Chapter Text
It’s a moment of weakness. That’s all.
The whole night has been, really. Yoongi should know better than to show up at one of Hoseok’s parties, but he caved to Jimin and Taehyung’s pouting and repeated assurances that, “We just want to get you out of the house, Yoongles. It’ll be good for you.”
He’s not sure which part is supposed to be good for him.
It isn’t all of the fruity cocktails, or the jello shots Hoseok hands out. Being in a room full of strangers with obnoxiously loud music also isn’t what he would call ‘good’, and neither is getting pulled into some godawful drinking game with Taehyung.
Yoongi likes spending time with his friends, but these sorts of parties are always overstimulating as hell.
When he slips out into the backyard of Hoseok’s lakeside property and wanders down to the dock, it’s a matter of self preservation. A break from all the noise and sticky body heat inside of the house. He thinks he’s finally found peace – cocktail in hand, only hints of music filtering out into the air, just him and the quiet of the lake behind Hoseok’s home…
He isn’t supposed to meet anyone. Not like this.
Yoongi doesn’t date. Or at least he hasn’t done so seriously in a couple of years. It’s too much work, and explaining himself to new people is exhausting, which as far as he’s concerned means that he shouldn’t be entertaining advances, no matter how handsome the stranger is.
But apparently, the universe is determined to test him.
He barely gets more than five minutes of blessed silence out by the water before he hears footsteps behind him on the dock. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals a man approaching, tall but non-threatening, though that’s all that Yoongi manages to take in before turning his attention back to the water, praying it’s just someone coming out for a smoke.
Hell, he’s had a rough enough night. He might even ask to bum one.
There’s no sound of a lighter as the footsteps get closer.
The man comes to a stop just a few feet away at the end of the dock and gives a little wave, which prompts Yoongi to turn his head for a proper look.
That’s his first mistake.
The guy is built tall and sturdy, one strong looking hand holding a bottle of beer and his mouth flashing a stupidly attractive smile while he stands there in jeans and a henley. He’s exactly Yoongi’s type. Masculine but soft, handsome but sweet looking – right down to those gorgeous, warm honey-brown eyes. Just the kind of guy that usually has Yoongi blushing and handing out his number before he can even consider the consequences.
And he knows how that typically ends.
Still, he can’t quite bring himself to be rude, so he gives the guy a polite little nod of acknowledgment.
“Getting away from the party?” the man asks, his voice nearly sending a shiver down Yoongi’s spine. It’s the exact kind of low and gentle that he can imagine playing in headphones while he tries to fall asleep – or whispering filth into his ear.
“Something like that,” Yoongi answers, taking a sip from his own nearly empty drink and trying not to stare. “It’s loud in there.”
“Much nicer out here. Prettier too.”
The stranger isn’t looking at the lake when he speaks in that honey-laced voice. He’s looking at Yoongi.
“Yeah, I… The water is nice. You need a break from the noise too?”
“Something like that,” the guy answers, echoing Yoongi’s earlier words. “You must not usually accept party invitations – or at least not from Hoseok.”
Yoongi quirks his head, turning to look at the man again and finding himself nearly overwhelmed by his handsome features. Hair the color of milk chocolate, wide shoulders, that gorgeous smile, and his hands–
“Why do you say that?” Yoongi asks, tearing his gaze away to look back out at the lake.
“Because I would have talked to you already if you did.”
Yoongi can only hope that the dim evening light is enough to mask the heavy flush bleeding onto his cheeks.
It’s little more than casual flirting, but he can feel the weight of those gorgeous eyes on him, intense and eager as though there’s nothing better in the world than making small talk with him on a dock. Like the party inside doesn’t even interest the stranger.
He’s done nothing to earn this kind of attention.
It feels good.
Too good.
Yoongi downs the last of his drink and prays that the liquid courage works fast enough to get him out of here before he can do anything stupid.
“Can I get you another drink?” the guy asks, holding out his hand in offering for Yoongi’s cup.
“You really don’t have to do–”
“I’d very much like to. What are you drinking?”
After a moment of deliberation, Yoongi takes a deep breath and passes the guy his cup. “Whatever fruity thing they’re mixing up now is fine. Or anything else you find, honestly. I’m not picky.
“Alright, give me just a minute and I’ll be back. Promise.” The man smiles even wider, taking the cup like he can’t imagine anything more exciting than being allowed to do Yoongi a favor. It presses the most gorgeous dimples into his cheeks, though they’re thankfully only visible for a second before he turns to head toward the house.
Yoongi lets out a quiet breath of relief.
Holy shit.
That guy is way too handsome, and way too dangerous for him to go getting attached to, especially when he’s had a couple of drinks and his defenses are down. It won’t be worth the trouble. Or the disappointment when it doesn’t work out.
So he does the only reasonable thing he can think of.
As soon as the handsome stranger disappears back inside, Yoongi bolts. He walks the long way around Hoseok’s fancy house until he reaches to the main road, steps out onto the street, and just doesn’t stop walking until he hits the nearest bus stop, mind still swimming with images of tan skin, deep brown hair, and eyes that looked like they wanted to stare at Yoongi for hours.
Something about it leaves him aching, but what’s done is done.
A small price to pay for not having to open himself up to someone new.
~~
A few weeks later, he’s mostly shoved it out of his mind. Yoongi never even got the man’s name, so there really isn’t anything to be done about it at all.
Just another person left in his wake. With any luck, the guy has probably moved on and long since forgotten about the whole ordeal.
It’s better this way. Yoongi is a quiet sort of person. He has a few friends, but generally keeps to himself in his apartment full of books, alone except for the single pet fish that keeps him company.
Goldie is a very spoiled betta fish that Yoongi rescued from one of those sad little bowls in the pet section of a grocery store, and he’s now living his best life in his own ten gallon tank with plenty of places to hide and all the fancy fish food his little heart could desire. His bright orange coloring always has people mistaking him for a goldfish at first glance, but he’s far too elegant to confuse them for more than a moment. (They also tend to assume he’s a girl, at least until Yoongi explains that female bettas are actually far more plain than the males.)
A fish is the perfect pet, as far as he’s concerned. Quiet just like him, full of personality, and pretty to look at. No walks or going outside required.
Yes. He’s completely happy with Goldie. Just living in his simple little life with his simple little job.
And his not so simple friends.
It’s nearly three weeks after the party when Jimin bursts into Yoongi’s apartment with a grin on his face and a bag of takeout in his hands. They try to hang out once a week in the name of making sure that Yoongi gets some socialization in. Sometimes Taehyung (Jimin’s boyfriend) tags along, and other times it’s just the two of them crammed into Yoongi’s cozy little apartment for the evening.
Either way, Jimin is a force of nature, sweeping into Yoongi’s life with all the chaos of a summer storm.
Yoongi doesn’t have many friends. Doesn’t need them. But he would lay down his life for Jimin in an instant if the need arose. (He’d definitely put his life on the line for Taehyung and Jungkook too, but he’d complain a whole lot more about it.)
“I’m hoooooome,” Jimin calls out in a singsong voice. “Hope you’re ready for food and gossip because I have the good stuff in both categories.”
“You don’t live here,” Yoongi says, huffing out a laugh and not moving from his spot on the couch. “And lock the door behind you.”
“What, don’t want the solicitors sneaking in?”
“Solicitors?”
“Not sure who else would be slipping letters under your door,” Jimin says, holding up an envelope in one hand while he slides Yoongi’s deadbolt into place. “Unless you’re putting mail in front of your door so you remember to send it next time you leave the house.”
Now Yoongi does get up from his couch. He did not leave mail on the floor, and he definitely doesn’t own any envelopes like the deep forest green one held in Jimin’s hand.
“Here, let me see it,” he says, taking the envelope from Jimin and flipping it over to get a better look at the thing.
It feels heavier than expected, the paper thick and smooth beneath his fingers. There’s nothing on the outside that would indicate that it’s an advertisement of any kind. No stamp, no return address, nothing. It’s strange, but definitely not the weirdest advertisement he’s ever gotten. Maybe some sort of religious group?
He slips a finger into the corner of the envelope and rips it open, leaving a jagged seam of thick green paper along the top.
What he pulls out is definitely not an advertisement.
There’s a single sheet of paper inside, some kind of thick parchment that’s been folded to fit into the envelope. When Yoongi lifts the first edge of it, he sees what look like leaves drawn on the corner of the page. Eyes narrowing in confusion, he unfolds it the rest of the way, revealing more sketches along the edges of the paper. Winding vines, blooming flowers, tree branches arcing along the top of the page – all rendered in loving detail with what looks like pencil.
And there, in the center of the page, is a block of words written in neat little letters.
It feels like you’re all I can think about anymore.
You haunt my dreams, occupy all my waking thoughts, moving through my life like the most lovely ghost.
There one moment and gone the next.
You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, and yet you disappear whenever I reach out toward you. Utterly beautiful, and firmly out of my grasp.
I can’t keep all of this inside of me. I’m only a man – one blinded by your radiance and desperate to bask in the sunlight of your gaze. What else can I do but write?
It aches to even think of you.
But that’s a small price to pay for the pleasure of it.
Yoongi drops the letter like it’s threatening to bite him.
“Something wrong?” Jimin asks, looking up from where he’s setting their meal out on Yoongi’s kitchen table. It doesn’t take more than a second for his gaze to snap from the envelope in Yoongi’s hand down to the sheet of paper on the floor. His eyes narrow as he stares at it. “What is it? Some fancy invitation or something?”
“I… I’m not sure. I think they delivered it to the wrong person. I should probably just throw it away. Here, I’ll– Jimin, wait–”
Yoongi does his best to make a grab for the sheet of paper, but Jimin beats him to it, picking it up off the floor and leaving Yoongi standing there with burning cheeks as he reads it.
“Whoa.” Jimin lets out a low whistle, eyes scanning the page for another second or two before flipping it to check out the blank backside of the page. He turns it back over and looks up with a wide grin on his face. “You have a whole ass secret admirer, Yoongles! Is this the first one you’ve gotten, or are there more like this?”
“It’s the only one. Like I said, they probably have the wrong person. Maybe they got the apartment numbers confused.”
“You think someone crushing this hard would screw up and leave a letter at the wrong apartment?”
“Apparently, because there’s no way that’s for me.”
When Yoongi tries to reach out and snatch the letter, Jimin pulls it back toward his chest, looking down over the words once more with that grin still on his face.
“Aww, come on! You’re totally ‘the most lovely ghost’. He aches just thinking about you, and–”
“Jimin, I will tackle you onto the floor if you don’t give that back right this second. If you think I give a shit about my safety in this moment, you are wrong.”
The words get Jimin pouting in an instant. “Seriously, this could be–”
“It’s nothing. A mistaken identity or a wrong address. Give. It. Back.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, but does hand over the letter, shaking his head. “Bet you twenty bucks you get another one.”
“Deal. Thanks in advance for the free money.”
“Whatever. Are you going to throw it away?”
“Probably. Maybe wait and see if someone comes looking for it. Or maybe not… If I wrote something like that, I’d never fucking admit to it.”
~~
Yoongi doesn’t throw the letter away.
He means to. He really does.
Later that night when their gossip session is long over and Jimin has gone home, Yoongi picks the letter back up from his kitchen counter and walks over to the garbage can. He just wants to look at it one more time first.
Holding his breath, he gingerly unfolds the paper, half convinced that the whole thing was some sort of strange fever dream – but it wasn’t. The words are still right there in front of him, penned in neat little letters that lean slightly to the right and carry a bit of flourish at their edges. Y’s finished with elegant loops, I’s dotted with perfect circles… It was clearly written with care, or perhaps even reverence.
In the quiet evening stillness, Yoongi traces his fingertips over the petals of a small orchid drawn in the left margin, and lets himself imagine (just for a moment) how it might feel to be so desired. Much like the mysterious letter writer, he feels an ache in his own chest.
When the moment passes, he folds up the letter, puts it back in the envelope, and looks down at the trash can.
It would be a shame to throw away someone’s hard work like this…
He forces himself to take a long breath, fingertips running once more along the thick green paper of the envelope. And then he opens up his junk drawer and drops the letting inside, slamming it shut and resolving not to think about the ordeal again for a while.
~~
When he comes home from work the next day, he does his best to pretend that he doesn’t care. That he doesn’t hope.
There’s still a tiny little wave of disappointment when he opens his apartment door to find nothing.
He swallows the feeling down in an instant, shoving it into the emotional junk drawer inside of him, just like the stupid letter that caused it. Nobody in their right mind would ever look at him that way. He does his best to scrub away the last of the hope as he showers, standing under water so hot it nearly burns and trying his best to remember all the things he loves about his simple little life.
When he sleeps that night, he dreams of honey brown eyes and moonlight reflecting off of dark water.
The next day is pretty much the same, and the day after. He looks for letters that aren’t there, feels random rushes of disappointment, and dreams the same images on repeat each night like it’s some kind of curse.
The following morning, there’s no little spark of hope in his chest when he wakes, just the comfort of routine. He drinks his coffee, makes a slice of toast for breakfast, and adamantly does not even look at his door or the little rug set out in front of it. By the time he gets dressed for work, he’s nearly managed to forget about the whole thing.
Why bother caring about someone else’s crush when he can focus on how excited he is to start the new book he’s planning to buy himself today? The little bookshop he works at got a fresh shipment in yesterday, which means there will be plenty of new material to pick from. Something in that shipment will help him recenter himself. He’s sure of it.
In fact, he’s so adamantly not looking down that he only notices the new letter when he opens his door and hears it scrape against something on the ground.
Feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline, Yoongi looks down at his feet. The envelope is blue this time, like the color of shadows on snow – and thankfully not too mangled by the door hitting it. Just a bit wrinkled in the corner.
Before he can even start thinking about opening it, his phone chimes with an alarm to let him know he needs to get his ass out the door so that he doesn’t miss his bus and end up late to work. The letter will have to wait, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave it behind. Instead, he places it gently into his bag and gets moving immediately so that he isn’t late.
~~
“I hear you have an admirer,” Jungkook says the moment that Yoongi walks in the door. He’s grinning ear to ear, short black hair almost entirely covered by the brown beanie he wears. He’s got a whole aesthetic going, like always. Dark wash jeans, leather jacket, heavy brown boots, and a whole host of tattoos and piercings.
The girls go absolutely bonkers for Jungkook.
It’s hard not to understand why. Anyone with working eyes would be attracted to Jungkook.
Hell, when Yoongi met him, he developed his own little crush – but there’s never been any indication that Jungkook is into guys, so Yoongi squashed that down almost immediately. The crush is long since gone. They’ve been friends for years now, and he’s perfectly happy with that. Besides, it’s fun to watch all of the pretty girls shoot their shot whenever Yoongi ends up out drinking with Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung.
“Can’t a guy get a little peace?” Yoongi grumbles, walking past the familiar shelves of books and making his way behind the counter with Jungkook, stashing his bag and jacket in their tiny back office. “Jimin’s been talking behind my back again, hasn’t he?”
“He didn’t make it sound like a secret. Well, the admirer is obviously secret, but I didn’t think the letter was.”
“It’s not a secret. It’s just also not all that interesting.”
Jungkook leans back against the counter, eyes fixed on Yoongi’s face with an obvious air of mischief in them. “Then why are you so worked up about it?”
“Who says I am?”
“You’re blushing, hyung.”
“I am not,” Yoongi says, trying his best to will the words to be true.
Which he fails. Horribly.
The evidence is right there on his face, earning him little more than a raised brow before Jungkook asks, “So, do you owe Jimin twenty bucks, or not?”
Why did Yoongi ever decide that having friends was a good idea? Sure, he might only have his job because Jungkook put in a good word when the bookstore started needing extra help, but he’s also terminally nosy. Obviously learned from years of living with Taehyung and Jimin in college.
Getting his own bachelor pad unfortunately has not cured him of that particular ailment.
Yoongi doesn’t bother lying. It’s not like he’s going to go back on his deal with Jimin, which means that Jungkook will find out the truth one way or the other – and he hates being lied to.
“I think so. There was another letter today.”
Jungkook’s entire face lights up and he steps closer to Yoongi, clearly interested. “What’d it say this time?”
“Not sure. Didn’t open it.”
“What?! How do you just not open something like that? I’d have torn into it the second I found it.”
“Had to make sure I wasn’t late,” Yoongi says with a shrug. “I’ll read it later. Don’t go blabbering to Jimin or Taehyung until I make sure it’s actually another one and not just an apology for sending mail to the wrong address.”
“Is it really that unbelievable that it was meant for you? I mean, you are attractive, but you’re always acting like you’re some sort of eyesore.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Jungkook, you are the straightest man in our entire friend group.”
“So I can’t comment on the attractiveness of other men?” Jungkook counters. “That’s not very progressive of you. Don’t you think–”
The bell above the door rings out to signal that they have a customer, and Yoongi happily takes advantage of that fact, leaving Jungkook to handle the couple of middle aged women who just walked in. There’s plenty of work to be done getting their latest arrivals ready for sale, not to mention an entire table of murder mysteries that needs to be curated by the weekend. (The local dinner theater is doing a whole month of their newest whodunit performance, and Yoongi is pretty sure they can capitalize on that if they have a display ready to go.)
Besides, it gives him time to think.
It’s not that he considers himself ugly. Mostly, he doesn’t consider himself at all, if he can help it. He’s just a person, just a normal guy – which is exactly what he wanted to be for so long. And it’s not like he thinks he’s inherently unlovable either. There are definitely people out there who would be on board if he went looking for them, but he doesn’t expect to find them by accident. People tend to have certain expectations when they walk up to a random guy and start hitting on them. It’s not like on the dating apps, where Yoongi can give a warning up front that his equipment isn’t standard.
Being trans doesn’t make dating impossible. It just makes it different.
To be fair to Jungkook, it’s not like Yoongi advertises that fact about himself. It’s not exactly a secret. Jimin and Taehyung know, and that’s enough for him. He just doesn’t feel like he should have to come out to every person he meets. God knows he did enough of that in his teens.
Yoongi is just a guy. Not bad, but not the type that people write weird letters full of sweet words and yearning about.
And yet…
That envelope calls to him.
~~
By the time Jungkook goes home for the day (thankfully without another word about Yoongi’s mysterious letters), the curiosity is damn near ready to boil over. The store has been dead for the last hour, the table of murder mysteries is starting to take shape, and Yoongi is starving.
He takes his break at the front desk so he can see any customers who might come in, plopping down on the wooden stool with his sad little sandwich and that pretty blue envelope sitting in his lap. Maybe it really is just the writer apologizing for sending his first letter to the wrong place, or maybe they haven’t realized that yet and Yoongi will get to pretend for another blissful moment.
He takes a slow breath and swallows another bite of his sandwich, then gently tears into the envelope.
Another thick piece of parchment. More sketches in the margins. There are plenty of flowers, just like last time – irises, lilies, more orchids, and a few others that Yoongi doesn’t recognize. This time, the outlines have been filled with watercolor that bleeds from petal to petal, soft blues and purples that drift in and out of the lines in delicate waves. There’s another moon, though this time it’s placed near the bottom of the page, half hidden behind the shadowy figures of pine trees and the silhouette of a bird flying through the sky.
The drawings are all beautiful.
Yoongi finds himself tracing their lines, fingers running delicately over pools of color and sharp penciled edges alike. It’s almost a shame the page has been folded. The flowers are too pretty to have creases through them, too delicate and lovingly crafted to have their image ruined by something so crude.
Not that he would ever display this where someone could see. The words penned neatly onto the center of the page are for him and him alone.
I hoped that writing to you once would be enough to get it out of my system, for me to abandon hope and return to silent observation.
But now that I’ve allowed myself to speak to you in some way, I find that I’m desperate to continue. To reach out and enter your life in whatever way you’ll allow.
I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to know you.
To be allowed to touch something so impossibly lovely.
I wonder if anyone has ever handled you with the same gentleness that you give to the books you adore so much.
Would you let them?
Would you let me?
Holy shit.
These letters might actually be meant for Yoongi.
A part of him still doesn’t believe it, but what are the chances that his apartment has been mixed up with that of another book lover? His neighbors include one extremely old (and very nice) lady, and a younger guy who Yoongi is pretty sure hasn’t read a book since grade school. Not that people can’t write love letters to old ladies. Actually, that would be really goddamn sweet…
But what are the chances?
They’re definitely not zero. Maybe he should hold onto that?
Because otherwise there are a whole lot more questions he needs to start thinking about. Like what kind of person would write something like this in the first place, or where this sort of thing eventually leads.
Part of him knows he should maybe feel frightened. Vulnerable. Watched.
Because if these letters are for him, then he is being observed by someone, though it’s hard to say to what degree.
In the end, he can’t help but read the words through once more. Only this time, he lets himself imagine what it might be like for someone to want to handle him with care, to treat him like he’s precious, to really desire him like that.
He squeezes his thighs together on the little wooden stool as he reads those last two lines.
Would you let them?
Would you let me?
Would he?
It’s hard to say from any sort of objective standpoint, but right now? In this tiny moment of fantasy where he’s allowing himself to want?
Yeah.
He really would.
~~
“You can’t just tell me you got another one and not let me see it,” Jimin whines into the phone.
Yoongi is at home on his couch after work, legs tucked under him and a soft blanket spread over his lap. The letter is in his hands. It has been from the moment he got home, fingers tracing idle lines over the watercolor flowers in the margins while he worked up the nerve to make this phone call.
“It’s not all that much different from the last one,” Yoongi reasons. “Just…”
“Just what? Come on. I can tell there’s something in this one that’s getting to you. Did he start being creepy? Do we need to file a–”
“Nothing like that. It’s… He mentioned books.”
“O…kay? The fact that you love books is one of the first things I learned about you. How is that noteworthy?”
“Maybe because it means these could actually be for me?”
“Of course they’re for you. They were slipped under your door. I really don’t think a person this head over heels would fuck up something as simple as an address. Imagine how sure you’d have to be to do something like this!”
Yoongi snorts. “I wouldn’t do this. Not under any circumstances.”
“Because you’re allergic to putting yourself out there.”
“I’ve dated.”
“Yeah?” Jimin asks, voice pitched into that sassy tone that always spells trouble. “When was that again? I think I’ve forgotten. Was it when we were in college?”
“You know that’s when it was.”
“Yoongles. Sweetie. Best friend. That was four years ago.”
“Don’t lie. I know Taehyung is your best friend.”
“Yeah, but he was promoted to boyfriend. That created a vacancy in the Just-Friends-Best-Friend category, and you were the lucky winner. Now stop changing the subject. You have been systematically turning down every potential chance at a date for years now.”
“And what?” Yoongi asks. “You think I should write this guy back and ask him out?”
“No, I’m saying you should see yourself as someone worth dating. You’re handsome, nice, smart as hell, and you’re funny when you want to be.”
Yoongi can’t help but let out a groan. “How did this turn into ‘say nice things to Yoongi’ time? We’re talking about a bunch of weird letters – not my dating history.”
“We’re talking about both. Listen, I’ve been…” Jimin trails off for a few seconds, taking a breath before continuing, voice softer now, “I guess I’ve been looking for an opening to address this.”
“What? Me not dating?”
“Sort of? So here’s the thing, it’s… I may have heard about something through the grapevine, and I’m pretty sure me asking about it is gonna make you defensive.”
Through the grapevine. Oh great. Yoongi knows what that means.
“Who the hell has been gossiping about me? How can they even have anything to say? All I do is go to work and come home. Maybe hang out with you guys or Jungkook if he needs company.”
“And go to parties sometimes,” Jimin adds.
“So what?”
“I heard you met someone at Hoseok’s place a few weekends ago.”
Oh. That.
“I met lots of people. It was a big party.”
Even though he’s pretty sure he knows where this is going, Yoongi still takes the opportunity to play dumb, because that is not a conversation he’s having unless it’s absolutely necessary.
And according to Jimin, it apparently is.
“Uh-huh, and did you send them all off to get you a drink and then disappear?”
“I didn’t ask. He offered.”
“Okay, I can work with that,” Jimin says, tone pitching up in the way that means he’s definitely smiling into the other end of the phone. “Tell me about it?”
“There’s not much to say. I went out to get some air on the dock. Some guy started talking to me. I think we maybe flirted a bit? He went to get me a drink and I figured I would save us both a whole lot of time and let him down gently.”
“That’s how we’re letting people down gently these days? Getting them to turn around and then disappearing while they’re not looking?”
“Why do you care?”
“He sounded kind of like your type.”
Yoongi glares into the peaceful expanse of his apartment, unable to keep from glancing at the front door. Nothing there. He takes a breath, fingertips running over pale blue watercolor flowers while he imagines that stranger from Hoseok’s party. The same one who’s been haunting his dreams. Kind eyes, tan skin, wide shoulders, and that smile.
“Maybe,” Yoongi admits, biting at his bottom lip.
“So why run away from him?”
“I don’t know, Minnie. I’m just not… I don’t know if dating is something I really want. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to see him again.”
“You could,” Jimin offers. “There’s always going to be more parties. I’m sure he’d be at some of them.”
“I’m good for a while. Besides, I’ve got Goldie here to keep me company.”
“Goldie is beautiful and precious and I love him – but he is just a fish. Listen, I’m not saying you need to talk to the mysterious letter writer, or even Hoseok’s friend. I just want you to try and consider the fact that maybe it could be worth letting someone in, because I don’t think you like being alone quite as much as you say you do.”
Silence grows between them as Yoongi tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to say in response to that, to hearing something spoken aloud that he can barely even acknowledge himself.
That maybe he is a little lonely sometimes.
Thankfully, Jimin has mercy on him.
“I know I just got super serious on you. Maybe even overstepped a bit. How about you agree to think about it and then we drop it and I tell you about how we’re trying to set Hoseok up with your boss?”
“That sounds way better. You know I love Seokjin gossip.”
“So you’ll think about it?”
“Yeah, Minnie. I’ll think about it.”
“Perfect. Here, let me send you a couple screenshots of our messages with him so you can get the vibe of what we’ve been up to.”
~~
Yoongi’s day off begins in perfect quiet. No letter at the door, no texts from his friends, just the steady hum of the pump in Goldie’s fish tank.
It’s been four days since the last envelope arrived at his apartment. He’s read that letter probably a hundred times since then, but it is admittedly very nice to be able to tell Jimin he hasn’t gotten any more, even if Yoongi can’t help but hope that there will be another one.
Normally he’d spend the entirety of his day off curled up on the couch with a book, but he has a craving for something warm and sweet first thing in the morning, so he wanders the few blocks down to his favorite cafe instead. He’s got a brand new book tucked in his bag. One of the murder mysteries he spent so much time curating at work. It’s not his usual genre, but he’s excited for the bit of variety, something properly engrossing that can pull his attention fully onto the page, far away from his conversation with Jimin the other night.
Once he has his latte and a warm apple-cinnamon muffin in hand, he settles into one of the corners of the cafe, right by the big front window so that he can enjoy the morning sunlight.
Like always, he’s gentle with his new book. It’s a paperback, relatively thin and not bound particularly well, so some cracks along the spine are inevitable, but that doesn’t mean he can’t minimize them. (Of course, a book with a cracked and worn spine is usually a sign that it’s well-loved, but he tries not to hurt them too much on a first read.) The pages open with a light curl in his hands, exposing their contents without putting too much pressure on the spine.
And Yoongi begins to read.
Several hours later, he finishes the book.
His latte is long gone, and his muffin still sits half eaten in his lap, forgotten somewhere during the first chapter. The sunlight is gone as well, he notices. It’s been replaced by the soft pitter-patter of raindrops just barely audible inside the cafe, though one look outside the window reveals that it must have been raining for some time now.
Ugh. He should have brought an umbrella. Although… There is another used bookstore on his way home, and one check of his phone reveals that they are definitely open by now…
Maybe he’ll wait out the rain there.
It’s a poor excuse to fill his apartment with even more books, but it’s not like Goldie is going to judge him for it.
~~
The rain only grows heavier while Yoongi is in the bookstore, but he gets his new purchases double bagged for protection and rushes home through the downpour, delighted at the thought of digging into a second novel today.
Once he’s back in his apartment with his purchases placed lovingly on his coffee table, he looks down at his soaked t-shirt and jeans with a sigh.
“Might as well shower and change. Although, if I’m already wet…” He wanders over to Goldie’s fish tank, looking at the thin layer of algae forming on the glass walls of the tank. “I bet you’d like this cleaned up, wouldn’t you?”
Goldie does not seem to have much of an opinion one way or another, but he does mistake his human’s presence for feeding time, and leaving him disappointed is absolutely unacceptable. Yoongi hums a little tune to himself as he wanders over to the kitchen and pulls out the little container of bloodworms (Goldie’s favorite) from his fridge. It’s not technically feeding time, but a tiny snack won’t hurt.
“Here, just a couple to hold you over until dinner. You eat and I’ll get this tank cleaned up so you can enjoy your view.”
The rain outside turns to a rumbling storm while Yoongi works, a few claps of thunder ringing so loud that he can feel them all the way in his chest.
He can’t help but wonder if his letter writer can feel them too. Probably. It would be really weird for him to be leaving envelopes at Yoongi’s apartment if he didn’t live close by. Maybe they both like the sound of rain…
Yoongi probably shouldn’t be thinking about him at all, but the thoughts wash over him at random no matter what he does, so there’s little point in fighting it. Besides, he’s considered far more embarrassing things about the mystery man.
Like what his hands might feel like. Would they touch Yoongi as gently as he claimed? Or maybe start that way, only to lose composure as things escalated? How long would it take to get one of those hands shoved down his pants, fingers inside of him, curling just right until everything is wet and warm and–
Another loud boom of thunder echoes through his apartment, rattling his windows and sending Goldie swimming straight into his favorite hiding place (beneath a fake log near the center of his tank). It’s more than enough to pull Yoongi out of his thoughts, leaving him shaking his head with a huff as he finishes cleaning Goldie’s tank.
~~
Later that evening, he’s curled up with his book on his couch, reading and sipping a cup of peppermint tea. He glances over to Goldie’s tank from time to time, admiring the perfectly clear view of the fish floating around aimlessly. The rain stopped some time ago, leaving him in an almost entirely silent apartment.
That’s the only reason he hears it.
A tiny little scraping noise, like paper sliding over a rough surface, or–
His heart leaps in his chest and he drops his book in an instant, the hardcover hitting the carpet with a thud as he hops off the couch. His eyes land on the floor in front of his front door.
Another envelope waits for him there, but he barely pays it any mind, instead rushing forward to look out the peephole. He presses his face right up against the door, glancing from side to side as best he can.
There’s nobody there.
Yoongi’s fingers grip the deadbolt, but he hesitates.
Opening the door to check for some strange man who is unhinged enough to send anonymous letters like this feels… unwise. The guy could be crazy. It doesn’t seem like he has any desire to hurt Yoongi, but who knows if that falls apart the moment they’re actually alone together. He could end up dead, the subject of one of those godawful true crime novels, murdered in his apartment with a stash of strange letters still in his possession.
The fear should be there, but it isn’t.
Yoongi unlocks the deadbolt, opens the door just a little, then peers out into the hallway, his heart racing.
Again, nothing.
The hallway is empty. Both of his neighbors’ doors are shut. There’s nothing to indicate that anyone was ever there.
Nothing but the letter.
Letting out a breath, Yoongi shuts the door and locks it once more, retreating back inside to have a proper look at the envelope that drew his attention in the first place.
There, between his fuzzy blue socks with little bears dotted all over them (a gift from Taehyung), is a manila envelope. It’s easily double the size of the previous ones, and if it hadn’t been shoved under his door just the same, he might question if it’s really another of the letters.
But something in him knows that it is.
He picks it up and carries it back to his couch, so concerned with getting to see the contents that he doesn’t even bother to collect his fallen book from earlier. The sound of his own heartbeat feels almost impossibly loud in the quiet of his apartment, anticipation building as he carefully works open the envelope and pulls out the contents.
The last thing he expects is to see his own face staring back at him.
And yet there it is.
Well, maybe not exactly staring back at him. The sketch is definitely Yoongi, but he’s been drawn from the side, curled up on a chair with a book in his hands and his knees crossed. Every detail of his profile is illustrated in soft pencil lines. Hair falling in his face, lips slightly parted, eyes cast down at the book in his hands, pages curling just the way he likes to prevent the spine from cracking, a cup of coffee in front of him, a big hoodie on, and…
Wait.
The book, the hoodie, the cup of coffee?
Is this… Him from this morning?
How would that have even happened? Was he really so absorbed in his book that he didn’t notice someone watching him for that long? How much time does it take to do a sketch like this? Maybe it was done from memory? Did the guy see him at the cafe, go home, draw this, and then bring it all the way to Yoongi’s apartment?
But it’s so detailed…
Yoongi sucks in a ragged breath, heart still pounding just as loud and deafening as before. He should be scared. Terrified even. But all he sees when he looks at this drawing is adoration, even reverence.
And undeniable proof that these letters are meant for him, that someone out there really does think all of those things when they look at him…
He must stare at it for a full five minutes before his head stops spinning and he realizes that there’s another sheet of paper behind the drawing. With trembling fingers, he sets that first page aside and reveals the next. This one is just a letter, though there are no sketches in the margins this time (presumably because the larger picture is taking their place), and the lettering is slightly less neat than usual, as if it was written in something of a hurry.
Please forgive me, but you looked utterly enchanting and sat so perfectly still. Once I caught sight of you, I couldn’t stop looking, and the thought of disturbing you felt like sacrilege.
I still see you just the same when I close my eyes. Hands bracing your book with care so deliberate that I desperately long to be in its place, or to touch you just the same. I’ve heard precious little of your voice, but I keep wondering what you might sound like in the throes of pleasure.
I imagine your lips parted on a moan, hands gripping your sheets while I give you everything you could ask for and more. Even now, my fingers ache to touch your skin
And my tongue yearns to follow them. I’m sure you taste entirely divine.
Whatever the price, I would pay it if it meant getting the chance to get my mouth on you, to swallow down your release and know that I earned every drop. It’s so easy to imagine you trembling with pleasure, back arched, skin glistening with sweat, eyes finally focused on me…
I’d love to draw you that way, to immortalize your pleasure into something I could look upon anytime I like, but I fear it would pale in comparison to the real thing.
I just want so much.
To see you. To kiss you until you taste like me. To open you up just like one of your books, delicate and sweet, so that everything about you is left bare for me to devour.
I’d give you the world if you’d let me.
Place myself at your feet in worship and prove myself worthy of your attention. For now, all I can give you are these words and my paltry attempt at capturing how immaculate you are.
Perhaps someday I can show you in person. I’ve been dreaming of you. Of your voice.
I would very much like to hear it again.
By the end of the letter, Yoongi’s mouth is open in shock, thighs pressed tightly together until he can feel his own heartbeat throbbing between his legs. The desire feels almost like a living thing, clawing its way through his body until he’s kicking off his sweatpants and reaching down to touch himself. Even the gentle brush of his fingers pressing against the fabric of his panties makes him keen.
It’s barely more than a whisper, but it feels so much louder in the silent apartment, more like a desperate cry for help, for the man leaving these goddamn letters to stop hiding and just knock on his door.
Yoongi imagines letting him in, watching him sink to his knees the moment the front door shuts behind him, hearing him whisper all the same words already in his letter. He’s faceless at first, but it doesn’t take long for Yoongi’s mind to fill in the gaps. Tan skin, brown hair, an appreciative smile… Hands tugging Yoongi’s pants down, lips trailing along his thighs. Higher and higher until the stranger finally realizes what’s between his legs.
In this moment, it’s easy to imagine the surprise as something good – enough for the man to lose his composure, to yank Yoongi’s panties down and dive in for a taste right then and there.
Yoongi can’t help himself anymore. He slips his hand into his panties, fingers dipping down between his labia and into the welcoming heat of his cunt.
This time he does cry out into his empty apartment.
He’s so wet already, squeezing tight around his own fingers and grinding his clit up into the heel of his hand with a groan. A part of him wants to take his time, to tease and take himself apart with the kind of gentle touches his letter writer is offering, but he’s too far gone, heat already coiling tight in his belly as he rocks up into his hand.
It barely takes him two minutes to cum right there on the couch, the wet squelch of his fingers echoed only by the broken little whine he lets out when he tips over the edge.
The letter is still clutched in his other hand. It has been this whole time, held up so that he can reread the words over and over as he rides out his orgasm and leaks a wet spot onto his couch.
Fucking hell.
He’s in way too deep.
~~
Yoongi spends the following day feeling a bit like he’s walking on air.
He must have looked at that sketch (and the goddamn letter) at least ten times before leaving for work, and yet he’s still imagining it every time he has a spare moment. His heart flutters in his chest when he recalls the words, and his cheeks go pink every time he catches himself wondering if the letter writer touches himself thinking about him too.
There’s no way he’s writing letters like that and then just… moving on with his day? Right? He has to be jerking off. It would be weirder if he wasn’t. It’s a dangerous line of thought, especially when Yoongi should be focusing on his work instead of imagining the dick of some guy he’s never met.
But maybe they will meet?
Yoongi could write back. Just pick up a pen and–
“You’re not even listening to me, hyung,” Jungkook groans, reaching out to give Yoongi’s shoulder a light shove to make sure he isn’t ignored again. “What’s your deal? You’ve been acting weird all day.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes and pulls his attention away from the stack of used books he’s removing old labels from. It’s one of those tasks that’s almost meditative when he gets into a groove with it, hitting them with the heat gun for just a few seconds to loosen the adhesive, peeling them up, then moving onto the next. But clearly he’s a little too lost in it. He hadn’t even realized that Jungkook was back at the front counter with him.
At least it doesn’t look like he got locked into his work for too long. Just behind where Jungkook stands, Yoongi can see out the massive windows of the storefront and into the street outside. People are coming and going just like before, and the afternoon sun is still high in the sky.
“Sorry, you know how I get when I’m focused on a task. What were you saying, Kookie?”
Jungkook leans forward on the counter, eyes narrowing as the glance from the pile of books up toward Yoongi’s face. “I was trying to tell you about rock climbing this weekend, and then I asked if we got anything good in the shipment you’re working on.”
“Some of this stuff will sell, I think. Seokjin usually has a pretty good eye for this sort of thing, which is probably why his store is still in business – and why both of us still have a job.”
“I guess. Honestly, I just hate processing the used books for sale.”
“Which is why I’m doing it and you’re setting up displays,” Yoongi says. “Now tell me about rock climbing. Who did you go with ag–”
Yoongi’s words get stuck in his throat as he spots movement behind Jungkook and through the windows at the front of the store. At first it looks like just another customer crossing the street toward their shop, but then the details register. Tall, brown hair, gorgeous tan skin… The same guy Yoongi talked to at Hoseok’s party – the one he’s been imagining while he reads his letters.
There’s no way Yoongi can look him in the eye after running off like that. And definitely not after imagining him writing those letters that he probably has nothing to do with.
“Something wrong, Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook asks, glancing around the store.
The guy is clearly headed for their door.
He looks beautiful in the sunlight – even prettier than when they stood by the lake together that night. There’s a tiny piece of Yoongi that wants to set things right and try to talk, a part of him that can’t let go of what Jimin said during their conversation just a few days ago.
‘Because I don’t think you like being alone quite as much as you say you do.’
Even with those words still echoing in Yoongi’s skull, he’s too afraid to stand his ground.
“Sorry,” he says, already retreating from the counter and spouting the first lie that comes to mind. “I just realized that I might have screwed up and grabbed the wrong shipment from the back. I’m gonna go verify really quick.”
The little bell on the front door rings out just as Yoongi slips into the back room where all of their extra stock is stored. There is no second shipment back here. Seokjin is careful with his used book buying, and the twenty big boxes they got from yesterday’s estate sale will keep them busy for a while. With any luck, Yoongi will be able to play the whole thing off and just say he isn’t feeling well. Jungkook might not buy it, but there aren’t really a whole lot of other options aside from the truth – and there is no way that Yoongi is explaining what happened at Hoseok’s party to another person.
Jimin knowing is bad enough.
If he’s going to lie, he should probably at least try to make it believable. After taking one more steadying breath, Yoongi begins moving milk crates full of books (they’re sturdy and stackable, so Seokjin keeps a load of them on hand for storing new acquisitions). He’s loud enough about it for Jungkook to hear, while still making sure not to damage anything. The whole time, he keeps his own ears open, listening intently for voices or the sound of the bell above the front door.
Several minutes pass before he catches the first bits of muffled speech over the sound of his stacking and restacking of crates – which he immediately stops to listen more closely.
“–swear I’ve heard of it before,” Jungkook says, words just barely audible as Yoongi silently makes his way over to the door and listens closely. “Let me look it up quick. It could be hiding in another section by mistake.”
“I appreciate it. Thank you.”
Fuck. That voice. The same one that Yoongi has been hearing in his dreams ever since that stupid party. The same one he’s tried so hard not to imagine as he reads the letters… Warm and smooth and so goddamn enticing, beckoning him closer like steam rising from a hot bath, begging him to relax and slip into the water. Promising comfort that his entire body aches for.
His cheeks are flushing hot, even unseen like this. He can only imagine how much worse it would be if he had to make eye contact with the guy and help him look for a book – or worse, explain what happened that night at the party.
Hiding was definitely the right decision.
After a whole mess of key presses and a few seconds to scroll the results, Jungkook speaks once more. “Doesn’t look like we have it on hand. Do you want me to get it on order for you? It would probably come within the next week or two.”
“I’ll try a few other places first. I’d like to have it today, if possible, but I’ll call back if I don’t have any luck.”
“You should try the art supply store down on seventh ave. I can’t remember the name, but I went there with a friend last month and they had a ton of books. Way more than our art section.”
“Perfect. I’ll go there next. Thank you for the recommendation,” the man answers, voice pitching up just slightly like he really is happy about the news. He’s probably smiling just as wide as he did when he left to go get Yoongi another fruity cocktail that night, dimples pressed into his cheeks and–
The little bell above the door jingles again, and Yoongi scrambles to get back to his ‘task’, picking up the nearest crate and setting it loudly on the floor.
Not a moment too soon either, because the crate hitting the floor is echoed immediately by the thud of Jungkook’s boots rushing over and the stockroom door being shoved open.
“Alright, what the hell is going on? And don’t try to tell me you’re verifying something about a book shipment. We only got the one. I know it and you know it.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t two separate ones?” Yoongi answers, not looking back at Jungkook. He picks up another nearby crate and sets it on top of the other one before looking closely at the books in the box beneath it. “I just don’t want to make a mistake here.”
There are two more thuds from Jungkook’s boots and then he crouches down beside Yoongi, looking into the crate of books with him. “You know I’m not stupid, right?”
“I never said you were.”
“Great, then tell me how you know the guy that just came in here.”
“What guy?”
“Yoongi-hyung, be so for real right now. If he’s done something to make you uncomfortable, I’ll chase him off the next time he shows up. Nobody is going to come in here and intimidate my friends.”
Oh god. Jungkook is really so goddamn sweet and endearing that he’s ready to fight for Yoongi’s honor at the drop of a hat? It’s enough to put Yoongi even further off balance, because he can’t let Jungkook think that guy did something wrong – especially if he comes back to order whatever book he’s looking for.
Damn it.
Fine. A little honesty. That’s it.
“It’s not like that,” Yoongi explains, turning his head to see Jungkook looking at him with a serious expression. “Listen, it’s just… I flirted with that guy one night and it ended on a sort of awkward note. He didn’t do anything wrong. I just didn’t want to end up talking to him in case he still remembers me.”
There’s a moment of silence before Jungkook lets out a little puff of laughter. “Okay, good. As long as you’re safe – but next time you can just tell me that, okay? It’s not like I’m going to make fun of you for running from an awkward talk with some random dude. Now, can I help you put these boxes back, or do you need a minute?”
Yoongi accepts the help, less because he needs it and more because he wants this whole thing to blow over as soon as possible. A few joking comments about how Jungkook could lift three of the crates at once while Yoongi struggles with one is more than enough to break any remaining tension and get Jungkook talking excitedly about his best deadlift numbers.
Once they’ve finished up and made their way back out to the counter, Yoongi waits for Jungkook to get thoroughly distracted with something else before even glancing at the computer screen.
And it’s good he waited, because the book that Jungkook apparently looked up for the guy is enough to leave Yoongi standing frozen in shock for a few solid seconds.
Chris Legaspi’s Life Drawing for Artists: Understanding Figure Drawing Through Poses, Postures, and Lighting.
No way.
No fucking way.
That can’t be a coincidence. Can it?
~~
Days later, Yoongi is still thinking himself in circles.
It has to be him.
It can’t be him.
The letters only started after that night, but that doesn’t mean that Hoseok’s friend has to be the one sending them, but the fact that he was at the store where Yoongi works, looking for a book on figure drawing? A book on figure drawing that apparently just so happens to be praised for giving advice on drawing from life in very limited time frames?
That’s at least a little fucking suspicious.
Then again, it feels pretty insane to think that one short meeting at a house party where they didn’t even exchange names would be enough to make any man do… whatever the hell he’s calling all of this.
But what’s the alternative?
Two people being attracted to him? One in a normal way that he’s probably overthinking, and the other in a not normal at all way that he’s possibly underthinking?
Yoongi lets out a groan of frustration into the empty bookstore and glances up at the clock. Not even six yet. Still another hour before he can close up.
Tuesdays are their slowest day of the week, which is why Yoongi has spent his entire shift working alone. He’s already completed every single task assigned to him for the evening, at least aside from locking up, which means he’s spent the last two hours almost entirely alone with his thoughts. Before his life took this strange turn, he might have been delighted for time to read on the job, but tonight he finds that he can’t focus for more than a paragraph or two before he gets distracted again.
It’s been four days since the last letter, and three since that guy showed up at the store while Jungkook was here.
Yoongi has checked his front door multiple times every day, unable to force down the feeling of anticipation that brews inside of him, only to be replaced by disappointment when there’s nothing there. He’s starting to wonder if maybe the letter writer has given up – which of course just restarts the whole debate over his identity, driving Yoongi’s mind in maddening circles that won’t stop no matter what he–
The bell on the front door of the bookstore jingles, and Yoongi snaps his gaze up to see a woman carrying a clear glass vase full of flowers in various shades of blue and purple. She can’t be much older than twenty, with her hair bleached blonde and a cheerful smile on her face as she approaches the counter.
“Min Yoongi?”
“Umm. Yeah, that’s me. Why?”
“Delivery for you,” she explains, approaching the counter and setting down the vase. “Just a moment. I’ve got a card to go with it.”
The way that Yoongi’s entire soul lights up when she places a familiar looking envelope on the counter should be illegal.
He’s been brooding all day, but now excitement rushes through his entire body. He’s never gotten flowers before, and the fact that there’s another letter after three days of nothing makes him feel like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, like he can finally breathe again.
Even if the letter is sure to take that same breath away from him very soon.
“Enjoy the flowers,” the woman says. “And have a good rest of your–”
“Wait. Can I ask… Do you know who sent them?”
She smiles. “Anonymous, I’m afraid. Maybe they gave their name in the card?”
Yoongi is almost entirely certain that the mysterious letter writer did no such thing, but he won’t get any answers from the woman in front of him, so he just nods and smiles. “Maybe they did. Thank you.”
The second she’s out of sight, Yoongi reaches for the envelope, barely even registering the vibrant lime green color of it before tearing it open to get at the contents.
It’s another folded letter like the first two, though the bottom third of this page is taken up by a watercolor scene of a lake, or possibly a river. It’s hard to be entirely sure, but it’s impossible to mistake the shine of sunlight on the water. There are a few plants in the foreground, but they look to be mostly bushes and some tall grass around the edge of the water. Where there would normally be flowers in the margins of the letter, today there are fluffy looking clouds in a pale blue sky.
Hopefully these flowers aren’t entirely unwelcome. I’ve drawn you so many, but I realized yesterday that I’ve never seen you in the company of a bouquet.
Maybe I’m just looking for a way to reach out and touch your life.
I’d like to see you bathed in sunlight, skin glowing golden and a smile on your face as you relax in the comfort of your home. Ideally with these flowers at your side, though I’m trying not to be too selfish. The point of a gift is simply to be given, after all.
And there’s so much I’d like to give you.
I keep imagining you in jewelry. Dainty bits of gold wrapped around your neck, dangling from your ears. Perhaps a delicate little chain around your waist…
There I go being selfish again, imagining all your skin on offer and covered only in gifts from me.
A mark of my devotion. A series of gifts far more solid than these words.
Even if words are all we have for now.
Admittedly, I do wish I had more opportunity to see you receive them, although I’ll save my more uninhibited thoughts for something I know you’ll read in private.
Just this once, I hope you’ll forgive me for taking advantage of your public facing job.
Yoongi fights back the immediate urge to whip his head up and search the front windows for any sign of eyes on him. He wants so badly to see, to know – but this is his first opportunity to give something back to the man sending these letters.
His first chance to offer something on purpose.
He doesn’t give himself a chance to overthink it.
With trembling hands, he pulls the letter close to his chest like he might be able to press the words into his skin, eyes fluttering shut as he mouths a silent thank-you. He lingers like that for a few moments, wondering if he’s being watched, if the man can see, if it feels good for him to witness Yoongi’s gratitude.
Foolish is what it is. That man could be anyone. Could be planning to hurt him.
But Yoongi doesn’t think that’s the case.
When he lets his eyes open once more, he does glance out the front windows. There’s no obvious pair of eyes visible out in the twilight of the busy little street, just people out living their lives, getting dinner at the cafe across the street, coming and going from the bank, entering various little shops and leaving with bags on their arms.
It’s impossible to know where to look, but Yoongi is certain that there is a pair of eyes fixed on him somewhere out there.
And he likes the idea of it more than he ever would have imagined.
He delicately folds the letter up and slips it back inside of the envelope, then leans forward toward the bouquet, close enough that the tip of his nose just barely brushes the petals on a cluster of purple hydrangea flowers. They smell nice, and he stays there for several seconds just to breathe the scent in and do his best to memorize it.
Hopefully whoever sent them can see just how much he appreciates the gift.