Work Text:
Taehyung looks across at where Yoongi is frowning at his textbook. The desk between them is almost empty - neither of them are at the library to actually use the books. Libraries were like stationary, Taehyung thinks, giving him the illusion of productivity. He spends 12 hours on his ass in front of the TV, people think he’s slacking. He spends 12 hours at the library, and it’s a whole other story. He can trundle on home, none the wiser, tell everyone he’s been at the library all day, and all of sudden Sunmi’s offering him treats and patting his head on the couch. Genius.
But he’s not on the couch, and there are no treats to be had. He’s opposite Yoongi, in the library, studying. Studying. Stu-dee-ying. He taps his pencil on his notebook a few times for good measure. Starts writing his own name.
“Stop writing your own name and do some work.” The order comes from Yoongi, eyes trained on his solitary textbook.
“How did you-”
“Taehyung, you’ve literally never written anything without narrating it to yourself.”
“Oh. Right.” Taehyung nibbles the end of his pencil. It tastes terrible.
“You’ll get lead poisoning.” Yoongi warns. He’s still not even looking at him.
“I don’t chew that loud!” Taehyung protests, throwing the pencil lightly across the table. It doesn’t reach the other side.
“No, but you’re very predictable.”
At least Yoongi is smiling now, a bit. Although, there’s really almost always a smile lurking somewhere on Yoongi’s face. Taehyung thought he’d seen one near his left ear the other day, but it could’ve been a trick of the light.
“Hyung.”
“Yes?” Finally, Yoongi looks up, his face dispassionate.
“Do you think I should get a goat?”
“In general, or right now?”
Taehyung pauses to think. “Both?”
“You live in a 20 storey apartment building.”
“Fine, in general.”
“And what do they need?”
“Strong leadership and an open heart.”
Yoongi maintains a steady gaze as he blinks slowly in Taehyung’s general direction.
“And also grass. Other food?” Taehyung thinks for a moment, before exclaiming, “A water bowl! But don’t worry, I’ve got one from when I wanted to get a cat. But then again, I might need a bigger one.”
Yoongi nods seriously. “That’s probably a good idea. Well, it seems to me like you know what you’re doing. Got any plans to move out to the countryside and get a paddock?”
Taehyung sighs dreamily, chin in hand, “Some.”
“Well then, the goat can be your paddock-warming gift.”
Taehyung clasps a hand to his heart, genuinely touched. “Hyung! Thank you! I look forward to warming my paddock with you and my goat.”
Yoongi smiles, for realsies this time. “Me too. Now do some study,” he directs, going back to his own, “or you’ll never be able to afford that paddock.”
Taehyung nods in agreement, and pushes his glasses back up his nose a little too enthusiastically.
He’s finished about half of the chapter he’s revising before he finds himself looking across at Yoongi again. It’s easy to do, Yoongi’s easy to look at. Not that he’s easy on the eyes (although, not that he’s not), but Taehyung doesn’t get bored of his face. Sometimes Taehyung worries he gets bored of things easily, but Yoongi’s face has never let him down. There’s always something happening. For a seemingly stoic motherflipper he’s remarkably transparent, when you know what to look for. It’s part of why he likes him so much.
Not long passes before Yoongi starts grumbling to himself. It’s not as distracting as the guy at the table next to them, who’s been sniffling for 15 minutes straight, or the girl who can’t stop picking food out of her teeth three chairs down, but it’s enough for Taehyung to focus on. It’s not that he’s looking for reasons to stop reading his chapter on numerical modelling, but-
“Un-fucking-believable!” Yoongi’s grumbling is suddenly crystal clear, and punctuated by the slamming of his textbook shut. The sniffler snorts in surprise, and the mouth picker shoots them a glare.
Yoongi flings himself backwards in his chair, running a hand through his hair. Taehyung is about to ask what’s wrong but Yoongi beats him to the punch.
“This,” he gestures towards the book derisively, “is bullshit.” The look on his face is expectant, and Taehyung has no idea what to do with it.
He makes a face he hopes is appropriately commiserating. “Oh… no…” he tries.
It appears to be enough, because Yoongi’s eyebrows relax slightly and he stands, checking his pockets.
“I’m going for a walk. Coffee. I need coffee. Want some? Hyung’ll get it. You like the extra sweet stuff, right?” Without waiting for a response, he makes his way towards the lift. Taehyung looks at his books for a moment, before sprinting after him.
40 minutes, two arguments over who’s paying, and one set of lunges to promote better circulation later
“Hey,” Yoongi starts abruptly.
Taehyung looks up, expecting to meet his gaze but finding Yoongi staring hard at an old mark on the table. Should he answer? He should answer.
“Yes?”
Yoongi purses his lips around the mouth-bit of his coffee can, taking a swig. Taehyung waits a few more seconds before going back to his textbook. He makes it nearly a whole two pages before Yoongi interrupts. “Hey,” he says, again.
“Hi!” Taehyung smiles, pressing his lips together and feeling his cheeks bunch up. He tries to squish them down so he looks a little less like an emoji, but Yoongi continues regardless.
“What are you doing this Saturday.” Taehyung can tell that he’s being asked a question, even if Yoongi’s inflections have forgotten. He racks his brains.
“Uh… nothing. Apart from this.” He taps his textbook.
“Cool.” Yoongi nods for a few seconds, picks up his phone, and starts playing Piano Tiles 2.
Taehyung would be bemused, but he hasn’t the energy. Turns out he doesn’t have to wait long, because it only takes one failed rendition of Eine Kleine Nacht Musik (Yoongi’s got it on silent but Taehyung can tell from the tapped rhythm) before Yoongi’s putting his phone down, clearing his throat and saying “The Music Department’s doing this end of the school year thing, want to come? With me?”
Or at least Taehyung assumes he’s asking him. There’s no one else besides nose-picker within three metres of them, but Yoongi still hasn’t made direct eye contact so it’s anyone’s guess. Maybe Yoongi really likes to hang out with people who prioritise clear nasal cavities and don’t care how they get them.
Regardless, Taehyung would like to go, with Yoongi, so he tells him as much.
“Cool.” Yoongi says.
Taehyung agrees, with a hum. “What time is it?”
Yoongi looks at his phone, “3.30.”
“No, the thing. On Saturday.”
“Oh,” Yoongi’s mouth falls open slightly, and Taehyung tries not to coo. He’s not sure he’s successful, but Yoongi doesn’t stop tapping on his phone so he thinks he’s gotten away with it. “It’s at... 5pm. Is that all good?”
“Let me check my calendar. Just kidding, is there food there?”
Yoongi shrugs, checks his cuticles. “Do you wanna get food before? We could go to that place with the crab you like?”
That’s the thing about Yoongi, Taehyung has decided. He’s been to the place with the good yangnyeom gejang maybe twice, and never with Yoongi, but Yoongi knows, because Yoongi’s always paying attention. That’s what Yoongi does. You just don’t know he does it until he’s silently offering you his water bottle, sending you a text at 3pm on the Wednesday of a Bad Week to see if you want to get coffee, or remembering your new favourite restaurant that he’s never been to and doesn’t know the name of.
It took Taehyung a minute to realise it, that this was how Yoongi shows he cares. Taehyung’s straightforward, he thinks. A 2 + 2 = 4 kind of guy. He’s just not always sure that his 2’s are other people’s 2’s. Sometimes it seems like they might be 3’s. Or 7’s. But Yoongi’s 2’s are the same 2’s, they’re just in italics, size 8 font, while Taehyung’s are in bold and size 72.
He’s been told before that he’s impulsive, or instinctive, which feels either rude or just a bit much. Surely it’s weirder to walk around with ulterior motives tucked away when you could simply open your mouth and have your thoughts come out.
But then: Yoongi. Pretty, ridiculous Yoongi. Yoongi with the dry comments, the screech of a laugh, the loud stare and low voice. He meets Yoongi and all of a sudden, he can’t say exactly what he means, what he’s thinking, not all the time. Not when he’s certain it would make Yoongi shy away, not when it’s ‘the way your lips shine after you lick them, I want to run my thumb along them’ or ‘your hands make me want palmistry to be real, so I can know a bit more about you just by studying them’ or ‘please, god, kiss me.’
That last one only happens when he’s running low on sleep, half-delirious on canned coffee and Bacchus-F, Taehyung promises himself.
The point is, now, he has ulterior motives. Duplicitousness fills him, hiding in all the nooks and crannies normally kept topped up with Seokjin’s leftovers and the warmth that lingers after snoozing on the couch. Now he’s weaving a web of lies, of ‘yes, hyung, I’m just so interested in [insert topic here] and I’d love to come with you to hear [insert wizened expert here] for three hours.’
Although, maybe that wasn’t a complete lie. Taehyung has always had a problem, of being interested in too many things. It’s something he and Namjoon-hyung share. Add that to Taehyung’s tendency to fall head first in love with the way other people love things, and his very chill and reasonable attitude towards spending time with Yoongi, and he was practically part of the music department, even if his major was agriculture with a minor in geology.
Either way, it means he’s not mad at the fact that he now has approximate knowledge of many things. It makes him brilliant at quiz nights.
It takes Yoongi clearing his throat for him to realise his internal monologue has gone on too long, yet again.
“We don’t have to go to the crab place, if you don’t want to?”
“No! I want to! Let’s go to the crab place. I’d love to go to the crab place.” Smiling big, Taehyung tries to project just how much he wants to go to the crab place, and Yoongi’s mouth twitches.
“Right. Well. Finish your chapter and let’s get out of here, huh?”
Taehyung nods obediently, stretching his legs out under the desk and tapping his foot against Yoongi’s for no reason. Yoongi taps back, once, and a satisfied Taehyung turns back to his book.
Three days and one Jimin-mandated cat-eye later
If Taehyung was anyone else (Jimin, perhaps), he might’ve thought about what Yoongi could have meant by extending this invitation to Taehyung in particular. At least, that’s what Jimin said, lying horizontal on Taehyung’s bed, feet up against the wall and head falling off the edge.
Jimin also said “Why am I cursed with responsibility when it comes to everyone else’s romantic bullshit?” and “Definitely wear that silky white shirt with the top three buttons undone, you beautiful bastard” and “have you brushed your teeth today?”
Taehyung is momentarily offended at the last one before swiping his tongue over his top teeth and discovering he hadn’t. Popping to his ensuite, he keeps one ear on Jimin’s familiar tirade.
“You’ve really got to give this a chance, Tae,” he lectures, before his tone turns wheedling, “For me? Let me live through you? Let me experience the slightest bit of romance before I wither away, unbeloved and all-aloney?”
Taehyung spits in the sink and also a little on himself. “First of all, I’m offended that you’d think I’d ever let you wither away, unbeloved or all-aloney. You know I’ve got my eye on a 2 for 1 crypt deal, baby. And secondly, stop it.”
Jimin’s pout grows more pronounced. He looks like a pouting lumpsucker Taehyung had seen on the internet. “You look like a pouting lumpsucker.” He says, shaking his foamy toothbrush in Jimin’s direction.
“A what? Are they cute? They don’t sound cute.”
“They’re adorable and I love them with my whole heart, and I also wish they’d stop telling me to hit on my friend who doesn’t like me like that.”
Jimin hmphs in response, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Min-mon,” Taehyung whines. “Mini-Moofus, my monotonous, muscular muffet. My mischievous, miraculous mumpkin.” Jimin shoots him a glare. Taehyung doesn’t falter as he flops down next to him, toothbrush abandoned in the sink. “How am I the one who’s fine with this?”
Jimin raises one eyebrow, then the other meets it.
“Or at least I will be,” Taehyung corrects. “It’s a work in progress, and that’s okay.”
“I think we have different definitions of the word ‘okay’.” Jimin grumbles. “And I’m not monotonous.”
In an attempt at placating him, Taehyung nuzzles his cheek with his nose. “No, you’re not. I’m sorry. Why don’t you complain about Joon and Hobi, baby? You love doing that!”
Jimin sighs. “I do, you’re right, but as that’s now just part of my everyday life and will never, ever change, there is little to no time sensitivity on the matter. You, on the other hand,” he prods a finger in the centre of Taehyung’s chest, “have an opportunity! You look incredible, you smell like a hug, and, and, it’s the end of the year! Exams are happening! The simultaneous stress and relief makes everyone horny! It’s in the air, Taehyungie! Suck that shit up!”
Taehyung dramatically inhales, and waits. And waits. And waits, until Jimin whacks him in the stomach and he curls in on himself, gasping.
“Don’t be a dick.” Jimin orders, “Your eyeliner will run. And I’m serious, think about why he asked you, and not anyone else. Just... think about it.”
Taehyung is not thinking about it.
Taehyung is not thinking about it, and he knows this, because if he was thinking about it , he’d be thinking about how Yoongi’s been making sure his drink’s topped up, how he’s kept a hand on or close to his arm or lower back the entire evening, how there might have been a flush in his cheeks when Taehyung offered him the sweetest bit of crab, or how he’d paid for their food, batting Taehyung away.
Which he isn’t.
Instead, Taehyung is having a fantastic time. He’s spoken to everyone he recognizes from lectures he’s crashed, who seem universally delighted to see him. Strangers are smiling at him, some of them coming up to say ‘hi’ to Yoongi and introduce themselves to Taehyung, shaking his hand in an almost congratulatory fashion. He’s exchanging polite conversation left, right, and centre and honestly, he’s in his fucking element. People should be this friendly more often.
Taehyung’s just about to tell Yoongi this, before they’re interrupted by potentially the only person in the room Taehyung hasn’t met. He’s small, sharply beautiful and yelling Yoongi’s name.
His arms wide and punch sloshing about in his glass, he fires off a round of questions without waiting for an answer to any.
“How are you? It’s been an age, hasn’t it been an age? Why haven’t we seen you at our Friday evening get togethers?”
Yoongi opens his mouth, presumably to explain.
“No, no, I won’t hear it!” He holds one finger up, “Not another word, not another excuse! You must come back soon, you simply must! And you,” he wheels around to address Taehyung, “You must be Yoongi’s Taehyung!”
Taehyung has never been more intimidated in his life, but the little that’s still functioning in his lizard brain allows him to start to ask “Yoongi’s Tae-”
“I’m delighted to meet you at last - I feel like I know you already.” His smile is so bright and quick that Taehyung only wobbles in response, fumbling for something to say. Before he does, Yoongi swoops in with an introduction,
“Tae, this is Kibum. Kibum, you obviously already know Taehyung.”
“I do!” Kibum exclaims. “And you’ve got to accompany Yoongi to one of our weekly soiree’s. You can’t keep our talented Yoongi all to yourself - although I can see why you’d like to.” He winks broadly, leaning his whole body into it.
A sound somewhere between a yelp and a cough emerges from Yoongi. He raises his arms in front of himself, gesturing at Taehyung, “He- we, no. Kibum, I- I don’t think-”
Taehyung attempts a rescue, even though he’s feeling a bit like he’s only got one arm in a lifejacket as it is, “Yoongi’s terrible at receiving compliments. I tell him he’s brilliant all the time and he just leaves the room.”
Kibum nods sagely, before a tall, broad man latches himself to his side. If it were possible for someone to be as beautiful as Kibum but in the exact opposite way, it’s this man - the handsomest personification of a football Taehyung has ever seen in his life. Judging by the way he’s gently wrestling the glass from Kibum’s hand, he also has the same level of regard for his personal safety. “Kibum, there you are! And Yoongi too!” he exclaims, delightedly, “And - is this Taehyung? Sorry, we’ve only just got here and Kibum went straight for the punch. It’s great to finally meet you!”
“Isn’t it?” Kibum emphasizes.
“Uh, you too!” Taehyung exclaims, clapping his hands together once because a lot seems to be happening right now and he’s forgotten what role his hands should be playing.
“Shit, right, I’m Minho - Kibum’s boyfriend. This is Kibum.”
“Hello!” Kibum coos, waggling the fingers on his free hand.
“But you already knew that.” Minho continues. “Did he invite you round? Did you invite them round?” He asks a nodding Kibum. “Great. You two should come over - we should do dinner!” If it was possible, the grin on his face gets wider, “Just the four of us - have a proper catch up! Yoongi, I’ll message you. Wait, has your number changed?”
Yoongi shakes his head.
“Awesome. I’ll message you.”
“We’ll message you.” Kibum confirms. “Dinner. Just the four of us. Can’t wait.” He looks at Taehyung for a moment, then Yoongi, before abruptly turning to Minho, and tapping a finger on his chest. “Now, I’m sure I saw Professor Kim around here, Minho, and I have an issue I must have addressed. Come.”
Kibum takes Minho by the arm and leads him off, leaving Taehyung staring after them and Yoongi staring at the ground.
“Man,” Taehyung claps his hands again, with a sound approaching a laugh. “And I thought everyone else was friendly.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi hastens to explain, “Sorry, they’re-”
“Brilliant.” Taehyung states, firmly, “I don’t think I’ve ever been invited to dinner so quickly in my life.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, “You- want to go to dinner? With Kibum and Minho? The four of us?”
“Sure! They seem great!”
“Oh. Oh! OK.”
Yoongi looks at Taehyung, long enough for him to wonder if he’s said something wrong.
“Should I… not want to go to dinner?” He asks.
“No! I mean, yes! I - going to dinner at Kibum’s house sounds… great! If you want to?”
“I want to.”
“Cool. Cool.” Yoongi nods a few times, and then a few more. “Wanna… drink? I’ll get you a drink.” He says, already walking towards the drinks table.
Taehyung stays where he is. He’s still Not Thinking, but now his Not Thoughts have increased in size and velocity, pterodactyls screeching Yoongi’s Taehyung and just the four of us. He stands beneath them, a pathetic plastic fly-swatter clutched in his hands, until Yoongi returns.
Accepting his refill, and suddenly exhausted, Taehyung casts around the room and spots an empty couch in the corner of the room. “Over there?” He bobs his head in it’s direction, and Yoongi follows his gaze, shrugs accommodatingly, and lets him lead the way.
The couch is lumpy, a disaster. A huge mistake. Taehyung wishes couches had never been born, as he tries for the seventh time to arrange his legs under him to offer some protection, before giving up and fiddling with his glass. He’s not thinking. It’s incredible, how much he’s not thinking. Almost impressive. It’s amazing, what the human mind can do, when you really set your mind to it, he not-thinks. There are so many things he’s not thinking about! He’s not thinking about friendship, or being a plus-one, or why an inordinate amount of people seem to know who he is, or how there must be Another Taehyung who’s only distinguishing feature is that he’d never met Yoongi in his life, or about how Yoongi’s shoulder has jostled his, just a little, as he laughs quietly, once, then twice. Taehyung blames the fact that they’ve been sitting in near silence for 12 years for the alacrity of his “What?”
Yoongi turns to him, eyes questioning and bottom lip tucked neatly between his teeth.
“What’re you laughing at?” Taehyung clarifies, impatiently.
“Oh,” Yoongi nods towards a pack of students clustered around the piano. “They’ve been arguing for the last 10 minutes about what key to sing Hold My Hand in. I don’t think they realise all the faculty are too drunk for this to be counted as an audition. And before you start-”
Taehyung closes his mouth. He hadn’t realised he’d opened it.
“I can make fun of them.” Yoongi finishes. “I was one, after all.”
Taehyung blinks, attempting to adjust to this new reality. “You were a theatre kid?”
“Well, yes. But uh… not at their level.” Yoongi laughs at his shoes, “I helped out with sound, a bit of lighting. So I had to put up with them, more than ‘be one’. Still. I feel a kinship.”
Taehyung knows he’s staring, and knows he has a stupid look on his face, but he can’t do anything about it until Yoongi narrows his eyes at him, demanding, “What?”
“Nothing!”
Yoongi harrumphs, shifting around in his seat. He darts another glance at Taehyung, who’s managed to rein in his grin, he thinks. He’s mistaken.
“What?!”
“Nothing!” Taehyung tries to straighten his face. “I’m just imagining… little high school Yoongi.”
“Well, don’t.”
Taehyung allows the smile to spread again, taking another sip and sitting back against the suddenly not that terrible couch. He must’ve become accustomed to it. Exposure therapy. “This punch is good,” he comments.
“No it isn’t.”
“No, it isn’t. But I like it anyway.”
Yoongi’s mouth twitches. “Good.”
There’s silence between them for a moment, easily filled by some slightly off harmonies coming from around the piano. He sinks down further, he might become one with this couch yet. He pats it fondly. There’s a mumble from just above his eyeline.
“Huh?”
Yoongi clears his throat. “Thanks for coming.”
Taehyung tilts his head up, gaze connecting with Yoongi’s distractingly soft pout.
After a moment’s pause, Yoongi glances down at him, the motion reminding Taehyung to reply.
“You’re so welcome! Thanks for the invite.” He smiles around a mouthful of punch, only slightly complicated by the large slice of orange that’s taken up residence. He swallows the punch, and plops the bit of orange back into the glass. Yoongi makes a noise like he’s constipated, and Taehyung finds him looking like he’s constipated too. There’s a little bit of spit on his chin, Taehyung can feel it, and a lot in his glass.
“God you’re-”
“Gross, I know, sorry.” Taehyung says, largely unapologetic.
If Yoongi stares at him a moment longer, Taehyung thinks that not-thinking might prove impossible. He’s about to gnaw right through his bottom lip. The flight of fancy he’s been avoiding is tantalising, doing a jig in his peripheral vision. Go on, Jimin whispers, shaking a tambourine, what if, what if, what if.
(Intentions aren’t something Taehyung makes a habit of second-guessing, but there’s a tentative creature lurking in his throat.
It takes the shape of:)
“People are awfully friendly here, hyung,” he says, doing his best impression of someone treading lightly. He sips at his own drink, more careful when it comes to overcommitting to a mouthful.
Yoongi seems to have no such compunctions, as he downs about half his glass in one swallow.
“Yeah.” Is all he says.
Yoongi’s Taehyung.
“Yoongi?”
Yoongi hummed a response that Taehyung chooses to take as ‘Go on.’
“Why was everyone so pleased to see me? Do your friends not normally come to these things?”
He receives a stiffening in Yoongi’s shoulders in response.
“Hyung?”
A swallow, this time.
Taehyung blinks. “I can’t tell if you think that’s an adequate answer, but in case you do, you’re wrong.”
“Are people - are people not normally pleased to see you?” Yoongi asks, voice cracking ever so slightly. He clears his throat. “I think everyone here’s behaved perfectly normally, so far.”
“Hyung, I know I’m likeable, but Professor Kim asked me about my uncle’s dog’s rheumatoid arthritis and offered to bring round a salve his dad’s found really beneficial. I mean, obviously I accepted, that sounds wonderful and I’m sure Uncle Sung Min will be really appreciative, but I’ve met him once.”
Yoongi steadily drains his glass.
Taehyung takes a deep breath. “And where’s the other Taehyung?”
“The who?”
“The other Taehyung! I don’t know why I’m being called ‘Yoongi’s Taehyung’ if the other Taehyung isn’t here, is he sick? It’s a shame he’s missing the party.”
Crunching viciously on a piece of ice, Yoongi splutters, “First of all,”
Taehyung waits. Yoongi takes another sip, or attempts to. His glass is empty, and the flush on his cheeks has spread to his neck.
“First of all…” Taehyung prompts.
“First of all!” Yoongi exclaims.
“First of all.” Taehyung agrees.
Yoongi licks his lips. “Heechul really likes dogs.”
“We all really like dogs, hyung.”
“And there is no other Taehyung.”
“But then why are people calling me your Taehyung?”
Yoongi grimaces. “I think… some people might have gotten the wrong idea.”
“The wrong-”
“About us.”
“What do you- oh.”
(Jimin stops shaking his tambourine.)
“I don’t know why,” Yoongi continues, quickly, “I didn’t say anything, I promise, I would never- people just assume things, sometimes. I’m sorry.”
“No! Don’t apologise!” Taehyung protests, “It’s not your fault that people are… people are silly!” He laughs, over-bright, “That’s so silly, hyung! Why would they think that we - that you and I-”
“Right!” Yoongi agrees, “I mean I never-”
“Of course you didn’t! And I wouldn’t-”
“Why would you!”
“Exactly!”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I’m glad we’re both on the same page,” Taehyung says to his knees, “that all these people are just, like, imagining stuff! How funny! That is so- that’s so funny.”
“Yeah, hilarious.” Yoongi replies, softly. He gets to his feet. “I’m getting another drink, do you want one?”
Taehyung glances at his nearly full glass, downs it, then hands it to Yoongi with a nod.
Yoongi takes a step before Taehyung says:
“Hyung.”
“Yes?”
What Taehyung wants to say is, “I might be silly, too.”
What Taehyung wants to say is, “Actually, I don’t think it’s that funny.”
What Taehyung wants to say is, “Are you sure?”
But all that comes out is “I’ll have whiskey too, please.”
Yoongi makes a face, “You hate whiskey.”
“Right. I meant cake. With extra whipped cream. And maybe another few yakgwa on the side for good luck.”
Yoongi nods.
“Thank you!” Taehyung calls out to his back as he walks away, receiving a dismissive wave over the shoulder in response. He slumps backwards, every previously undiscovered lump in the couch introducing itself to his butt all at once. He takes it back - this couch is fucking terrible.
The party finishes up at around 8pm, too early to go out but late enough to make going home seem like a bit of a waste. Usually, one of them would have suggested something - food, maybe. But Taehyung isn’t hungry, and Yoongi isn’t talking.
The walk to the bus stop is quiet - well, as quiet as it can get on an evening in Seoul. There’s little distance between them. Taehyung can’t tell if it’s because he’s too used to measuring his steps when he walks next to Yoongi, or whether Yoongi’s used to making allowances for Taehyung’s habit of stopping to take photographs every five minutes.
Either way it means that every so often, there’s a bump of Taehyung’s knuckles against Yoongi’s sleeve, asking him to grab it.
He doesn’t.
They reach the bus stop, and Yoongi remains standing while Taehyung perches on the metal seat. Taehyung pretends to be interested in what the people in the window of a cafe across the road are doing, until he actually is, which makes Yoongi’s throat clearing all the more a surprise.
“Yes, hyung?”
“I-” Yoongi taps his fingers against his upper thighs, still standing. “Just wanted to say… nothing.”
“...Nothing?”
“Yeah, sorry - I was gonna say thank you for coming tonight and sorry that, you know. But I’d already said thank you, so. It’s a bit… a bit useless.”
“Saying thank you?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Well, you’re welcome. Again.” Taehyung smiles with at least one half of his face.
“Thanks.” Yoongi shuffles his feet a little, an almost dance. “Also- I don’t mean to bring this up again, but… I’m sorry about the whole… you and me thing. What people thought. I think they’re all so used to seeing me alone or with Namjoon that when you came along they, uh. Made some assumptions. That they shouldn’t have.”
“Right. Yeah.” Taehyung nods.
“Like, that’s not cool, to assume.”
“No.”
“Like, I don’t want-”
Me
“- to make things uncomfortable, so if you don’t want to come to any of the guest lecturers or anything for a while, I totally understand.”
The feeling inside his stomach feels unique and familiar all at the same time. It’s dropping your ice cream on a hot day, walking to your lunch table at school to find your friends have left without you, but it sits a little deeper, sinks a little harder. It’s tinged with self-awareness that makes it hard to take seriously, almost makes Taehyung want to laugh. Instead he swings his feet, nods slowly. “OK.”
There’s quiet for a few seconds before Yoongi repeats, “OK?” almost like he didn’t expect Taehyung to agree so easily.
As Taehyung raises his head to meet Yoongi’s gaze, the bus pulls up to meet them. Yoongi’s hand is raised to his earlobe, no doubt where he’d been tugging it to displace some of the discomfort surrounding them. People are dismounting around them, as Taehyung confirms, “OK.”
There’s a shift in Yoongi’s eyes, as his shoulders drop. “OK.” he says, moving his hand round to the back of his neck, “You better get on your bus.”
Taehyung stands, walking past Yoongi to step onboard and holding his wallet up to hear a beep.
“Tae?”
Taehyung looks over his shoulder, to see him standing, hands in pockets. “Yeah?”
“I’ll uh… I’ll see you round, right?”
Taehyung smiles, and the bus doors close behind him.
One week, two bottles of wine and seven super-chill crises later
He’s back on Jimin and Namjoon’s couch. It’s become his second home this week and he’s seriously considering some bold interior design choices to make the place his own.
Nestled between them both, Taehyung stretches out before tucking himself further into the couch. Jimin offers him a spoonful of ice cream, Taehyung opens his mouth gratefully and gets half of it on his chin. Namjoon wipes it carefully with a napkin, and gets half of that on his sleeve.
“So,” Namjoon starts, between licks of his sleeve, “how’re… how’s things, Tae?”
Taehyung can see Jimin shoot Namjoon a warning glance, so he takes Jimin’s hand in reassurance.
“Namjoon,” He announces, “they’ve been better. They’ve been worse, but they’ve been better.”
Namjoon nods thoughtfully. “Anything you’d like to share?”
The two thoughts circling between Taehyung’s ears are no thanks, and why the fuck not.
Why the fuck not wins out, as it often does.
“Well, you know how I’m probably, let’s face it, in love with Yoongi?”
Namjoon very clearly doesn’t know what to say to that.
“...yes?” He asks Jimin, who rolls his eyes and grasps Taehyung’s hand more firmly.
“And you know how Yoongi invited me to his music departments end of year break-up… thing?”
“Yes.” Namjoon’s clearly relieved to be on more solid ground, facts-wise.
“So,” Taehyung fiddles with the blanket, “Most of them think… we’re dating?”
There’s a silence that stretches above Taehyung as Namjoon and Jimin have an eyebrow-centric conversation.
“Right.” They acknowledge in tandem.
“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, pulling himself up to a sitting position, rearranging the blanket curled around them all as he goes. “And it made me wonder, y’know… why?”
There’s a solid five seconds where the only sound in the room is Jimin’s deep inhalation.
Namjoon’s face rearranges itself as he tries out the start of three sentences, “Well. You- I mean, that is to say-”
“He likes you!” Jimin yells, shaking his fists above his head. “He likes you! He really, really, really, really, really, really likes you!”
Taehyung wrangles his suddenly wobbling bottom lip into order, declaring, “Jimin, I love this energy and also everything about you but I really just don’t think that’s the case.”
“Namjoon!” Jimin says with a whack to the arm of the couch. “Back me up here!”
Namjoon coughs, “I, uh.”
“Namjoon!”
“I’m sorry! I don’t know! I mean I know what I think, but we’ve never spoken about it, and I don’t think it’s my place to say, and what if he - I mean, sorry Taehyung, you’re amazing, and he’d be an idiot if he didn’t, but I’m just. I don’t. You’re great, Tae.” He takes Taehyung’s hand in his own, firm and secure. “I think you’re great, and you should talk to him, maybe? And however this ends up, I know that Yoongi, he… he really values you. He really, really values you.”
“Thank y-”
“Do not thank him for that, Taehyung. That was the biggest pile of garbage I’ve ever heard in my life. Listen to me. He likes you. Namjoon, tell him.”
“I never said he didn’t like him!”
“As a friend.” Taehyung adds
“I swear to god, Taehyung-” Jimin threatens before Namjoon clasps his fist in his hand. If there’s one thing Taehyung’s enjoyed about this, it’s the amount of hand-holding that’s going on. He could take or leave the rest.
“As a friend,” Namjoon continues, “but also… I don’t want to say ‘more’ because platonic love can be just as rewarding as romantic love-”
Jimin makes a sad trombone noise with his mouth.
“But-” Namjoon overrides him loudly, “fine, Jimin, as something different as well. I think. In my opinion.”
“In your opinion…” Jimin mutters. “Let’s examine the evidence, shall we?” He leaps to his feet, starting to pace up and down the living room.
“May I submit to the court, the amount of times Yoongi has asked Taehyung out to Things That are Dates.”
Taehyung moves to object.
“Overruled! They’re dates, Taehyung. They just are. Shut up. The coffees, the dinners, the lunches, the studying with no one else there all the time and not because no one else can come but because you never invite anyone else.”
“To be fair,” Namjoon interjects, “we do those things sometimes too. And with Hobi.”
“Quiet in the cheap seats!” A pink Jimin orders. “Exhibit B. The way he looks like a melted candle when he listens to you talk about literally anything.”
“Wait a minute-” Taehyung interjects.
“I will not! I still remember the time I sat across from you when we went out for barbeque and you were talking about how ‘unique’ his ‘music’ was-”
“Why are saying those like they’re in air quotes?” An outraged Taehyung and Namjoon chorus.
“I don’t know and it’s beside the point! The point is that I have incontrovertible, un-debatable proof! It’s burned into my brain!”
“That’s not how proof works.” Taehyung complains.
“Well,” Namjoon muses, “neurophysics is developing all the time.”
“Thank you, Namjoon! And,” Jimin holds one finger up, “when they wake up my cryogenically frozen head in 1000 years time they’ll be able to scan it from my brain, and time travel back to right the fuck now and shove it in yours so you can live in this hell with me.” Jimin crosses his arms, mouth pursed.
Taehyung gazes at him fondly, “May I offer a counterpoint?”
“I’ll allow it.”
“Yoongi said that people got the wrong idea and that the idea of us being anything was silly.”
Jimin’s arms drop to his sides. “Oh.” He says.
“Yeah.” Taehyung agrees.
Namjoon clears his throat, “As the resident Yoongi expert-”
Jimin groans loudly, throwing himself back on the couch next to Taehyung.
“Or rather,” Namjoon course-corrects, “Just as a thought-experiment, I’d like to offer a counterpoint, to your counterpoint, if I may?” he pauses enough for Taehyung and Jimin to object before saying, “Hypothetically speaking, if you liked someone, someone who was your friend, and you really value your friendship and didn’t want to lose them, and you weren’t an asshole, and you thought they didn’t feel the same way, would you want them to know?”
Jimin scrunches up his face, “Either I’ve forgotten the meaning of ‘hypothetical’ or Joon’s forgotten that that’s the exact situation here. That’s exactly what’s happening to Taehyung.” He reaches across Taehyung to press a hand to Namjoon’s forehead, “You feeling OK there?”
Namjoon takes his hand away from his forehead, but keeps ahold of it in Taehyung’s lap. “Thank you, Jimin. I’m aware. So, hypothetically, if you were in that situation, and that person who you like, but doesn’t like you, could become aware of the situation, would you a. Admit to everything in public or b. Panic a little and deflect?”
“Taehyung’s never panicked a day in his life, this thought experiment is stupid.” Jimin dismisses.
Namjoon looks at Taehyung, who shrugs. “I am remarkably chill-”
“See!” Jimin says.
“But… probably b.”
“What?!”
“And Taehyung, if I may ask another question?” Namjoon readjusts himself on the couch, seemingly really into this therapist roleplay.
“Shoot.”
“When Yoongi said this to you, what did you say?”
Taehyung pauses. “I… I agreed with him.”
“Taehyung!” Jimin admonishes.
“What was I meant to do?! Tell him I don’t think it’s silly and actually I really like spending time with him and part of me loved that people were treating us like we were together and the bit that made me the most uncomfortable was how clearly uncomfortable with it he was?”
“I mean, it’s a start.” Namjoon shrugs. “Honesty’s the best policy?”
“Exactly!” Jimin says, cheeks smug. “Listen to Namjoon, Tae.”
“Thanks!” Namjoon dimples, Jimin’s face getting even pinker.
Taehyung glances between the two of them. It’s a moment that exists outside of space and time, a moment where he’s transported to an world where there’s a chance he’s as fucking ridiculous as these two (and Hoseok). He thinks about how many times he’s tried to tell Jimin that he needs to talk to Namjoon. Or Hoseok. Or both of them at the same time. He thinks about how Jimin seems to miss every limpid look Namjoon throws at him, and how Namjoon never notices how Jimin hangs on his every word, and Hoseok is probably completely unaware that neither of them have ever adopted someone so quickly before.
He thinks about how totally and utterly silly they all are, fumbling around in the dark, hurting and wanting. He thinks about how he can understand the fear, of ruining something great by expecting too much. But then he thinks that he and Yoongi might already be a little ruined, maybe. The line Taehyung had been walking has been breached, and regardless of whether or not Yoongi was walking that same line, the after effects have already fucked with their balance.
So if things are already bad, how much worse could it be to say something?
Taehyung thinks of the last message between him and Yoongi. A week ago, ‘I’ll meet you inside, I’m just running a little late’.
Can’t be much worse than nothing, he thinks.
That’s the thought that propels him to his feet. Checking around the couch for any loose belongings, he announces, “Alright, I’ll see you later.”
“What?” Jimin asks. “Where are you going?’
“To tell Yoongi how I feel, or something. Possibly fuck up a friendship. Maybe cry a little. I’ll figure it out on the way. What’s the time?”
Namjoon checks his phone, “Uh, just after 3?”
Taehyung checks his mental schedule. “Right, I’ve got half an hour before he catches the bus home. Namjoon, can I borrow your rollerblades?”
Namjoon nods dumbly and Taehyung hurries to where they’re kept in the hallway cupboard.
“Thank you!” Taehyung yells as he straps them on, “for the rollerblades and the advice! Maybe you guys should look into that whole honesty thing sometime! Just a thought!”
And he slams the door shut behind him.
As it turns out, rollerblading is harder than it looks. Taehyung gets about 50 metres before his lack of interest in physical activity beyond sex or gardening gets the better of him, so he slings the rollerblades over his shoulder and jogs the rest of the way barefoot. By the time he makes it to the spot on campus he’s hoping he’ll find Yoongi, he’s exhausted. As he’s trying to find out which position will stave off death for five minutes longer, he hears a confused “Taehyung?”
“Hey, Yoongi.” Taehyung pants out, head between his knees.
“Taehyung? What’re you - are you alright?”
“Totally fine!” Taehyung hoists one finger in the air. “Just gimme one minute.”
Yoongi crouches next to him, brow furrowed. “Were you rollerblading ?”
“Recreationally?! No! Physically? That’s debatable. I was, uh,” Taehyung makes his way to standing, “actually looking for you?”
“Oh." Yoongi follows him upwards, "Why didn’t you text?”
“I’m-” I didn’t think you’d reply and if I don't do this now, I’m not sure I ever will. “Not sure.”
“Oh.” Yoongi says, again.
“Yeah, uh.” Taehyung fluffs out his hair, “I wanted to talk to you?”
“Is that a question?”
“No. I want to talk to you. I think.”
“You think?”
There’s a moment, when he takes in Yoongi’s scrunch of a face. For the past 30 minutes it had been like he was vacuum sealed from reality, his emotions a little tub of convenience store kimchi, and the crease in Yoongi’s forehead just punctured the wrapping. “Possibly not enough,” he says.
“OK.” Yoongi laughs a little, awkwardly filling the space between them. “What about? Should we… sit? Is this a sitting conversation?”
“I’m not sure.” Taehyung frowns. “I’m not entirely sure I want it to be a conversation at all. I don’t think I want to sit down? But maybe it is. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t leave, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Do you want to sit?”
“Um,” Yoongi says, and plonks his bag down on the grass next to him as he folds his knees under him.
Taehyung follows him, crossing and uncrossing his legs. He doesn’t know where to start, apart from at the beginning, but that would probably take a while. He grabs a handful of grass, tugging on it gently.
“I’m not sure where to start,” he says to the grass. “I… really didn’t plan this out.”
“Plan what out?” Yoongi’s voice is tight, hands clenched on his knees.
“Telling you, um. About how I feel?” Taehyung tries.
“How.. you feel.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung breathes out, looking up at Yoongi. His face, for once, is blank. Actually, truly blank. Taehyung pushes on, “And how I’m sorry, but I… I can’t help...”
Yoongi straightens his back, clenches his jaw. “Jesus Christ, Tae, please just get this over with.”
Taehyung flinches, “I’m sorry.”
“Please - please don’t apologise.” Yoongi says, crooked and wrong. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I never should’ve-”
“Why would you be sorry?”
“I shouldn’t have asked you to the party. I knew I shouldn’t’ve but I did it and people were presumptuous and you were… you were so great about it, but I shouldn’t’ve done that anyway. That - that wasn’t fair.”
“Oh.” Taehyung gulps. He’d known, on some level, that this conversation could only end this way. But for a while, on his way there, it felt like nothing would come after. Not like he was shielded from consequence, but like consequence didn’t exist. It was a weird feeling. A stupid feeling, Taehyung thinks.
“Yoongi?” he tries.
“Yes?”
“Can you - can you tell me why you invited me? Can I know that, please?”
Yoongi laughs a little, looking at his hands. “Um… sure. Yes. Of course you can. I mean, I’m not entirely sure of the answer, but you know I… you can have-” he exhales, blowing his fringe out of his face. “Honestly? I’m don’t know. I genuinely don’t know what I was doing. Is that worse or better than me having some kind of plan - does it matter? Now? I don’t know if I wanted to take you as a date and have you know it was a date, or maybe realise halfway through, hey, this guy Yoongi might not be a total fucking nightmare to be with. I don’t know if I just asked you because I genuinely like spending time with you, and I thought you’d have a nice time, and I want you to always be having a nice time! Maybe it was some bizarre combination of all of them? Is that possible? Maybe it changed throughout the fuckin’ evening? All I know is that I didn’t want you to be… sad, Jesus Christ, or make you feel uncomfortable, or like you needed to sit me down and let me know that you don’t feel the same, which is fine, by the way. I’m fine - and I understand. I - I’m sorry that I put you in this position.”
For a minute, there’s nothing Taehyung can do but sit there, cataloguing his various body parts, just in case.
Teeth? Check.
Knees? Present.
Toes? All accounted for, fully functional.
Bringing a hand up to his collarbones, he feels his two (2) lips part, and ask, “What?”
“Sorry?”
He clears his throat. “What?” It comes out louder this time, surprising them both.
“What do you mean, what?”
“I mean… what?!” Taehyung slaps the grass next to him. “What?! What?!”
“What?” Yoongi asks again.
Taehyung stands, raising his arms above him and yelling to the sky, “What?! What!?”
“Tae! Taehyung!” Yoongi stands next to him, grabbing his arms and dragging them down.
Grabbing Yoongi’s hands in his own, he brings them up to squeeze his own cheeks, and whispers through a growing, wobbling grin, “what?”
“What?” a helpless smile makes its way onto Yoongi’s face too. “Why’re you so…”
He’s got that look on his face, the one he gets when he’s intent on something. The one that slips away as soon as he feels like he’s being watched, a lessening in tension that allows his bottom lip to protrude, his eyes to widen. Taehyung loves that look.
“I love that look,” he says, simply, “it makes me want to kiss you.”
Yoongi’s jaw drops open. Taehyung giggles, what could generously be described as a light honk in his voice.
“That one not so much, but it’s all relative. On a scale of 1 to 30 I’m mostly hovering at a solid 23, just in general. When your mouth’s all slack like that it looks like I’d have to do most of the work so that docks about a point and a half, but you haven’t slipped below an 18 since about six months ago when you had a tummy bug and had a bit of puke on your chin, and even then the sympathy points kept you above 15. The smell was a bit much, but that wasn’t your fault.”
“...I had puke on my chin?” Yoongi asks, weakly. Taehyung allows his hands to drop down, but still keeps a hold on them.
“Just a little bit, and Jin wiped it off as soon as he saw it. I would’ve, but I wasn’t sure if we were there yet, y’know? It’s one thing to have your room slash soulmate wipe puke-corn off your face, but…”
“Yeah, I’m glad you didn’t wipe puke off my face.”
“You don’t have puke on your face now, though.” Taehyung observes.
Yoongi shakes his head, and Taehyung lets go of one hand to trace a finger along Yoongi’s jaw. Lips parting, Yoongi raises his head slightly to press into the touch, eyes never leaving Taehyung’s. Finally, Taehyung’s finger reaches his bottom lip, running along, pushing it down to gather a little spit, just because he can. Just because Yoongi is letting him.
“What’re you doing?” Yoongi breathes, tongue stumbling against the tip of Taehyung’s finger.
Taehyung shrugs, smiling. “Kissing you.” He drags his hand away, down to cup Yoongi’s jaw with the palm of his hand, the other sliding around Yoongi’s wait to press at the base of his spine, draw him closer. Hips touching, Taehyung gently drifts closer, his nose brushing Yoongi’s cheekbone, then nose.
“You should probably do that then.” Yoongi murmurs, so quiet Taehyung feels like he could swallow the sound, breath brushing Taehyung’s lips.
So he does.