Work Text:
Yoongi's stomach rumbles loudly. He puts a self-conscious hand over his belly, hoping nobody hears it over the monotonous drone of the bus' engine, picking up speed as it continues toward downtown. He's skipped breakfast again, mostly because his fridge is empty, save for three bottles of beer and a jar of kimchi, a handful of other condiments. He really needs to get some groceries after work.
By some stroke of luck, the bus reaches his stop exactly six minutes early, grinding to a stop. The doors whoosh open and Yoongi steps out into the bustling street. Six minutes is enough to buy a coffee and a pastry before rushing the rest of the way to his office. There's no way he can wait until lunch, the way his empty stomach is already clenching in protest.
Yoongi's favourite cafe beckons. There's no queue; unusual for this normally busy time of morning. His Americano and danish are presented in record time. His phone rings as he's collecting his coffee order and moving for the door.
"Yoongi-ssi," says Jin in his ear, "your first meeting's been cancelled. Take your time, next one's not for another hour."
Yoongi pauses in the cafe doorway after hanging up. He turns on his heel, setting his coffee and breakfast on a tiny wooden table, then unwrapping his scarf from around his neck and pulling out a chair. He may as well use this opportunity to eat, enjoy his coffee. It's a busy work week ahead, and now is his chance to relax
Halfway through his impromptu meal, he sees a young man enter. Tall, striking, broad build, a cute face. He is hard to ignore, and Yoongi doesn't even try to. He watches him order his drink, placing his things on a nearby table while he adds some sugar to his cup and stirs. Then he pulls on little black gloves and grabs his belongings and he's gone as quickly as he arrived.
What a looker. Shame he didn't stay to let Yoongi's eyes linger on him a bit longer.
It's only when Yoongi rises to get a napkin that he sees a hardcover book laying face-down on the table that the man was using to house his belongings earlier.
“Oh—” Yoongi breathes out, scooping up the book and hurrying out into the street.
He doesn’t know what he expects to find, seeing as how the man had left the cafe at least ten minutes ago. When he turns his head, right and left, there’s no tall, dark, and handsome figure to be seen. Yoongi returns to the cafe, setting the book at the space across the table from him, just in case the man returns to fetch it. But by the time Yoongi finishes his coffee and packs up, the book has not yet been reclaimed.
Yoongi isn’t sure what makes him do it. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, he would return the book to the cafe counter. Surely, they would have a lost-and-found bin, and the man could return and collect the book next time he stops in for a coffee. Instead, Yoongi glances around the cafe; everybody is nose-deep in a book or their phone or preoccupied chatting with their companion. So, he stuffs the hardcover novel into his backpack and zips it up.
The rest of the day passes rather uneventfully. Yoongi’s schedule is packed full of meetings and conference calls. He skips lunch to finish a client’s file, and his stomach is protesting in hunger again by the time he finally calls it a day.
The idea of stopping for groceries now is a headache, so Yoongi picks up takeout and gets on the subway. The food is lukewarm by the time he reaches his apartment, but he’s too hungry to care.
He’s unpacking his work bag when he notices the book that he’d taken from the cafe. He examines it a little bit more carefully, turning it over in his palm. Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. The title rings a faint bell in Yoongi’s head, but it’s not a novel he’s read before. He reads the summary on the front inside cover. It sounds intriguing enough, but he’s spent the whole day reading reports and claims. What he needs is to close his eyes and listen to some music, maybe crack one of those last few beers from the fridge.
In fact, it is not until the weekend that Yoongi pays the book another glance. It’s Saturday, and he has a friend coming over. A lady friend. A lady friend, named Jae, that he would really like to stay the night. He’s straightening up his apartment, putting things where they belong. The novel is still where he’d placed it on his coffee table several days ago. The cover looks okay, like he might appear to a guest to be a sensitive guy that reads, so he leaves it where it is, scattered amongst a few other well-placed coffee table books.
Yoongi preps for dinner before his date arrives. He chops up all of his ingredients for his recipe, ready to throw them into the pan for a freshly-cooked meal. He washes up when the time for her to arrive is nearer, then spritzes on cologne for the first time in weeks and perches himself on his sofa.
He picks up the novel then, as he’s anxiously waiting for Jae to text him to say that she’s arrived in the downstairs lobby. He leafs through the pages again to calm his nerves, the pleasant smell of inked paper wafting into his nostrils. He skims through the summary again before opening to the first page and beginning to read.
That’s when he feels it for the first time.
But it’s so distant, like a far-away echo, something just out of reach.
A warmth in his fingertips, like he’s holding his hands in front of a campfire. A buzzing in his head, like the mellow fuzziness that accompanies a smooth glass of scotch before bedtime. A squeeze in his belly, like the feeling of a first kiss.
It’s very faint. Faint enough that Yoongi keeps reading through it, and convinces himself that it’s the anticipatory swell of looking forward to seeing his date.
When Jae arrives, Yoongi is midway through the second chapter of the novel. His phone buzzes with the text announcing her arrival, but Yoongi reads to the end of the section before dog-earring the page and rising to run down and meet her in the lobby.
The remainder of the evening proceeds as planned. After a delicious meal in a tidy, chic apartment, and a few cocktails, Yoongi is delighted to find that it is easy to convince Jae to sleep over. It’s mild and pleasant, the sex is decent, and she nestles into his arms, sleeping comfortably in his little bedroom with him. Altogether, he has nothing to complain about.
Yoongi orders a cab for her the next morning, promising to call her later, though he’s not convinced himself yet that he’ll really follow through with it. She grins and kisses him on the cheek, and Yoongi isn’t convinced that she will follow through, either. They feel like back-up options for each other already, and, quite frankly, Yoongi thinks that he might be okay with that.
When it happens for the second time, it feels stronger.
Yoongi is winding down on his Sunday night. His belly is full of ramen, he has just finished a long, steaming hot shower, and he's wearing his favourite pair of fleece sweatpants. He grabs his phone, considering the idea of calling her after all, since he has the breathing room to do it right now. He pads to the couch and flops down heavily, only to be irked by the corner's of a book's spine poking him in the back.
He pulls out the novel from under him, throwing his phone on the coffee table and leafing to the folded-over page that he had last read. The warmth comes on more suddenly then, like the heat that he gets before a migraine headache sometimes—but not unpleasant like that. When he snaps the book shut, it clears up as quickly as it came.
As the night wears on, he toys with the feeling, making it come and go, like a head-rush that flits in and out. When he sits and reads, it tingles from head to toe. Every now and again, when he reads over a certain word, it will appear like double-vision in his mind’s eye. Like he’s reading the word silently and hearing it aloud simultaneously. Eventually, the sensation subsides, and Yoongi is admittedly left longing for it to continue.
Yoongi takes the earlier bus the next day to make sure he has the time to stop. The cafe is as bustling busy as it always is on a Monday morning. He can't help but comb his gaze through the patrons as soon as he arrives, but there is no sight of the man whose novel Yoongi carries in his palm.
He orders a coffee and sits impatiently. The crowd, the nameless faces that aren’t usually Yoongi’s area of comfort as it is, are more frustrating to observe than ever before. No one is the person he is seeking. The minutes tick away with no luck, and Yoongi has to resign himself to another plain old Monday of work.
Yoongi reads the fifth chapter of the novel that night, chasing that significant feeling again, but nothing comes. The next evening is the same. Yoongi is at the end of the seventh chapter by Wednesday, and picks the book up several more times by Sunday. He senses something significant on Sunday evening, knows it’s going to happen again. And, sure enough, when he picks the novel up and leafs through to his bookmark, the warmth spreads like a gently-travelling flame through his body. It’s comforting enough to fall asleep to, so he does. He thinks he stops reading but he swears that the words are still coming as he drifts into a dream.
It's the second Monday since Yoongi swiped up the abandoned novel. There is something serious this time, a new sensation that Yoongi can feel in his bones even as he boards the early-morning bus. He cradles the novel on his lap as the bus jostles him along, wondering if he’s ever felt this awake on a Monday morning in his entire life.
He pauses for a moment after disembarking at the stop nearest the cafe. His heart is racing despite the fact that he has been sitting still for nearly forty minutes. There’s a clear sense of anticipation buzzing in his brain, making his mind feel numbed to all but the task in front of him.
The man is there. He's inside the cafe, sitting at a table for two facing the front window. His elbows rest on the tabletop, his fingers steepled, his chin resting atop them. He appears to be casually observing the customers coming and going from the shop. His eyes skim over Yoongi only in passing.
As Yoongi approaches, the nerves nearly cause him to fumble the novel he's carrying at his side. On the table in front of the man is another copy of the book, identical to the one still in Yoongi's possession.
It's then that the man's eyes flit down to the book clasped in Yoongi's fingers. His eyes widen, and he stands hastily, clumsily bumping the table. His coffee cup wobbles, sloshing brown liquid over the table, and he dives back for napkins, quickly sopping up the liquid before the spill reaches the novel. Then he meets Yoongi's eyes, smiling sheepishly.
Yoongi's heartbeat picks up. The man's eyes are already so—kind? Warm? Yoongi can't define it, so he blurts out the line he has rehearsed in his head several dozen times when imagining coming face-to-face with this man again.
Yoongi holds the book at arm's length. "I think this belongs to you."
The man's eyes immediately crinkle into a smile. "No. Not anymore. Now it belongs to you." He gestures to his table. "The one that likely has a coffee stain on the back cover now is mine."
The man shuffles over and sits. Yoongi, not knowing what else to do, sits with him. He places the novel on the table in front of him.
"My name is Kim Namjoon," the man says, offering his hand.
"Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you."
They shake hands. Yoongi is glad that Kim Namjoon seems to have an idea of how they should proceed, because he feels absolutely lost.
Kim Namjoon sips his now half-full coffee. "Can I get you something? A coffee?"
"Sure," Yoongi replies, "an Americano."
Yoongi would not usually accept a coffee from a stranger, but he's in need of a moment to think. Unfortunately, he can't form a single coherent thought. Kim Namjoon stands to approach the counter. Yoongi watches him. He smiles brightly at the barista as he orders, then waits patiently, hands in his pockets, until Yoongi's order comes up.
"You take anything in it?" Namjoon asks, pointing to Yoongi's cup and then to the bar of sweeteners and milks.
Yoongi shakes his head. "No, thank you."
Namjoon places the steaming paper cup in front of Yoongi, returning to his seat. Yoongi blows and sips. Namjoon stares at him.
"So, I have to ask—how are you liking the book?" Namjoon asks.
"Um, yeah. It's good so far. I'm about halfway through."
Namjoon nods, as if he already knows. "Great. Great. I like it, too."
Yoongi isn’t sure how much to admit; but there’s something about Namjoon that begs honesty. “I get a strange feeling when I read, though. It’s almost like—”
"Do you mind if we try something?" Namjoon rushes out the question as if he's been holding it back this whole time.
"Okay..?"
"Okay." Namjoon opens his book. "Go to the beginning of the prologue."
Yoongi does as he is instructed. When he looks up, Namjoon takes a breath, licks his lips, lowers his eyes to the page. Then he starts to read aloud.
"' When he emerges from the bathroom she is awake, propped up against the pillows and flicking through the travel brochures that were beside his bed.'"
Yoongi's cheeks flush warm. He looks down at the novel he's gripping tightly in his fingers, finding the words as Namjoon continues.
"' She is wearing one of his T-shirts, and her long hair is tousled in a way that prompts reflexive thoughts of the previous night.'"
Somewhere in the middle of the sentence, Yoongi has to shut his eyes. The sensation is overwhelming. The book trembles in his hands. As Namjoon continues, it is almost as if his voice is echoing. Yoongi can hear it twice. Once from the man still sitting across from him, and once in his mind.
"' He stands there, enjoying the brief flashback, rubbing the water from his hair with a towel.'"
A feeling like static electricity, holding him to his seat. Running through him from head to toe, anchoring him in place. All-encompassing and overwhelming.
Kim Namjoon is staring at Yoongi, wide-eyed, as Yoongi flips the book shut and clutches it to himself.
"I knew it!" Namjoon exclaims. Yoongi doesn't know if he's ever seen a grown man look so excited.
"Knew… what?" Yoongi asks cautiously, keeping the book pressed to his chest, trying to convince himself that he hasn’t already thought about this moment more times than he can count.
“It’s a soulmate thing—a bond,” Namjoon says, pausing for effect. Yoongi only stares.
“Soulmate?” Yoongi repeats. Yoongi can’t quite tell if he likes the taste of the word in his mouth. “I’ve never heard of that actually happening before.”
Namjoon wipes his palms on his jeans, nodding. “I have, but only once. A cousin of mine—actually, it was my mom’s cousin’s son—it happened to him. Essentially, the circumstances were the same. Him and his friend were studying together. Opened their book to read through a passage and—” Namjoon snaps his fingers. “They felt it instantly. I think that’s what we’ve been feeling.”
Yoongi exhales through pursed lips, eyes wide, staring down at his coffee. “Wow. Does it run in the family or something?”
Namjoon shrugs. “Not sure. There does appear to be a genetic component to it sometimes, from what I've read.”
Yoongi nods, crossing his arms over his chest, cradling the book. He shifts in his chair a bit, forward and back. "So… what does it mean?"
"Soulmates?" A smile blooms over Namjoon's face. "Well, I trust that you know the broad strokes, but, to put it simply, soulmates have a substantial soul connection. A compatibility with each other that has the potential to grow on a scale far beyond any other type of bond. Two souls that complement and understand each other more intricately than might appear to be possible at surface level."
"So, like…" Yoongi searches for the right words. "Being in love?"
Namjoon's smile grows larger still. "Not necessarily."
"Hmmm."
Yoongi thinks about it for a minute. Of course, he's heard about soulmate phenomena in the wider world, but no soulmate signs have ever cropped up for anyone that he knows personally. It has always seemed like an unlikely, impersonal possibility—like winning the lottery. Sure, it might supposedly happen for other people, but Yoongi would never anticipate it happening for him.
Because of this, Yoongi has never given the concept much thought. He has heard stories, passed through several grapevines, of people making intense connections, sharing a physical manifestation of their bond with their soulmate. It was always a remote occurrence, so he took the stories about married soulmates and filed them away in a dusty corner of his memory.
“Soulmates are whatever you make of them, in essence,” Namjoon says, quietly interrupting Yoongi's thoughts. “Soulmates don’t have to be romantic or—or anything really.”
“Soulmates don’t have to be anything ?” Yoongi looks up now, quizzical expression. “What do you mean?”
Namjoon smiles softly. “It’s still up to us to decide what to do with it. Soulmates can choose to disconnect from each other. It’s an extraordinary phenomenon, but it isn’t a life sentence. I would totally understand if you wanted to walk away, Min Yoongi. No questions asked.”
Yoongi chews his lip for a minute, back to avoiding Namjoon’s eyes. Namjoon seems like a nice enough fellow. He also seems to be knowledgeable on this whole topic of soulmates , which Yoongi supposes could be interesting to learn about. And, shit, Namjoon is very handsome to boot.
“Namjoon-ssi, I really—”
“It’s okay!” Namjoon says, taking Yoongi’s hands awkwardly, shaking them in some bizarre goodbye ritual. “Really, you don’t have to—”
“Hey! Let me talk!” Yoongi says, cracking a grin.
Namjoon drops Yoongi’s hands, his smile growing in time with Yoongi’s. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, nodding, half-chuckling. “Go ahead.”
“Namjoon-ssi,” Yoongi begins again, “of course I want to get to know you. Who wouldn’t want to become better acquainted with their soulmate? You’d have to be some kind of fucked up to pass up on the opportunity. This type of thing doesn’t happen to everyone. I’m not going to let it slip away.” Yoongi leans forward, tucks his hair behind his ear. “I mean, of course, as long as you’re on board—”
“Absolutely!” Namjoon all but yells. “Great!”
“Maybe we could start with—maybe we could read a few more books?” Yoongi suggests. “And meet up a few more times?”
Namjoon laughs now, like he is finally letting his relief and happiness overflow his lungs. “Like a soulmates book club?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, “a soulmates book club.”
Y oongi doesn’t know when he stops talking to Jae, but he makes sure he doesn’t ghost her. He’s aware enough of himself to do that much. It’s difficult to know what to say, but she seems to understand when he fails to invite her over again, when he doesn’t suggest that they meet for a drink or dinner. Their conversation dwindles down naturally, and Yoongi is convinced that she is as unbothered about it as he is.
In contrast, Yoongi’s enthusiasm for getting to know Namjoon grows with each passing day. Namjoon is an entirely foreign personality compared to what Yoongi is used to. He’s introspective, like Yoongi, but in a refreshing way. He makes Yoongi think about things differently. He’s intelligent—as can be seen from the vast array of unique novels that he chooses for them to read. There’s a deeper meaning to every book that Namjoon always teases out, meanings that are often not so obvious to Yoongi until he hears them told by Namjoon. To listen to Namjoon talk about the novels, to watch him smile gently and get Yoongi his Americano each time they meet at the cafe, is an absolute pleasure. Yoongi is falling in a way he hasn’t before—deeper, more significantly, the beginning embers of something that Yoongi is sure will grow into a roaring fire soon enough.
Of course, it is not the first time that Yoongi has been attracted to another man. More accurately, he realised some time ago that the gender of the person that he is romantically interested in doesn’t much matter to him. To him, that feels natural. It feels more bizarre to him, more smothering, to limit himself to a concept of a gender. Why make that assumption, when he has no possible idea who he might fall in love with?
And Kim Namjoon. Well, he’s an easy person to fall in love with. Yoongi knows that early on, even before he falls himself. He’s never met someone with such boundless enthusiasm for life. Someone whose essence immediately makes him feel like he’s at home in his own living room with his feet up on his coffee table and his favourite blanket draped over his lap. Such is the mellow glow that Kim Namjoon inspires in Yoongi, and, certainly, everyone that has the privilege to get to know him.
When they sit in each other’s presence for any extended period of time, Yoongi’s mind will start to expand reflexively. After a number of weeks, he swears he can hear Namjoon’s thoughts in his own mind; his thoughts, specifically, about him .
It’s cold, he needs gloves.
“Namjoon-ah, relax, my gloves are in my pocket.”
If he doesn’t leave soon, he won’t get enough sleep, and he’ll be tired at work tomorrow-
“Namjoon-ah, I want to stay. I’d rather stay with you and be tired tomorrow. Besides, I'd still be reading this book even if I were at home right now."
He looks— he looks stunning.
“Namjoon-ah, stop. You look handsome, too.” That one with a radiating red heat in Yoongi’s cheeks.
As Yoongi accepts it, welcomes the invasion into his consciousness, he wonders whether Namjoon can hear him, too. The times that Yoongi’s eyes linger on Namjoon a bit too long, when Yoongi’s heart skips a beat with a seemingly-casual touch—Namjoon seems to look at him then, like he knows. Like he knows exactly what Yoongi is thinking. Why they don’t talk about it, Yoongi isn’t sure. It simply does not seem necessary to pick apart the intricacies of their connection.
Namjoon teaches Yoongi about the written word, poetry and prose, and Yoongi teaches Namjoon about the domesticities of life. He cooks for Namjoon—loves learning Namjoon’s favourite foods and showing him the processes behind his favourite recipes. He helps Namjoon arrange and decorate his new apartment—the result is an earthy, woodland vibe that makes Yoongi wish that they were roommates. He gives Namjoon a tutorial about whiskey—what to purchase, how to meticulously taste, and which notes to savour on the tongue.
“The differences on the palate are delicate,” Yoongi reminds Namjoon.
They’re at Namjoon’s Saturday night housewarming party. In truth, there’s nothing delicate about the way that the whiskey is warming Yoongi’s blood, the way his eyes are swimming with hearts each time he gazes at Namjoon.
“This one is clove and citrus and a drizzle of the sweetest molasses,” Yoongi continues, putting down his glass. "You're a good hyung," he adds, patting Namjoon's cheek.
"Yoongi, you're the older one," Namjoon reminds him.
"Oh, yeah!" Yoongi hiccups, then follows up with a gummy grin. He pulls the lapels of Namjoon's wool blazer straight. "Forget easily. You've got your shit so much more together, y'know?"
"I don't," Namjoon says, hands coming over Yoongi's, gently removing them from his clothing and giving his fingers a squeeze.
Yoongi shrugs. "Feels that way."
Namjoon watches as Yoongi drifts away from the conversation, sways a bit on his feet. "Let's go, hyung, " Namjoon smirks, snaking his arm around Yoongi's waist. "I'll help you walk down to the car."
Yoongi pouts. "Hey! I don't need—" Yoongi takes a step toward the door, then a few more steps as he stumbles a bit sideways, then he’s back to Namjoon's side. "Yeah, you help me."
Yoongi isn’t quite sure what convinces Namjoon to leave his own party, but the next thing he knows, the two of them are in the back of a taxi cab together. Somehow, Yoongi’s head is resting on Namjoon’s lap, and Namjoon’s fingertips are gently raking his hair back behind his ear. His eyes shut only for a second, and then Namjoon is pulling back his comforters and helping Yoongi into bed.
Yoongi's Sunday starts with no headache. No hangover. Not even any long-lived hunger pains.
It's all thanks to Namjoon, of course.
Yoongi’s brain starts to filter in the details. Namjoon had brought him up here, to his apartment, hand securely on his hip. He'd stripped him down to his t-shirt and boxers, forced his toothbrush into his hand. Then Namjoon had pulled back his covers, fluffed his pillows, and handed him a glass of water and some painkillers.
"You're gonna take these and drink every last drop of this water. Then I'm going to refill your cup and you'll drink all of that one, too. Then I'll tuck you in and you'll sleep until I text you in the morning."
Yoongi had done as he was instructed, though he blearily recalled that Namjoon had had to shake his shoulder a couple of times to make sure he made it through his second cup of water. He was falling asleep when he heard Namjoon clanking around in his kitchen, but the sound of it was the perfect lullaby.
Yoongi's phone chimes and wakes him fully just before noon. The smell of freshly-brewed coffee wafts over him, and he runs a groggy hand through his hair as he follows his nose to the kitchen. He opens the new text as he lands his eyes on his coffee machine, which is already filled with freshly-made liquid energy.
Kim Namjoon - 11:55
time to wake up if you're not already awake :)
coffee's ready. should be some time for you to shower before the food arrives.
lmk if you need anything
Yoongi wasn't even aware his coffee maker had a program function. It's the first time since he's bought it that the little digital clock isn't blinking all zeros.
He pours a cup and guzzles half of it in one go, then rushes through a shower. He's unsure of what to expect, but the next thing he knows, a delivery driver is buzzing his apartment and bringing him a paper bag filled with breakfast.
Kim Namjoon - 12:20
got the notif that the food's been delivered
enjoy :) hope you feel okay
Yoongi groans gratefully, then realises that he hasn't messaged Namjoon back. He unpacks his breakfast, enjoying the first few bites. But what does he say to someone like Kim Namjoon, who takes better care of him than anyone ever has, without even being there?
Min Yoongi - 12:30
you’re incredible
Namjoon is a considerably slower reader than Yoongi. He always takes his time with the words on each page, thinking up various intentions behind them, while Yoongi always rushes to the resolution. He tries to tap the brakes, decelerate to keep with Namjoon's pace when he can. It's stronger when they're reading the same page. He can really feel Namjoon then.
Somewhere around their fifth novel—Kafka, Namjoon’s first predictable pick—their book club picks up steam. Casual chats by text turn into lengthy phone calls. Sure, they’ll start by talking about the book in progress, but soon it will divert into a chain-reaction of various threads of conversation that Yoongi cannot find the beginning or end of when he hangs up, a love-drunk smile smushed into his pillow.
Their tenth novel is a classic romance, chosen this time by Yoongi. This one, he has no trouble immersing himself in. He calls Namjoon nightly, needing to read simultaneously with him, needing to be on the same page as him and feel his reactive emotions meld so seamlessly with his own. And then the phone lines are too stifling and confining and they have no option but to begin to read together in person—reading dates, as Yoongi refers to them in his romance-fixed brain.
"The end of that last passage we read?” Namjoon says as soon as he slides into the passenger seat of Yoongi’s car. Namjoon’s just finished work, and they’re on the way back to his apartment for a late night reading session.
"It's like your heartbeat overtook mine. I could feel it racing." Yoongi places his hand over his own heart. "Right here."
Namjoon moves Yoongi's hand aside with his own, feeling it. He pauses, as if listening, as if his hand is a stethoscope pressed to the elder's chest. "I can feel yours galloping now.”
Yoongi blushes as Namjoon shoots him a grin.
The novel is still the topic of conversation as they reach Namjoon’s apartment. They remove their jackets, Yoongi prattling on as he discards his on the sofa and throws his keys on the coffee table. He whirls around, arms splayed out, trying to capture the feeling of free love that the novel had inspired in him.
"The way they feel for each other, though, it's so…" Yoongi pauses, searching for words just out of his grasp.
"Genuine?" Namjoon suggests, leaving his coat atop Yoongi’s.
"Yeah," Yoongi agrees, nodding emphatically, "like the first pure, authentic emotion and attraction they've ever felt in their lives."
That's how I feel about you.
There’s a charged pause, heated gazes. Yoongi is unsure who the thought came from, or whether it matters. Then Namjoon leans forward and kisses Yoongi square on the mouth.
It's them. It's them, them, they are the special characters in their own story.
Namjoon only kisses him once. Then he's pulled back and Yoongi is left blinking, wanting more. Yoongi realises all at once that it doesn't matter anymore whether Namjoon can hear him, discern his thoughts. He's about to show him.
"Yoongi-hyung, I—"
Yoongi stops him short with another kiss. Then another, and then Namjoon is pulling, bringing Yoongi over him with strong hands, urging him closer and closer. Yoongi has never wanted to talk less than he does right now, and he rarely wants to talk. All he wants to do is show. Show Namjoon how he feels, communicate with more than words. Explain, explore their mental connection through touch. Give Namjoon another reason to keep this bond between them going strong.
Namjoon’s palms slide up Yoongi’s back beneath his shirt. They’re twisting into each other, Namjoon urging Yoongi down and pulling his hips forward until he’s hovering above him. Yoongi wraps his arms around Namjoon’s neck, wraps a leg around his ass, needing their bodies against each other.
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” Yoongi whispers when Namjoon starts to kiss his neck, lips hot and wet under his jawline.
“Would never,” Namjoon says, coming up to look Yoongi in the eye, peck him on the mouth. “I’ll never give up on you, hyung.”
“What did I do to deserve you?” Yoongi is unsure if he is asking Namjoon or the wider universe.
“You existed simply as you are.”
Namjoon knows what Yoongi wants before it even becomes a thought in Yoongi’s mind. He moves where Yoongi needs him, he touches where Yoongi craves it most. There’s a simplicity in how they come together, the mutual knowledge that they are both ready for this leap into romance.
“Undress me,” Yoongi all but begs, but Namjoon is already undoing the buttons of his shirt, already running his hands across the exposed flesh.
Yoongi does his part, shaky hands barely holding back from tearing the clothes from Namjoon’s body. It’s how they should be, laid bare together. Yoongi is absolutely sure of it.
Exquisite, mine, soulmate…
They’re whirling into the bedroom in a funnel cloud, Namjoon somehow staying gentle and courteous in his obvious eagerness. The way he knows Yoongi needs without him saying it. Namjoon stretches him achingly slowly, and Yoongi does what he can to hold back from thrusting downward onto his fingers.
Careful, breathe, beautiful…
“Need you inside me,” Yoongi groans, reaching for Namjoon’s cock.
He feels whole with Namjoon inside him, a full passion he's never felt with another person. Namjoon rocks into him in gentle waves, broad shoulders rippling as he leans forward on his arms.
"You’re so gorgeous, Yoongi, ah , hyung." Namjoon continues to spill praises as he fucks into him, runs his fingers wherever he wants to.
Love you, love you, love you…
"Close," Yoongi whines out, clearly only capable of monosyllabic words. “ Fuck, I—”
“Shhh, it’s okay.” Namjoon is everywhere, everything. “Come for me, babe.”
Namjoon leans into Yoongi to hasten his thrusts. His head lolls forward and he groans in bliss, fucking Yoongi the way he needs, hitting every spot that sends Yoongi into the purest ecstasy. That sends the two of them into the purest ecstasy together.
The recovery is drawn-out and lingering. Namjoon is wrapped around Yoongi entirely, their breaths coming synchronously, deep and rapid. Yoongi chuckles, still slightly out of breath.
“Remember when you told me that soulmates didn’t have to be anything?”
Namjoon’s eyes drift shut with a goofy smile. “Yeah, I remember.”
Yoongi kisses the smile away, slowly and deeply. “Well, you are everything, Kim Namjoon.”
Things move quickly from that evening. Yoongi isn’t accustomed to major life changes happening so swiftly, but it doesn’t feel rushed. Of course Yoongi is meant to live in Namjoon’s apartment with him—it’s their apartment, and it has been from the time Namjoon unlocked the door for the first time with Yoongi a half-step behind him, a hand on his back as he turned the knob with an eager smile. Of course they’re meant to share a home, to share a bed. Any alternative is laughable at best.
They’ve started a bookshelf now. A little wooden rack that sits beside their living room window, books propped up on both ends by little white flower pots of succulents. The stories they’ve read together, since their first. They’re taking turns choosing their novels now. Yoongi’s pick was last, and two mismatched, freshly-read copies of 1984 now sit on the right-hand side of the row of books.
Yoongi is switching off the stovetop when Namjoon enters the apartment, throwing his keys in the dish next to the door.
“Impeccable timing, as always,” Yoongi says, pulling plates down from the cupboard. “Just plating dinner.”
Namjoon has a paper-bag package tucked under one arm. “I have the next one,” he says, waiting until Yoongi is next to him before pulling out a pair of books.
The Catcher in the Rye , two well-loved copies with yellowed pages and a bookstore scent.Yoongi takes his copy, uses his other hand to tug the beanie from Namjoon’s fluffy, blonde locks. He runs his hand through them, kissing Namjoon plainly on the mouth.
“It’s perfect.”