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yoongi is nursing a glass of white wine when jeongguk finds him—all bright smiles and bright eyes, suit hugging his figure all too well. yoongi isn’t drunk enough to fixate on it, instead blinking in surprise at the face suddenly in his, jeongguk’s hands already curling on his arms and trying to tug him upward.
“hyung, hyung, hey,” he’s saying, breathless—“hey, hyung. dance with me.”
and yoongi can’t deny him that—can’t deny him anything, putting down the glass of wine so that jeongguk can tug him onto his feet. their hands find each other, where they belong, fingers curling together as jeongguk leads him away from the slowly dwindling crowd at the tables to the slowly dwindling crowd on the dance floor.
it’s only then that yoongi pays attention to what song is playing. it’s something upbeat, something overplayed on the radio, and jeongguk throws a slightly mischievous look over his shoulder. “don’t complain,” he says.
“i wasn’t going to,” replies yoongi, even though he was going to. “this just isn’t quite the dancing i had in mind. aren’t they supposed to play slow songs at these things?”
“that would be boring, hyung,” says jeongguk, and skirts around some pair of uncles wrapped up in a very intense conversation and also blocking their path to the dance floor.
“you’re also not allowed to grind on me,” adds yoongi.
“no one’s going to notice,” and yoongi scoffs as jeongguk giggles, because that means he was thinking about it—and already did in some of their earlier dances, although most of that had been joking as the rest of their friends joined in for some strange dance battle that mostly involved pretending to smack dat ass, or whatever it’s called. “they’re all too drunk.” as if on cue, a very drunk seokjin waltzes by, hugging a wine bottle to his chest and clearly off balance.
still—yoongi rolls his eyes. “this is a respectable family gathering,” he reminds jeongguk when they finally get to an open spot on the dance floor and jeongguk turns to grab his other hand, too, swinging them back and forth to the beat as yoongi tries not to grin at him too hard. the truth is that he doesn’t really mind what kind of dancing they do as long as they’re dancing together, and that’s the sort of cheesy thing he starts thinking when he’s tipsy.
“my brother and his lovely new wife are going to leave in an hour and go bang,” says jeongguk, “and everyone knows that. that’s like, the whole point of a wedding. i don’t think anyone would be scandalized to see me grinding on my gorgeous, lovely boyfriend.”
that makes yoongi snort, at least, tugging on jeongguk’s hands to pull him forward, and they bump into each other. yoongi grins now, properly, as they begin a tipsy sort of swaying back and forth. it’s not to the beat of the song at all, meant for something slow and intimate, but yoongi likes this better—slides one of his hands over jeongguk’s waist, tugging him closer.
“i’m more interested in us leaving in an hour and banging,” he says.
“is that going to happen?” asks jeongguk, voice a low whisper.
“with you in that dashing suit and your hair all styled like that? heck yeah. you look very smart.”
jeongguk’s eyebrows rise. “are you… aroused by me being smart? want me to start doing math to make you pop a boner?”
“i almost came from your best man’s speech alone. i love an intellectual. and it was funny.”
“do you want me to recite it in bed?” asks jeongguk. “a little bit of roleplay… wedding roleplay. although normally you’d probably roleplay that we’re the ones getting married, not the best man and his date.” jeongguk pouts, and yoongi thinks—oh.
it’s probably not the right thing to focus on, but yoongi’s brain sort of—short circuits. thinks we’re the ones getting married and then can’t stop thinking about it, even as jeongguk keeps talking about something else with a thoughtful look on his face, still swaying back and forth.
it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. it’s not like he doesn’t want it. he and jeongguk have been dating for just over four years now, so maybe it’s time to talk about it, anyway, but they just—haven’t. they spent the first year and a half long distance, and it’s been a hectic two and a half years after that, too, with both of them trying to focus on their respective careers. they’re happy like this, just dating. yoongi’s pushing thirty and his parents keep dropping extremely unsubtle hints about marriage every time they see him or jeongguk, or he and jeongguk together. but he’s fine.
except—maybe not. jeongguk is still talking.
“—and namjoonie-hyung was like, i don’t think you can say that, and i was like, why can’t i say it, and he was like, her entire family is going to be there and they probably don’t want to hear about the time their daughter almost shoved a fish in her ass because of your game of truth or dare gone wrong.” yoongi blinks, realizing that he might have come back to the conversation at a very bad time. or maybe—all parts of this conversation are just bad.
either way, jeongguk gives this little sigh, shaking his head. he gets talkative when he’s had alcohol, yoongi knows, which is why yoongi usually just lets him go. “what?” yoongi asks dumbly.
“i was just saying, i could tell you the first draft in bed,” says jeongguk. “might make you go limp, though.”
yoongi hums. “just like hearing you talk,” he says, just saying—words in hopes of convincing himself to stop thinking about it. we’re the ones getting married. we’re getting married.
"sap,” says jeongguk, but he’s grinning anyway, dipping down to press his lips to yoongi’s. there’s something he wants to say, maybe, something more, but then he doesn’t get the chance—by the time jeongguk pulls back, cheeks tinted rose gold, the song ends and another doesn’t start in its place. instead. the dj taps on the mic and then says, “alright, ladies and gents! it’s time for our lovely bride to toss the bouquet. ladies, if you’d line up behind…”
jeongguk gasps, turning from the dj to yoongi. “hyung!” he exclaims. “hyung, i wanna catch it!”
“he said ladies,” says yoongi. “normally it’s just the women who go for the bouquet, isn’t it?”
“that’s stupid,” huffs jeongguk. “i can catch the bouquet if i want. watch me!” before yoongi can protest again, jeongguk has dropped his hands and is hurrying to the center of the dance floor, where a small congregation of young women have gathered. he sticks out like a sore thumb, the tallest of them all, but no one really seems to mind as the bride stands with her back to them, preparing to toss the bouquet.
yoongi can only shake his head with amusement as he watches jeongguk—the younger man turns around to give him a thumbs up, beaming wide and wide. he’ll probably be disappointed when he doesn’t catch the bouquet, even though he could probably just ask one of the bridesmaids to give him hers. he could get anything with those puppy eyes of his, especially when he’s had a few glasses of wine and looks like that and almost stole the show with his best man antics. and a disappointed jeongguk means he’ll want yoongi to coddle him, which yoongi will—he’ll go outside and find a patch of wildflowers and make a bouquet for jeongguk even if it’s half dead and not nearly as pretty. maybe jeongguk would like that better anyway.
jeongguk has always been a romantic, has always liked weddings. and yoongi knows, too, that catching the bouquet is less about having a pretty bunch of flowers and more about what it means—it’s a tradition, a superstition. whoever catches the bouquet is supposed to get married next.
and maybe yoongi is too busy thinking about and preparing for the inevitability of jeongguk coming back with that pout on his lips, waiting for yoongi to kiss his forehead and pet his hair, that yoongi doesn’t actually notice what happens right in front of his eyes. not until, at least, he hears the loud cheer go up from the little crowd and he blinks and the person holding up the bouquet triumphantly is—jeongguk.
jeongguk caught the bouquet. the bouquet which was the bride’s. the bouquet which is thrown primarily to adhere to the silly little tradition of predicting who is meant to get married next.
the bouquet… which jeongguk is now holding, which jeongguk is holding as he now makes a beeline for yoongi near the edge of the dance floor, excitement written clear across his face.
“hyung!” he exclaims. “hyung, hyung, look! i caught it!” yoongi blinks at him as jeongguk shoves the bouquet of flowers in his face—they’re nice flowers, blue and white, wrapped up in pretty ribbon. but it’s not the flowers that he cares about, but the meaning behind it. jeongguk caught the bouquet.
which means. jeongguk is apparently supposed to get married next.
“i told you i would,” beams jeongguk, giggling as he shoves the flowers in his own face and takes a whiff of them before humming. “oh wow, they smell so nice. i didn’t even know these were real… but they are! look, hyung!” he shoves them back in yoongi’s face, which has the same reaction as the first time: yoongi blinks. stares at the flowers. stares at jeongguk.
“um,” he begins. “congrats.”
“we should put these on the dining room table,” says jeongguk, unbeknownst to whatever the fuck is stirring up inside of yoongi. “do you think they’d fit there? or maybe we could put them in the living room? you know, on the shelf with those family pictures we got last year… although i guess we’ll have to put pictures from the wedding up, but the—” yoongi stops paying attention.
it’s not his fault, not really—it’s just that jeongguk is standing there, holding a wedding bouquet and yoongi is all too aware that it’s supposed to forecast something. jeongguk is supposed to get married, and of course he’s only going to get married to the person he’s already dating, the person he’s already in love with, who is—yoongi.
and he thinks—he would marry jeongguk. not just would, but wants to, and now he can’t stop thinking about it. can’t stop thinking about this being their wedding—their pressed suits perfectly tailored and matching, flowers in their pockets. their vows that were spoken only hours ago, in front of all of their family and friends and god, a promise to never stop fighting for this, for each other. their music choices, their decorations, their happy ending.
theirs.
their wedding.
he can’t—stop thinking about it, can’t stop seeing it. can’t stop seeing the next morning, waking up with a ring on his finger and jeongguk by his side and knowing it’s the start of forever, and waking up every day after that. having the same last name, if they wanted. and would they want that? and whose last name would who take anyway? and would they adopt kids? and would they move to a bigger house with a backyard for their kids and would they get one of those minivans to drive around in and would yoongi be that soccer dad that everyone hates so much because he doesn’t know how to keep his nose out of things and would jeongguk hold his hand when their kids went to college and they were suddenly left with an empty nest and would they grow old together and would they be those old people making jokes about trying to fuck even though they can’t really get out of bed without help anymore and—
“hyung?” asks jeongguk, snapping his fingers in front of yoongi’s face. yoongi startles physically, jolted out of his thoughts as he focuses on his boyfriend in front of him.
boyfriend. because—they’re not married. even though. maybe that’s not the worst thought in the world, suddenly.
“sorry,” says yoongi, shaking his head. “what were you saying?”
“i asked you what kind of flowers you think these are,” he says, holding up the bouquet once more, like he’s just trying to send yoongi spiralling further into this internal crisis. “lilies, maybe? i don’t know a lot about flowers.”
“i don’t know,” says yoongi. jeongguk frowns at the bouquet again, and then shrugs.
“they’re pretty either way. right, hyung?” he grins at yoongi, hugging the bouquet to his chest like it’s now his most prized possession, and— fuck.
“i’m gonna go get a drink,” mumbles yoongi, turning and heading for the bar before he can even hear jeongguk’s response. he’s less worried about that, more worried about just getting away from jeongguk and that stupid bouquet and all thoughts of marrying jeongguk. of being with jeongguk forever, even though he sort of just always assumed that’s how it would be. and alcohol—alcohol will take his mind off of such thoughts. alcohol will keep him from even considering the idea of marrying jeongguk and spending the rest of his life with him and being happy forever. alcohol will definitely help.
except—of course, it doesn’t. instead, the more yoongi drinks, the more he thinks about it. with each shot downed, he thinks of a new facet of their wedding that they’d have to figure out, and plays out the entire solution in his head, and finds himself growing attached to the idea. with each sip, he asks himself why they aren’t already married anyway, or why they aren’t engaged, or why they haven’t even talked about it.
because he loves jeongguk. he loves jeongguk with every bit of him, with more than that, with the things that he can’t even begin to understand, and the only thing he wants is for jeongguk to be happy. he’s known since he met jeongguk that he wanted to be with him, and be with him he is, and of course it’s happy, of course it’s good, but as his vision gets hazier and his mind gets foggier, yoongi realizes he’s not entirely sure why they haven’t just taken that next step.
and they should. they should. he can’t stop thinking about marrying jeongguk, and then all at once, he thinks—they should do it now. he should tell jeongguk now, should let him know of the turmoil stirring in his heart. he should go propose right now in the middle of jeongguk’s brother’s wedding reception when he’s drunk out of his mind, slamming down the plastic cup he was drinking from and stumbling toward the dance floor, where he thinks jeongguk is. that’s where he left him, although he’s seeing double and can’t quite make out the people over there anyway.
he doesn’t get far, though, before there’s a hand on his arm and yoongi lets out a hiccup of a gasp as he turns, expecting to see jeongguk and instead looking into the eyes of kim namjoon. not the person he wants to propose to—also can’t, because namjoon is already married.
namjoon says, “don’t do it.”
yoongi blinks at him. “what?”
“you’ve been muttering about proposing to jeongguk for five minutes, hyung,” says namjoon. “don’t do it. not here, at least.”
“but,” he gasps. “but i have to! i have to marry him, oh my god. wait, what if he doesn’t want to marry me? what if he doesn’t love me like he says he does and he doesn’t want to be with me and i just make a total fool of myself even though i have to marry him, and what if he’s not ready for that and what if i’m not ready for that—”
“what are you talking about?” asks namjoon. he holds yoongi’s face in his hands, trying to look him in the eye even though yoongi’s vision is shot. “you don’t have to marry anyone.”
“yes, i do!” yoongi lets out something akin to a wail, slumping against namjoon’s chest and pushing his face into the taller man’s neck. after a moment, he mumbles, “he caught the bouquet.”
there’s a brief pause, and then—“pardon?”
“jeongguk,” says yoongi miserably. he’s not entirely sure why he’s sad suddenly—maybe it’s just the thought that he’s ready for this, but jeongguk might not be, and the fact that they haven’t talked about getting married means that it’ll be coming right out of left field and that’s not fair and what if jeongguk says no even though the bouquet says it’s meant to happen and meant to happen very soon —“he caught the bouquet. now we have to get married.”
he doesn’t expect the rumble of laughter that leaves namjoon at that, echoing deep in his throat. yoongi pouts, pulling himself away from namjoon so he can glare at his friend’s face. “don’t laugh.”
“hyung, you know that’s just a superstition, right?” asks namjoon. “there’s no rule that you have to get married if you catch the bouquet. it’s just a fun little tradition that people have been doing for years. i’m sure if you look at it statistically, there’s a very low chance of someone actually getting married next if they catch the bouquet.”
“no,” grumbles yoongi. “i have to. i have to marry him.”
“because the bouquet said so?”
“because i want to,” snaps yoongi. his tone is a little too angry for it, but he stomps his foot on the ground as he glares at namjoon and says, “he’s the fucking love of my life, namjoon-ah, of course i want to marry him! i just didn’t think about it until now because of that stupid bouquet and now i can’t stop thinking about it and i want to marry him.” yoongi huffs. “he’s my baby. my fucking cinnamon apple.”
namjoon—snorts. “i can’t take you seriously when you’re angrily quoting vines at me.”
“i have to—” there’s the screech of microphone frequency over the speakers, and yoongi hisses as he physically flinches at it, but then the dj’s voice is filtering through again, beginning with an apology for the sound, and then says something about the garter toss. which—yoongi totally forgot about. but when he hears those words— the groom is going to toss the garter now, so all you lucky fellas, step right up! —he stares at namjoon.
“yoongi-hyung,” begins namjoon. but that’s it, isn’t it? jeongguk caught the bouquet, so he’s meant to get married next. but if yoongi catches the garter—“yoongi-hyung, no—” but yoongi is already turning and running toward the dance floor. namjoon shouts after him, but yoongi isn’t listening—also isn’t doing too well on the running thing, because it’s only once he’s hurtling through space as fast as he possibly can that he realizes just how much he’s drunk in the past half an hour.
he keeps crashing into things—tables, people. but he’s determined to get the dance floor, watching as a bunch of men crowd onto the floor and wait for jeongguk’s brother to fling the garter at him after he’s taken it off of his wife’s leg. even with his blurred vision, he can make out jeonhyun standing up, garter in hand, turning so his back is facing the group, and yoongi panics as he rounds the last table.
this is his chance. if he catches the garter, then jeongguk won’t be able to say no. or won’t want to. or maybe he’ll just see what yoongi sees, feel what he feels, and as though he’s somehow summoned his boyfriend, he hears jeongguk calling, “yoongi-hyung!” from behind him.
in yoongi’s mind, it’s something out of a movie. he sees jeonhyun stretch the garter in slow motion, sees him let go and the garter go sailing back toward the group on the dance floor, hands reaching out for it. and yoongi lets out a curse, reaching out for a chair at the last second and tossing it in front of him before he steps on it and vaults himself into the air, reaching out for the sailing piece of lace, that beautiful and tiny ring of material that will surely secure him everlasting happiness.
in yoongi’s mind, he catches it.
in reality—yoongi’s not even close, drunken coordination doing him a terrible disservice as he goes flying through the air and then realizes midway that he has no idea how he’s going to land. it’s this, then: yoongi practically faceplants into the floor a whole three feet away from the group, not even close to being the one to catch the garter. there’s a loud thump when he collides with the floor, and a cheer goes up from the crowd as someone catches the garter, and yoongi groans.
it takes a total of four seconds for there to be hands on him, rolling him over, jeongguk’s worried exclamation of, “oh my god, hyung, are you okay?” meeting him halfway. yoongi has no choice but to let himself be moved, touched, still groaning even if the pain is greatly subdued because of the alcohol. jeongguk’s hands are on his face, leaning over him. “min yoongi! answer me so i know you’re alive!”
“did i get it?” yoongi mumbles, squeezing his hands open and closed even though he doesn’t feel the garter. “did i catch it?”
“catch what?” asks jeongguk.
“the garter. wanted to catch the garter.”
he opens his eyes, sees jeongguk leaning over him with concern all over his face, and disbelief. if yoongi focuses, he can make out taehyung and jimin behind him, too, clearly also concerned that yoongi may have broken several bones in his ridiculous antics. he hears hoseok yelling something about the garter behind him.
“no, you idiot,” says jeongguk. “you didn’t catch it. you weren’t even close.”
yoongi pouts. closes his eyes again and figures he might as well just die here, because now he’s lost his chance to show jeongguk that they need to get married. and he’s not going to cry at that, because he’s not an emotional drunk. anyway—jeongguk starts giggling. he’s still holding yoongi’s face, but now he dips down to press a kiss to yoongi’s forehead, his nose, the on his cheek.
“you’re so stupid, hyung,” he says. “why did you want to catch the garter that badly?”
“had to,” grumbles yoongi, still pouting, and jeongguk kisses him right on the lips.
“okay, hyung,” says jeongguk. he moves, taking yoongi’s hands and trying to lug him into a sitting position. “i think you’ve had enough to drink. maybe we should sit down for a bit before you end up hurting yourself, hm?”
yoongi groans again, only now realizing how much his head hurts—and not just from his spectacular tumble. he lets jeongguk pull him to his feet, clinging to his boyfriend like a koala as jeongguk begins to manhandle him toward one of the tables. “just wanted to,” he begins, press faced into jeongguk’s shoulder. “wanted to catch it. for marriage.”
“is he okay?” he hears someone ask—jimin.
“could you get some water, please?” asks jeongguk, and yoongi tugs on his sleeve.
“wanna,” he begins, smacking his lips a few times. “wanna get married. gotta—bouquet. stuff.”
“here, hyung,” says jeongguk, pushing him down into a chair. he crouches in front of him, hands on yoongi’s knees as yoongi slumps forward a little, still pouting. jeongguk’s hand is in his hair, smoothing it back and he’s grinning, because he’s always grinning. yoongi wonders, briefly, where the bouquet went. “does it hurt?”
“yeah,” says yoongi, and then points to his chest. means his heart.
jeongguk giggles again, leans up to press another kiss to his cheek. “stay here, okay? i’ll be right back.”
yoongi doesn’t have much of a choice. his body is sore and his head is all foggy, the alcohol leaving him sluggish. so he sits there, even when jimin comes by and hands him a cup of water, telling him to drink it and not consume any more alcohol. it seems like a millennia passes before jeongguk is back, but then he’s taking the water out of yoongi’s hand and pressing something else into it.
when yoongi looks down, he sees—the garter.
“there,” says jeongguk, and when yoongi looks up at him, he’s grinning. “it’s yours now. since you wanted it so badly, right?”
“but—”
“hobi-hyung caught it,” says jeongguk. “he didn’t seem overly attached to it, though, since he was wearing it around his own thigh, and i traded him for it. now it’s yours.” yoongi looks at the garter again, and—it’s not quite the same as having caught it himself. but the symbolism is still there, he decides. it’s still the proof that he needs, the little comfort that they are meant for this. it won’t make any sense when he wakes up, he’s sure, but for now—he grins at the garter.
“thanks, guk-ah,” he says quietly, and jeongguk kisses him—on the mouth this time, something careful.
“please don’t jump off of any chairs for the rest of the night,” jeongguk says. “i’d like to take you home in one piece.” he kisses yoongi again, again. one more time. “i have to go hold up my end of the deal with hobi-hyung, though, so—i’ll be back? please stay here. drink your water.”
yoongi nods, feeling much less miserable and much less likely to try to jump off another chair now that he has the garter in his grasp. it’s less about the garter itself, of course, more about the certainty of something. in his drunken mind, it all makes sense. and when jeongguk gives him one last kiss and then heads back to the dance floor, and when yoongi watches him go, he thinks—he has this. if anything, he’s realized that it might be time to have a very important conversation. for now, he’ll just sit with it.
tomorrow, though—tomorrow. right now, he’s content with watching jeongguk begin a marathon of girl group dances with hoseok. he’s content feeling entirely too fond and too in love. they can figure out forever tomorrow.