repeat, dumbfounded. âYou live in town again?â
âCurrently, yeah,â he says, and thereâs something in that currently that youâd really like to examine, but youâre still fucking floored.Â
Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.
But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot.Â
Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now itâs five years later and youâve both experienced plenty of bullshit.
Reasons five through whatever, moot.Â
You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies.Â
âYou live here,â you repeat. Youâre stuck on it, you canât move on. âI didnât know.â
âYeah,â he says guiltily. âI know you didnât. I⊠was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not⊠since youâre in the city, and you have your whole life and everythingâŠâ
What life? You wonder.Â
The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. Youâve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, youâd come to do homework more than once.
Itâs always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. Itâs not just a library, itâs the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. Itâs not just a park, itâs the park where youâd had your first fight, where youâd screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. Itâs not just a diner, itâs the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones.Â
Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didnât believe in shit like that.Â
You always break your own rules for him.
The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you.Â
âGet home safe,â you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongiâs got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. Itâs slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.
Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. Thatâs not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks.Â
He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.
You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. Heâs so damn beautiful it makes you sick.
And heâs back, Yoongi is back.Â
âDo you want something to drink?â he asks, finally looking at you.
âWhatever youâre having would be great,â you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you werenât going to make it back to their place so they wouldnât worry.Â
Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.
âSo,â you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like youâre strangers. Like you didnât know each other inside and out, once. âYouâve been here a month?â
âJust shy of it,â Yoongi corrects politely. âI signed a two month lease, so⊠Iâve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.â
âYou donât think youâll stay?â you ask, then sip at the wine. Itâs good - of course itâs good, heâs got great taste. You love and hate that about him.
He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. âDoubt it.â
He doesnât give you any more information than that - why heâs back, whatâs next for him, why heâs here for such a short time.Â
You donât press it. Heâll tell you if he wants to.Â
Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again.Â
âI think we made the right choice,â Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize heâs talking about the weather and Taehyungâs party, not about your past.Â
âMhm,â you nod, as you come back into the present. Thatâs a problem you have - youâre always looking back. âImagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.â
âYou guess,â he repeats, rolling his eyes, but thereâs no ire in it.Â
You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. âIâll go put clean sheets on the bed,â he says, sort of absently, like heâs both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. âAnd then Iâll show you how to work the tv in there if you ââ
âIâm not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,â you tell him flatly.Â
He balks. âI didnât mean with me, I meant by yourself!â
âNo, I know that,â you reassure him. âBut Iâm not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. Iâll sleep out here. Itâs fine.â
âAbsolutely not,â he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. âYouâre a guest. Iâm not putting you on the couch.â
âYoongi,â you say sternly. âIf I know youâre out here on the couch and Iâm in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.â
He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows youâre telling the truth. âFine,â he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom.Â
When he returns, heâs carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering.Â
Itâs gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once theyâre in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and donât want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. Youâre not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so youâll have to grin and bear it.
âThereâs a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,â he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. âSo you donât have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you donât want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff ââ
âMaybe in the morning?â you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. âJust⊠could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?â
Youâll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is.Â
When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongiâs clothes, heâs standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses youâd used.
You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.
âDo you need anything?â he asks.Â
âNo,â you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings youâre swimming in right now. âIâm all good.â
He looks at you for a long minute, searching. âOkay,â he says, finally. âSleep well.â
He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.
âYoongi,â you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. âThanks,â you say, meekly.
He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.
You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you donât dream.
Youâre awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.
A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongiâs couch. Yoongiâs house. Yoongiâs house in town.
The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway.Â
âDidnât mean to wake you,â he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. âI just needed water.â Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, âDo you want one?â
âPlease,â you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headacheâŠ
He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently.Â
Itâs definitely still the middle of the night. You canât have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; youâd felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. Youâre sitting up, the blanket youâd been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.
Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.
He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. âHey,â he says, a little wry, âMerry Christmas.â
You smile. âMerry Christmas, Yoongi.â
He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.
âChristmas music, huh?â you tease, eyes closed. âThatâs very holly, jolly of you.â
âI donât hate Christmas,â he protests. âIâm not, like, a Grinch. Itâs just⊠another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?â
You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. âScrooge.â
Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. âY/N? I wanted to tell you Iâm sorry.â
Youâre surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. âWhat? What for?â
He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like heâs got an annotated list of every fault heâs mentally cataloged. âFor all of it, I guess.â
Youâre not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. âWhat are you sorry for, Yoongi?â you ask seriously.
He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he canât believe you. âYou really want to go there?â
âYou know I do.â
He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. âBecause for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.â
You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean heâd do it differently, given the chance?
Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.
âI was never mad at you for going,â you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesnât say things he doesnât mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You donât owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, âBut I was mad at myself for⊠letting you. Did you⊠I mean, should I have argued? When you left?â
Youâd always wondered. What would have happened if youâd fought just a little harder for him to stay?
He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. âI think part of me had hoped you would⊠but it wouldnât have changed my mind,â he tells you honestly. âJust wouldâve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.â
You exhale on a note of indignation. âFine? That was you. You were so⊠okay with walking away.â
He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. âI wasnât okay. I didnât go a single day and not wonder⊠how you were. I didnât go a single day sure that I made the right choice.â
You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. âWhat am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?â
He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you donât let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.
âThis is just⊠unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past⊠they always ask why, right? Whyâd you leave? But I donât need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know⊠I want to know if you regret it. If youâd take it back.â
âThatâs two different questions,â he says solemnly, âwith two different answers.â
You cut your eyes at him. Itâs the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.
He knows.
âOf course I regret it,â he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. âI regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you⊠still cared about me at all.â He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. âBut would I take it back? I donât know.â
You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Whoâs the one just saying shit now? God. âYou canât just say things like that, Yoongi,â you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.
He says your name, still so soft, so quiet.Â
âWhat?â
âDonât cry.â
Itâs so stupid. You hadnât cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. âSorry,â you say hastily, trying to save face. âItâs the lack of sleep.â
âIâm not sure I would take it back,â he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadnât been done before - youâd interrupted his thought, âbecause when I left⊠I knew the whole time that it didnât make anything better. But if I hadnât⊠I think Iâd still be wondering if I should, if weâd be better apart. I wouldnât know, so the question would still be hanging over me.â
You think heâs saying something without saying it, but itâs like four in the morning and you just arenât sure.Â
âBut now?â you prod.Â
He shrugs, like itâs so simple. âNow I know the answer.â
You want to shake him. Youâve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. âYoongi,â you say, your voice tight like a warning.Â
He knows.
He always knows. He cuts to the chase. âI have a job lined up in the city.âÂ
You almost drop your water bottle. âMy city?â
âYour city.â
âYoongi,â you say again, pleading. âJust say what you mean.â Please.
He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. âJust thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldnât be together⊠null and void now, donât you think?âÂ
You feel like you canât breathe. Youâve both been circling it like predators, and now youâre closing in.Â
âSo what does that mean? For you?â Do you dare to ask it? You do. âFor us?â
Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?
But itâs Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already.Â
Heâs pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow youâd been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like theyâre magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek.Â
His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours.Â
Kissing him again is everything. Itâs absolutely everything. Heâs home, heâs wilderness, heâs calm, heâs the whole damn storm, heâs undoing every seam you have, heâs stitching you back together, heâs beautiful beautiful beautiful.
His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like youâre flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. Heâs bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.
You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldnât get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip.Â
He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet.Â
He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth.Â
âYoongi,â you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where itâs been resting against his face. Thereâs something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly.Â
Then heâs leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. Heâs beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.
âYou, too,â he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile.Â
âWould you kick my ass if I said âIâve missed your titsâ right now?â he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter.Â
âYes,â you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do.Â
âOkay,â he says, in between kisses, âbut I did.â Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes.Â
Itâs honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until youâre writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side.Â
âYoongi,â you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word youâve said in a while. âPlease, youâre torturing me.â
He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. âSo pretty when you beg like that,â he remarks, like heâs observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then heâs coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you canât not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.Â
âPlease, what?â he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts youâre wearing - his shorts. âWhat do you want?â
âAnything - whatever youâll give me,â you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband.Â
It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale.Â
He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.
You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.
And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, heâs just getting started.
He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside.Â
Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. âOhhh my god,â you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like youâre asking him how the fuck are you doing that?Â
He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. âThatâs right, I know what you like,â he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until youâre dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that youâre sure youâll rip it.
You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.
âYou first,â he says. âI want to see you make that face you make. Itâs been literal years.â
âOh my god,â you say, feeling yourself flush. âYoongi! Seriously?â
He laughs, shoulders shaking. âWhat? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.â He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.
Heâd had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you canât try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.
You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and youâre spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.
When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.
âTake those off,â you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor.Â
âBossy,â Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys.Â
You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.
âDo IâŠâ he says hesitantly, âdo you want me to wear -?â
You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. Youâre tempted to just tell him itâs fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But thatâs not really safe.
âMaybe youâd better?â you venture. âHave you -? I mean, we donât need to talk about this right now. But I havenât been with anyone without⊠you know.â
âSame here, and I got tested after⊠the last one. Just in case,â he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?
Of course you do.Â
âIâm okay if youâre okay,â you tell him. âNo pressure.â
âYouâre still on -?â he checks, and you nod.
âIn that case,â he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you havenât even touched him yet.Â
You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but heâs too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - itâs been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongiâs throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.
âFuck, youâre so tight,â he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.
Heâs everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. Heâs everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like youâve never felt him before.Â
You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust.Â
âGod,â you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.
âGood,â he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines.Â
Youâre gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. âGod,â you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. âYoongi, fuck!â
He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.
âOhmygod, yes, there,â you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.
The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when itâs real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.
âYeah?â he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. âClose?â
âPlease,â you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core.Â
âIâve got you,â he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit.Â
The wave takes you over, and thereâs a long moment where youâre completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.
You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.
âYou good?â he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse.Â
âMhm,â you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.
âCâmere,â he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.
âCan you keep going?â he checks. âI know youâre tired. Iâm almost there, I promise.â
âMâgood,â you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. Youâre so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different.Â
âYou can take it,â he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of âshit,â he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think youâll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.
You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together.Â
You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts.Â
âIs inside okay?â he asks, the words sounding like theyâre torn from him.Â
âYes,â you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.
âGod,â he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you.Â
You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that itâs safe to move.
âGo get in the shower,â he suggests. âIâll grab you a towel and meet you in there.â
âI donât know if I can get there,â you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.
You hadnât come in here before. Itâs clean, but sparse. Itâs devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. Itâs devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.
You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the showerâs knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going.Â
It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.
âHi,â he murmurs.Â
âHi,â you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.
You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure youâre ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.
âWill you sleep with me?â he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man youâd been tangled up with mere minutes before. âDonât go back to the couch.â
You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.
âOf course I will,â you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth.Â
You crawl into his bed once youâre dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes youâd both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach.Â
Youâre not sure where you go from here.Â
You lay facing each other in the darkness; itâs just too dark to really see much, but you can tell heâs looking at you.Â
Youâre laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-ifâs and what-nowâs laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize youâve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.
Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. âThat feels nice,â he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.
You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongiâs hair.Â
You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. Youâre about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isnât sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.
âAre you seriously working right now?â you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys.Â
âI just wanted to answer a few -â
âItâs Christmas morning!â you scold.Â
âIâm aware of that,â he answers dryly.
You narrow your eyes at him. âTurn it off, Yoongi. Itâs Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.â
He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.
âYou havenât changed at all,â you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.
âNeither have you,â he says pointedly. Itâs less fond when he says it.Â
You consider this. âYou want to know something stupid?â you ask. Yoongi doesnât answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. âYouâre right. I havenât changed. I think⊠I think Iâve been afraid to.â
He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. âWhat do you mean?â he presses.Â
You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. âI guess⊠some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much⊠what if I stopped being someone youâd want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didnât know mine anymore?âÂ
It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you canât hold it up anymore. It was a fear youâd secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didnât want you?Â
And Yoongi does what heâs always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.
âImpossible,â he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you donât want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. âThatâs impossible. My heart will always know yours.â
You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question youâre holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs.Â
âHey,â he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. âLetâs make breakfast?â He says it like a question.
âYeah,â you say, able to speak again. âThat sounds good.â
Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since itâs too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, heâs plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.
You canât help but smile. âYou remember,â you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing.Â
âYou get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,â he defends.
âNinety-thousand,â you scoff, but youâre pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. Itâs bright outside, but itâs still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasnât been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You canât even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.
Yoongi follows your gaze. âLooks like youâre trapped here for a while,â he observes.Â
âA shame,â you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.
âWell,â he says, thinking out loud, âsince you wonât let me get any work done⊠do you want to put on a movie?â
âA Christmas movie?â you ask, perking up.Â
He rolls his eyes, but heâs fighting a little smile. âI guess thatâd make sense,â he agrees.Â
He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.
âPick something,â he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.
You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you donât think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.
âSo, uh,â he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. âNext weekend Iâm supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you⊠would you want to keep me company?â
You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv.Â
âWhy?â you whisper once you find your voice.Â
He shrugs, wets his lips. âYou know the city well,â he says. âYou can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhoodâs okay⊠if thereâs good take-away⊠where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.â
âHm,â you say, a little tightly.
He shoots you a sheepish grin. âIâll take you to dinner after?â
You give him a look. âSay what you mean, Yoongi.â
He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. âCan I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?â
You grin, unable to hold it back. âYeah,â you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. âYeah, Iâd really like that.â Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like itâs not too over-the-top.Â
Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run.Â
Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than youâve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that youâll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now.Â
Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, âYou know what? All this holly, jolly shit isnât so bad.â
âGod bless us, every one,â you deadpan. âItâs a Christmas miracle.â
He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)


















