Chapter Text
For as long as Yoongi can remember, it’s been his dream to play guitar in front of people.
When he was a kid, hungry for any and all forms of media and enrichment, he’d found a stack of his mum’s old CDs stashed in a forgotten corner of their attic. He remembers playing it on the CD player his brother and he shared, and being entranced at once by the sound of guitar shredding. When his mother heard it from the other room and poked her head into his bedroom, he’d expected a scolding, but instead, she’d sat down beside him on the bed and let out a deep sigh that only now Yoongi can place as blissfully nostalgic.
Together, they’d scavenged their way through albums upon albums, and then when Yoongi grew tired of that, his mum had pulled up an old, shaky video placed in time by its grainy footage, of Sinawe playing live back in the 80s. As he watched, transfixed and mesmerised by the way the band had interacted on stage and with the audience, his mother had explained hair metal to him, going so far as to pull out an old picture of her frizzy, backcombed self in her 20s, throwing up devil horns at the camera. Up until then, the only images he’d seen of his mother were wedding pictures of a much more respectable, composed woman, hand in hand with his equally respectable, composed father. He’d secretly pocketed the former picture, and later, it would find a permanent home pressed carefully between the pages of Yoongi's lyric book.
In the months that followed, Yoongi had grown out his hair (which his mother had vocally adored, and his father had quietly despised) to an 80s Metal Glam style, and branched into Western Rock. Following his discovery of The Doors, Yoongi had asked his brother if he could have the old keyboard that had become a dumping ground for clothes and loose school papers, and started learning the songs he was rapidly growing up with. By the time he was 14, his incessant begging for guitar lessons had been accepted by his father, and Yoongi had found a home in music that is yet to be rivalled.
Now at 25, Yoongi is standing on the edge of what promises to be a life-defining tour. A make-or-break for SamSan, a golden ticket of opportunity. But with the stakes so high, it’s natural that there is enough room below for broiling, festering doubt and ill feelings. Besides the imposter syndrome that tells him his dream of becoming a beloved Rock icon is about as stupid as the image of his ten-year-old self painting his face to emulate Peter Criss’ Kiss persona, Yoongi can’t shake the discomfort at the idea of leaving Seoul without fixing the mess he’s managed to create in the last month.
During his short career, Yoongi has never once counted on anything. He’s been ambitious, reasonably confident, and more than secure enough in his bond with his bandmates, however he’s never let himself rely on the people turning up to SamSan’s shows, the ones who tweet them daily, the ones who have Instagrams dedicated to them and their music. He never counts on seeing the same face staring back at him when he plays, despite the enormous gratitude he feels towards any and all that have anything kind to say about the art he creates. He just never lets anyone promise they’re in it for the long haul, never expects their presence or holds them to dedication.
Until the first show that Hoseok didn’t show up to after their fight.
Yoongi still winces when he plays back the conversation in his head. Remembers the way his words had come out all prickly and sharp, like a bramble that clings to your clothes and bites at your fingers when you try and pick it off to discard it. Hoseok’s face, cut up and hurt, because there’s really no discarding words once you’ve heard them.
You’re probably the last person I wanna talk about it with.
With hindsight being the cruellest mistress, Yoongi can see how Hoseok must have read what he said, and it hurts to imagine Hoseok feeling pushed away like this. He was a fan, a friend. Someone who, by some fortuitous circumstance, had really seemed to like Yoongi. Someone who maybe Yoongi could let himself rely on wanting him around. Not just for a lonely night, an after show party, or a quick 20 minutes before a soundcheck.
So, Yoongi spends most of his time leading up to the tour wondering how he managed to fuck up so badly.
Three days before the email:
“Hyung, you think you can hit that last chord progression from Fake Plastic Trees again?”
Hand laying flat against his guitar, Yoongi stares absently out at the empty bar; in just over a week they will be playing their last show here before they open for Lost Men at Seoul Arena. It’s all the more real now that the setlist has been finalised, having been approved by Lost Men’s bitchy manager who Yoongi has mostly left Namjoon to deal with. Whilst SamSan have always remained adamant there is no front man of the band, communication with authority figures often falls on Namjoon as the most amenable of all of them, and both Yoongi and Jungkook are happy to call him the boss when it gets them out of dealing with assholes with attitude problems.
“Hyung,” Namjoon says, sharply, snapping Yoongi out of his haze.
“What?”
“Everything good? You spaced out again.”
“Yeah. Sorry. All good. Another chorus?”
“Just the last few chords,” Namjoon says, looking at Yoongi with a tight, concerned expression. He’s usually a lot more present than this. Especially during rehearsals. “I think I messed up my line last night.”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
Yoongi inwardly shakes himself. He really doesn’t have the time to be daydreaming. This is all he’s been working towards for as long as he could fathom what a dream is: a tour, people screaming his own lyrics back at him. Cramped tour buses, a real roadie carrying their equipment from venue to venue. It’s all been promised to him, and he’s not even present for it.
“You sure you’re good, man?”
Yoongi sighs. Nods. Namjoon knows, of course. Knows there’s something up. He knows better than to try and get Yoongi to open up; Yoongi is honest about everything. If there’s something he’s keeping to himself, it’s better left alone. It’s the way they functioned when he was with Beomseok: ask no questions, tell no lies. Yoongi remembers bitterly then how the band dynamic had soured near the end, when he was always in his head, prickly with anger and rejection. He’d been unapproachable. A loose wire. Namjoon and Jungkook hadn’t known where to have him, and had pulled away. At one point, they’d gone a month without a band practice, and that’d been the jolt Yoongi had needed to admit enough was enough.
“I’ll be okay, Joon,” he says, honestly. “I’m working on it.”
It’s not much, but it’s enough to evoke relief in Namjoon’s eyes. They trust one another with everything, their words to each other are law. Yoongi knows he needs to get his head back in it, or risk messing this up for the three of them if he sinks too far into self pity.
“C’mon, let’s run the chord,” Yoongi says, before Namjoon can say something sentimental.
They jam for a little bit, trying out the last few lines of the song until Namjoon has nailed his part. By the time they’re done, Jungkook has arrived with Seokjin in tow, the pair of them giggling about something and Seokjin pushing Jungkook playfully.
“You’re late, Jeon,” Yoongi says, with no real bite.
“Sorry, hyung,” Jungkook says, hanging his head but with the ghost of a smile still on his lips. “Lost track of time.”
The tips of Seokjin’s ears are red.
“Gross,” Namjoon and Yoongi say together.
“Is it okay that I’m here?” Seokjin begins. “I can go-”
“Nah, you’re good,” Yoongi says quickly. He’s aware of Namjoon and Jungkook looking at him, as if waiting for him to express discomfort. They haven’t spoken about Hoseok explicitly, but the subject has arisen whenever Jungkook has talked (read: gushed over) Seokjin over the last couple of weeks. Each time, Yoongi has been careful to show his interest in Jungkook’s budding romance, enquire carefully about how Hoseok is doing, without inviting too much detail, and try to avoid looking like a jealous, miserable, heartbroken loser.
If the looks are anything to go by, the latter endeavour has not been as successful as the previous. But hey, two out of three isn’t bad.
“Seokjin hyung,” Yoongi says, amicably. “Good to see you.”
Truthfully, Yoongi hasn’t known what to expect when he was inevitably faced with Seokjin again; as Hoseok’s friend, he’d thought it likely he’d show some form of animosity, or at the very least, awkwardness. To his surprise, though, Seokjin waves politely, offering a genuine smile that stretches across his face. “You too, Yoongi.”
So either Hoseok hasn’t gone into details of Yoongi snapping at him, or Seokjin is just really good at putting on a pleasant face. Either way, Yoongi decides not to underestimate him.
“Ah, shit. Forgot my sticks in the car. Hyung, could I-”
Seokjin holds out his keys for Jungkook to take. “Thanks, Jin,” he says quickly, smirking and pecking Seokjin on the cheek before running outside, leaving Seokjin with a deeper blush rising on his face.
“Wow. He’s already shaken the honorifics, huh?” Yoongi says.
“You probably know better than I do that he has a penchant for getting his own way,” Seokjin says, staring moonily out at the door where Jungkook has just left.
Namjoon looks at Yoongi, eyebrows raised, a little pleased smile in the corner of his smile. Yoongi does a silent scoff.
“So, was that Coldplay I heard as we came in?”
So, once Jungkook comes back, his lucky sticks in hand, they give Seokjin his own private concert of Coldplay songs. They’ve only planned one cover for the tour, just to give new fans something to grab onto when they play, so the pressure of playing perfectly doesn’t phase them. They adlib, throw in more drum solos than strictly necessary, and even let Seokjin come up on stage for his own rendition of Yellow. When Jungkook misses a beat, Yoongi turns back to look at him, and finds him staring transfixed at Seokjin’s back as he sings into the microphone. Apparently, like Yoongi, Jungkook had had no idea that Seokjin could actually sing, and is taking the news to heart. Yoongi would rather not think about what Jungkook plans to do with the information, and if the look on the younger’s face is anything to go by, he’s better off not knowing.
“You guys are insane,” Seokjin says, later, when Namjoon and Jungkook are playing around with a Blink 182 cover while Yoongi stops for a beer, “playing all these shows before a tour.”
Yoongi considers this, playing with the paper label around the cold bottle. “I think it’s actually helping us banish nerves. If we went so long without playing for an audience, I think we’d build the tour shows to be this huge climax of a thing.”
“You’re not nervous?”
“Not as bad as I thought I would be.”
Seokjin nods, then seems to consider something. He leans in a little closer. “I can’t work out how Jungkook is feeling about it. He seems so chill, but he’s such a perfectionist at the same time. Like, he’s obsessing over every detail, but not like he’s worried it’ll go wrong? Maybe I’m just projecting what I know I’d be like if it was me.”
Yoongi smiles. “Jungkook is like that. Plays it cool but is also a big ball of nerves and shyness. Buff and tattooed to fuck but a total baby. Chill as hell but a total workaholic. I’ve never met someone who is so completely themselves all the time, and confuses everyone so much in the process.”
Seokjin chuckles, then tilts his head, as if he’s already accepted the challenge that is Jeon Jungkook.
“Don’t worry too much about him. He’ll be all good on tour. He’s made for it. You’ll see for yourself.”
Seokjin grins shyly, takes a sip of his cider. At this angle, Yoongi can see exactly why Jungkook is so interested. There’s something so mature and together about Seokjin. Usually, it’s all you notice, especially when he rocks up to the bar still in his blue button up with the top two buttons undone. But today, he’s wearing a white t-shirt, and it makes him look boyish and sweet. The pink tips of his ears peak out from beneath the dark curls of his hair, and his lips curl into a small smile that somehow takes up the entirety of his face. He’s a very beautiful man. And all Yoongi can think about is his best friend.
“Hey, hyung?”
Seokjin raises his eyebrows.
“I wanted to ask how Hoseok is doing.”
Seokjin puts down his drink. “Ah.”
At the look on Seokjin’s face, Yoongi’s heart sinks. Immediately, he looks unsure, like the topic is off limits. Meaning Hoseok has clearly told him they argued, or else has been instructed not to talk to Yoongi about anything.
“Sorry. I had to ask. You don’t have to say.”
“Don’t worry, it’s fine. You know… I actually came here specifically to say something.”
“Oh?” Yoongi tries to pretend his heart isn’t in his mouth.
“I should preface by saying, Jungkook and I have tried not talking about it to one another. We figured it wouldn’t be right, being on different sides. We figured we’d leave you to it, to figure things out by yourselves, not interject ourselves in your business.”
“I appreciate that,” Yoongi says with burning curiosity.
“But then the other night, we went out. Me, Hoseok and Jungkook.”
Yoongi nods. Jungkook had told him all about it.
“And then earlier today, Kookie and I were talking about something Hoseokie said, and we figured out that you both may not have the same information about things.”
“Hyung?”
From behind them, Jungkook has snuck up behind them, a concerned frown on his face.
“Jungkookah,” Seokjin says, turning on his bar stool. “I’m telling Yoongi about the conversation we had earlier. I hope that’s okay - the topic came up. And we said we’d talk to them.”
“About what?” Yoongi looks between them. “What’s going on?”
But Seokjin is waiting for Jungkook, he bites his lip, playing with the ring.
“Jungkook, it’s fine. If something happened, if Hoseok said something… It’s okay, you can tell me. It won’t be like you’ve meddled, don’t worry.”
Still sheepish, Jungkook peeks up at Yoongi. Yoongi pats him on the arm, smiling genuinely, even as his stomach is tearing him to shreds. After a moment, Jungkook nods at Seokjin.
“I think you really need to know Hoseok’s side of it, Yoongi.”
Two days after the email:
“Hyung, you gotta ease up.” Namjoon is firm, ever the clear-headed mediator.
“I’m fine.”
“Seokjinnie hyung said he was coming,” Jungkook says from his chair. Perhaps to soothe Yoongi’s anxieties, he hasn’t gone near the curtain tonight to watch the crowd. “He’ll be here.”
Yoongi bounces on the soles of his feet, shaking out his nerves. He hasn’t gone near the curtain either, despite the draw he feels to it. Of course, he knows, if Hoseok doesn’t turn up tonight, he might still get a chance to talk to him. He’ll be busy next week, but he’ll make time for Hoseok. If Hoseok gives him the chance to.
Yoongi has no idea where Hoseok’s head is at.
“And he didn’t say anything else? About how Hoseok was taking it?”
Jungkook holds up his hands. “We agreed we’d leave the rest up to you, hyung. No more meddling than was necessary.”
Namjoon’s eyebrow shoots up. “Seems out of character for you, Kook.”
Jungkook shrugs. “Adds to the drama, I guess.” He turns back to Yoongi. “Sorry, hyung. I really have no idea.”
Sighing, Yoongi nods. His jaw is tense, and he can’t stop the goosebumps slithering up his arm.
“Hyung, don’t work yourself up,” Namjoon tries again. When Jungkook and Seokjin had finally explained to Yoongi what had actually happened up on the hill, made him realise the mistakes he’d made, Namjoon had been the first to consider an action plan. A big gesture, to prove his feelings. Finish the song, record it, send it to the person it was meant for and leave him in no more doubt or confusion. It was a great plan.
Just with a lack of immediate pay off, beyond a text telling Yoongi he’d come and see his last show before he went off on tour.
“You’ve done all you can. It’s up to him now.”
Jungkook nods his agreement. “Yeah, hyung. Don’t let nerves get to you. We’ve got one last show before tour, we’re announcing the album. You’ll beat yourself up if you don’t give your best.”
Outside, the first band of the night are finishing up, and Yoongi knows he needs to pull it together to be ready for it.
“Okay. I’ve got this.”
The thing about being on stage is… everything else stops mattering. Just for that little bit. As they clamber up on stage, fist-bumping the previous band on their way, Yoongi feels himself getting back into a rhythm. He knows where to stand, how to hold himself. His brain melts into the easy routine of it all. As exhilarating as it is, it’s also the most peace Yoongi has ever known.
As Namjoon does his intros, Yoongi takes a quick peek at the crowd for the first time. He spots a few regulars, offers them a smile, but not the regular he’s looking for.
Doesn’t mean he’s not here , he can imagine Namjoon saying, trying to keep him optimistic. He takes a breath, taps his pick against the butt of his guitar as he waits for Namjoon to give them their introduction.
“Good evening, Club FF!”
He lets the crowd shout their greetings in return. Yoongi scans for Hoseok’s face in the sea.
“We’re really excited tonight… Because it’s our last show before we head out on tour with The Lost Men.”
Namjoon pauses for the applause in the crowd. Yoongi keeps scanning.
“And we’re also thrilled to be announcing our new album.”
Namjoon pauses again, and it warms Yoongi to hear the cheer is even bigger than when Namjoon had mentioned touring with The Lost Men. He’s not sure if it makes him sound like an ass, but he loves having fans like these. Loyal, excitable. It’s like having hundreds of Jungkooks staring up at him with stars in their eyes.
“We are gonna play one of the new songs, ‘cause we wanted you guys to have it first. Those of you that have stuck with us while we got off the ground. You’ve made this happen for us, and we couldn’t be more grateful.”
The noise from the crowd spills over. Yoongi hears Jungkook giggle into his mic.
“Ahhh, they’re excited, hyung,” Jungkook says, teasingly.
“Well, they gotta wait. Because we have some old stuff to play first. You guys remember Dear My Friend , right?”
As the backing piano plays them in, Yoongi loses himself to the lights. He forgets momentarily about looking for Hoseok, and focuses his attention on giving the crowd a good show.
And that’s exactly what they give them. Each one of them play their hardest, and the crowd throw their fists into the air alongside each beat. Despite, or perhaps in spite of, Lost Men’s manager advising them to set covers aside now they’re entering their own sphere, they kill with a few favourites they know their fans appreciate, and they themselves never tire of playing. After years of playing together, they know how to work off each other for a show, Namjoon and Yoongi facing one another during guitar solos, or bowing down when Jungkook sings from behind his kit during the opening of One True Prince.
By the end, they’ve played two encores, and despite the adrenaline, Yoongi feels himself waning. There’s sweat prickling his back, a familiar ache in his wrist, and he relishes in it. With Hoseok here or not, he feels at home on stage. Any ailment soothed, any wound tended to.
After their last song, Yoongi gulps down water from a water bottle as Namjoon closes up their set.
“We do have one more, guys.”
Yoongi looks at him, eyebrows raised. They hadn’t planned for one more. He has no idea what Namjoon even wants to play, whether this will push them out of their time slot. He turns to Jungkook, waiting to see his confusion reflected, but all he gets is a mischievous smile peeking from behind his kit. He winks, and nods his head towards the back of the bar. Yoongi looks, and Hoseok and Seokjin are there. For how long, Yoongi has no idea. But he sees him now, looking as nervous as Yoongi had before. His hair is brilliant white under the lights, darkened at the ends with a colour Yoongi can’t make out.
For the first time ever, Yoongi just wants to throw down his guitar and jump from the stage.
Without looking, Yoongi can tell Namjoon is grinning as he continues. “It’s a solo. It’s fucking awesome. I’ll let Yoongi hyung announce it.”
With a thumbs up to the sound guy to the right of the stage, he looks to Yoongi, winks. And Yoongi knows. He nods.
Yoongi exhales. “Thanks, Joon. Well…” Yoongi fiddles with his in-ear. The crowd yells again. He breathes a laugh. “I started writing this… because I was falling for someone. Because I am falling for someone.” He won’t look up. If he catches Hoseok’s eye he’ll lose his nerve entirely. “Honestly, falling is fucking scary. And I was convinced I was never going to let myself fall again.” He smiles, something private, even up on stage with a crowd of people watching, waiting, hanging on to his words. “But sometimes it’s not about the fall. It’s about the jump. Jumping off the fucking edge. I think I wanna jump off that edge.”
It’s then he chances a glance at Hoseok. Just the one. Finds him bathing in that familiar blue glow, iridescent and alive in the way his face is lit up with a smile wider than Yoongi thought possible, dimples sunk right into his cheeks.
It’s perhaps the most intimate he’s ever felt, grabbing his acoustic guitar from its stand. Suddenly, it makes sense why Namjoon had insisted on playing one of their acoustic songs last minute. He wonders if he and Jungkook had planned this together, feels infinitely grateful to the pair of them, especially as he begins to strum and hears Jungkook behind him, supporting him with a steady beat, Namjoon to the right of him, playing the harmony on his own guitar, bass discarded.
Yoongi sings low into the mic, unsure at first, but encouraged by the head nods in the crowd. By the last chorus, the crowd are attempting to sing along, a serenade for Jung Hoseok.
Make me feel like the one.
When he gets to the section he wrote after their argument, when he’d accidentally severed Hoseok from him, the line that goes I wonder if we’ll meet again , he gives himself another look over, finds Hoseok’s eyes are shiny with what he hopes are happy tears, watches as he smiles. Smiles so wide that Yoongi is blinded, smiling back, and the next lyric gets messed up, but Namjoon and Jungkook keep him afloat, like always, and he gets to the outro…
Take a look at me now…
Just for a moment, Yoongi manages to catch Hoseok nodding, a quiet acceptance.
The aftermath is a rush of cheers, of tears, of light. Yoongi can’t remembered scampering off the stage this quickly, this eagerly. He tries to motion for Hoseok to meet him near the back door, but he loses sight as people shift around each other, so instead he trusts that Hoseok will find his way.
And then there are arms around him, a full scale attack. He’s knocked backwards, and it’s only the familiar scent of woody citrus that tell him it’s Hoseok. What a relief it is then, to envelop Hoseok in his arms, looping them around Hoseok’s waist, gripping the flesh of his back, desperate to cling on, to stay in this moment forever.
But Yoongi knows better than that. Knows it’s only a matter of time before any semblance of privacy is disturbed: the next act, the fans, his own bandmates… Too many things to pull him from this.
Hoseok’s newly dyed hair is tickles his nose as he turns his head to whisper in Hoseok’s ear.
“Hey, stranger. Wanna go somewhere?”
Hands clasped together tightly, they duck into a cupboard backstage. It’s mostly empty, boasting a strange smell but promising a slither of privacy. Yoongi pushes a few stray cardboard boxes against the door, just to be sure.
“Locking us in?” Hoseok says, teasing. Yoongi has missed the giggle that so often permeates Hoseok’s voice. The tips of his hair are a dark blue, like the lights of Club FF. Yoongi twitches to wind his fingers in it.
“Just…” Yoongi positions himself in front of Hoseok, who is leaning against the wall and watching him carefully. He’s careful to give him space, but the room doesn’t afford him much. Their feet end up tangled together, Hoseok’s old converse beside Yoongi’s scruffy docs. “Need a chance to talk. Without anything else getting in the way.”
Hoseok laughs sweetly. “I think we’ve been getting in our own way, hyung, don’t you?”
Yoongi’s head tips, and he chuckles. “Yeah. Yeah I do. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. I should have just been honest.”
“Me too. Should have just explained. I should have called.”
Hoseok takes his hand, holding one between both of his. His hands are warm. “I think the song more than makes up for it.”
“Was it okay? I wasn’t planning to play it tonight; the boys kinda sprang it on me. It’s still just a demo. When Jungkook told me about everything, I rushed to get it recorded. Didn’t want you to sit in any more doubt.”
“Yoongi… It was the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me. It was beautiful.”
“I should have just talked to you, called or come over, not left you in suspense. I’m usually so direct. I guess I just… freaked out a little.”
Hoseok frowns. “Because of Beomseok? What you went through?”
Yoongi winces. “Maybe.”
“You don’t have to be apprehensive with me, hyung. I want you just as much as you want me.”
Yoongi looks up, hopeful. “Yeah?”
Hoseok smiles, and it’s every single chord Yoongi has ever got right on the first try, every lyric he’s ever been proud of, every pre-show butterfly and post-show crackle of electricity.
Hoseok smiles, and Yoongi kisses him, and it’s a live wire. A guitar plugged into an amp. Like Yoongi has had both his in-ears removed and can hear the world again, in all its explosive glory. He kisses Hoseok, and Hoseok kisses back, opening his mouth to allow Yoongi inside. He’s still smiling, and Yoongi can feel it, and then they’re both smiling. And then laughing, huffing into one another’s mouths, noses brushing. Yoongi pulls back to whisper something secret, something shared.
“I’ve wanted to do that forever.”
What’s not lost on either of them, is that their time is limited. In a week, Yoongi will be playing his last show, and then head out for months, with only a couple of intermittent spaces in which to come home. He reveals to Hoseok that he’d planned not to come home to Seoul at all in this time, but that his plans had mysteriously changed and he’d actually scheduled to be back at every available opportunity.
“And why might that be, hyung?” Hoseok had teased over dinner one night.
Yoongi had played it cool. “Gotta check you’re taking good care of Roadie, haven’t I?”
That’s been one of the main events of the week: Yoongi teaching Hoseok to drive manual, in amongst work and band practice, plus the copious amounts of kissing they now do. As a die-hard automatic driver, Hoseok was sceptical, but Yoongi is an infinitely patient teacher, and Hoseok gets a peck on the cheek whenever he changes to the right gear without prompting, and it’s worked out very well for them both.
Still, it is tough, having limited time in which to explore this development. It brings with it the pressure to spend every possible moment together, which whilst not practical, is certainly fruitful.
Truthfully, though, Yoongi finds it relatively easy to slot their lives back together once more. After the second day, they find a good rhythm: Yoongi gets done with practice, drives over to the garage where Hoseok is working a later shift. He parks up, with snacks and booze already waiting in Roadie’s passenger seat, leans against the hood, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, and waits for Hoseok to be finished. He gets a beam and wave for his troubles, and an overcomplicated hand signal from Hoseok to tell him he’ll be five minutes tops, which means five minutes to watch Hoseok in what is easily in Yoongi’s top five favourite Hoseok-Activities; getting soaked with a hose as he rushes to finish his last car.
From there, they’ll make out against the hood like it’s been days since they last saw each other. Hoseok will fist a hand against Yoongi’s chest, scrunching whatever band logo he’s opted for that day, and Yoongi will gladly let him, because he’s far too busy snaking his hand down Hoseok’s damp back and across his butt to care about wrinkled clothes, even if some of them are vintage.
Some nights, they’ll end up at Namsan Park, drinking and swapping stories, now completely allowed to unravel themselves together beneath the blanket Yoongi keeps in the back of the truck.
Tonight, though, the kiss Hoseok gives him against Roadie is fervent. Desperate. He pushes Yoongi against it like he wants to press him into the metal and make a cast, like Han Solo encased in carbonite. He tells Hoseok as much, and gets a blank stare, lips still red raw from where he’d pressed it against Yoongi’s jaw.
“Huh?”
“Star Wars, babe.”
“Oh.” Hoseok flushes, embarrassed. Yoongi kisses his nose fondly. “I dressed as Darth Vader last halloween. I should have known that.”
Yoongi tuts. “Appropriating my nerd culture. What am I going to do with you?”
“Something bad, I hope. Use the dark side on me.”
Yoongi can tell Hoseok is trying to be alluring, by the way he lowers his gaze and flicks his eyes back down to Yoongi’s lips, but the reference only serves to make him giggle. Hoseok frowns.
“I’m trying to be sexy, hyung.”
“Hoseok, you are in drenched white t-shirt and criminally short shorts; you do not need to try to be sexy.”
“Oh,” Hoseok seems pleased by this. His grin is back, and Yoongi feels the overwhelming urge to nip his cheek. “Is Jungkook home tonight?”
A cold, blissful shiver runs down Yoongi’s back.
“He is not.”
Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Good. Because I think I need to get out of these wet clothes.”
Yoongi drops the car keys twice as he scrambles to get back into the truck.
In record time, they’re in the doorway of the apartment Yoongi shares with Jungkook, Hoseok pressed against the door with one of Yoongi’s thighs trapped between his own. Yoongi realises with burning relish that they’re making a habit of pushing each other against hard surfaces and stealing the sweetest sounds from each other’s mouths.
“Oh,” Hoseok moans, when Yoongi dips his head to kiss the column of his neck, lick the sharp bulge of his adam’s apple. Yoongi feels the skin stretch taut as Hoseok tips his head back, allowing room for him to roam. In turn, Hoseok’s fingers make light work of mussing up Yoongi’s hair. He’s not kept it so secret how much he likes the blond, and Yoongi almost feels bad that he’s going to be dying it black to save himself the hassle of the upkeep with on tour. He’s keeping it long, though. Something for Hoseok to grab hold of.
“Hyung, I-”
Yoongi pulls away. “You okay? We can slow down. I got us stuff to make dinner. I left it in the van, but I can run down and-”
“No,” Hoseok says, sharply. He seems dazed for a moment, like Yoongi has kissed the sense out of him. “No, I want- Well, I’m not that hungry right now. Unless you are! I just, I thought-”
As adorable as it is, Yoongi cuts the babbling short, catching Hoseok’s lips again, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth. He feels Hoseok ease against him again, and sighs his relief.
“I’m not hungry either,” he whispers between them.
“Okay,” Hoseok’s voice is equally soft. “Good. I- I wanted to… Well…”
“I was going to get you out of those wet clothes, wasn’t I?”
Hoseok smiles, clearly relieved that Yoongi has opted to take the lead. It lights a small fire in Yoongi’s chest, a reminder: make this good for him. don’t let him down. he is the most beautiful, important thing in the world.
Yoongi pulls Hoseok away from the door, his mind clear.
“I’ve thought about this so much.”
Yoongi strokes his hand up Hoseok’s side, having finally relieved him of his t-shirt and shorts. He’s still in his briefs, and Yoongi has been holding back from biting his fist at the sight of Hoseok on display: all lean muscle and golden skin, his hair fanned out on one of Yoongi’s pillows. In turn, Yoongi has lost his black jeans, his Blink 182 t-shirt skimming the top of his boxers.
“I’ve thought about it too,” Yoongi admits, letting his fingernails scratch Hoseok carefully, until he feels the goosebumps rise and fall with his touch. He’s working slowly, more slowly than he thought he could ever manage when they finally got to this point; Hoseok is still wound up, nervous, not quite as at ease as Yoongi wants him, needs him to be. He wants to take his time, even if time is limited. Because one truly good, perfect night is better than a thousand rushed, subpar experiences. He wants to leave Hoseok with an ache that’ll see him through days, weeks if necessary, not an itch Yoongi won’t be around to scratch.
Yoongi knows those all too well, and is determined to never let Hoseok feel even a fraction of dissatisfied.
“Are you okay?” Hoseok asks him, after a moment of purely silent watching, stroking.
Yoongi hums. “Yes. So okay. Are you?”
Hoseok nods, but his eyebrows are furrowed. “Are you… Are you sure you wanna do this?”
“Mm?”
“We don’t have to have sex. Not if you don’t want to.”
The thought of Yoongi not wanting to is so absurd he almost smiles. He almost airs his protest at the prospect, but he understands why Hoseok is asking. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable, before we do anything. I don’t wanna rush. I want it to be perfect.”
“Oh.” This seems to placate Hoseok, and Yoongi leans in to kiss him again. When he pulls back, Hoseok’s eyebrows are smooth again. “You know, hyung. The first time doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s okay to just… let it be what it will. I know I’ll enjoy it regardless.”
Yoongi allows himself to take the words even, tries to internalise the idea that Hoseok isn’t expecting a perfect performance. It doesn’t quite make sense in his head, and he knows there’s probably something in that that will need to be dissected later, but for now, he just lets himself trust Hoseok’s warm, easy smile that seems to stretch beyond what either of them are saying.
“I’ll never not want you, hyung,” he whispers. “I’ll choose you proudly.”
They sound like lyrics Yoongi wants to sing. He wants to laugh and cry into Hoseok’s chest. Leaning down, he pushes his forehead against Hoseok’s, a silent thank you.
“You’re one hell of a lyricist, Hoseokie.”
“Learnt from the best. Take me on tour with you?”
“Christ, I wish.”
When Yoongi leans into Hoseok this time, he allows himself to melt into him. His body is half on top of Hoseok’s and he enjoys the way they overlap as he eases himself down, likes the feeling of their skin pressed together, already warm and sticky from the heat in the room. Hoseok hands fist in Yoongi’s hair once more, and it’s starting to feel familiar, the tight tug at the crown of his head, and it riles him to start moving his hips in shallow, careful rotations.
“I want those little sounds you’re making on the next album,” he whispers lowly, as his hand reaches up to trace Hoseok’s nipple. Hoseok bucks up at the touch.
“Happy to be used however you like,” Hoseok teases back, something mischievous in his eyes now.
“Noted,” Yoongi grins, sitting up with his legs tucked beneath him.
From there, it’s easy. Yoongi fumbles his hand into Hoseok’s boxers, wrapping a careful hand around Hoseok’s length, and Hoseok babbles gloriously about when Yoongi had taught him how to play the drums, how he’d watched their hands, how he’d imagined Yoongi’s hands on him in every possible way. He talks so much Yoongi wonders at what point he loses track of what he’s saying, whether he means to expose as much of himself as he is. Yoongi takes advantage, drinking in every detail of Hoseok’s fantasy, trying to mirror it, make it reality, twisting his hand, jerking him slowly, letting Hoseok’s hand join his to show him exactly what he likes, how he’d pictured it.
Once built to a steady rhythm, he dares circle Hoseok’s chest against with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. Hoseok arches prettily again, and Yoongi is pretty sure he could compose a rhapsody of Hoseok sounds, the way moans flow into soft curses, whimpers into yells.
“Fuck, fuck- Can you…”
“Anything,” Yoongi promises.
“Can you- My-" Hoseok tilts his hips up. "Do you have lube…”
Yoongi is rummaging in his side drawer immediately, trying to source the small bottle without looking, because his eyes are locked on the sight of Hoseok’s scrunched up face, the beads of sweat resting on his jaw, threatening to roll down his neck and really cause Yoongi some problems. There’s heat rising up his neck, crawling wantingly. He throws his t-shirt off in a swift movement. Hoseok watches keenly as Yoongi hands the bottle to him, allowing him to squeeze as much as he likes onto Yoongi’s fingers.
“I like it wet,” Hoseok admits, bashfully. “I get so sore afterwards.”
It’s as if he has no idea Yoongi is trying to keep his heart from stopping.
“Is it bad I want you to be?" he asks, as he moves his fingers down. "Just a little?”
Even through his daze, his focus on Yoongi’s fingers teasing across his rim, Hoseok manages a smile. “Not at all. I want to feel you for days when you go away. Wanna remember- fuck, your fingers are huge- wanna remember the feel of it when I’m all on my own.”
“I’ll come back as often as I can,” Yoongi assures him, no longer worried about playing it cool, not with all the layers they’ve stripped back tonight. “I’ll leave you feeling so sated until I can be here again. I swear.”
“I believe you,” Hoseok mutters, groaning melodiously as Yoongi gets the first finger down to the knuckle. “Christ, I forgot how good it is when it’s someone else-”
Somewhere in the back of Yoongi’s mind, a reminder is set to talk to Hoseok about how long it’s been, whether he has any skeleton exes that need banishing. But for tonight, there’s only Hoseok to worry and care about. He takes his time, lets Hoseok adjust to the girth of his finger, his free hand resting at the base of his cock, waiting for Hoseok to give him the go ahead.
When he catches the subtle nod, he knows he can start again, pumping even slower now, building a rhythm as he pushes in and out. He doesn’t mean to tease, but he finds it so blissful, the way Hoseok writhes beneath him, the way his breath hitches, that he almost forgets to add a second, until Hoseok is begging him, crying out for him to crook his fingers inside.
“I got you,” he says, regaining his composure. He pushes in a second finger, the slide a lot easier now, with Hoseok pushing out against it to aid the passage. He pumps slow, careful, watching Hoseok’s slim chest rise and fall, and then crooks his fingers, rubbing along his walls, searching for-
“Oh-”
Suddenly sure of himself, Yoongi grins. The pace is slow, slower than he can ever remember being with anyone, but it seems to incite Hoseok enough, his head tipped back against the headboard, one hand fisted against the sheets as it had done in Yoongi’s shirt, the other rubbing across his chest.
“You look like sin,” Yoongi says, without thinking. “Even better than I imagined.”
Through it all, Hoseok manages to look down at him. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” Yoongi says firmly, allowing their eyes to lock, teasing Hoseok’s orgasm out of him. He wants to kiss him. Oh, how he wants to kiss him. But he doesn’t want to sacrifice this: the look on Hoseok’s face as he begins to tip over the edge, the stutter of his hips, the softness of his skin where it pebbles under Yoongi’s touch.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, quiet. Yoongi feels the muscle around his fingers tighten. A snapped string.
Hoseok cums with one final, glorious song.
Yoongi has mere seconds to relish in it before he’s thrown on his back, head at the foot of the bed, landing with a soft umph, hands still painted with lube and cum.
“Sorry,” Hoseok barely manages, before his mouth is on Yoongi, kissing down his chest, his stomach, the trail of hair below his belly button where it’s peeking out from his waistband. He stops himself just for a fraction, to look at Yoongi for permission. When Yoongi traces the back of his fingers against his cheek, a silent answer, Hoseok pulls his underwear down to tuck under the base of his cock, dips his head and swallows him.
It’s difficult to watch, with no pillow beneath his head he has to crane his neck up, propping himself up shakily on one arm, but he does. He watches everything, the way Hoseok’s eyelashes curl against the top of his cheek, elongated by the shadow cast by the bedside lamps, the way Hoseok’s perfect cheeks hollow, so often round with laughter. He watches the way Hoseok’s hands start at Yoongi sides, then gravitate to the crease of his thigh, pinning him to the bed, keeping him where Hoseok wants him. As if Yoongi would ever think of moving away.
It doesn’t take long. Yoongi is not ashamed to admit, and will tell Hoseok if he asks, that he’d been close to coming since he’d seen the way Hoseok’s body had twisted under his touch, the feel of his hole contracting against him, the sight of his cock at attention against his stomach.
No, Hoseok gets less than two minutes before Yoongi is coming down his throat. He warns him, of course, tries to pull him up with a loose hand in his blond hair, but Hoseok is persistent, sure of himself; he swallows Yoongi down gracefully, holding him in his mouth. Yoongi feels the breath from his nose on his pelvis as he breathes steadily, warm and addictive, clearly practised, and if it were physically possible, he’d come again at the feeling.
“Jesus,” he says instead.
Hoseok takes a moment to resurface, his mouth well and truly pink. He grins toothily, eyelids heavy. Yoongi wants to kiss each one.
“You beautiful creature,” he says, the words spilling out like song lyrics.
A final kiss is pressed into Yoongi’s skin as Hoseok hums.
“I think that was pretty near perfect, huh?”
Eventually, the final night comes. SamSan plays Seoul Arena and, in Jungkook’s words, ‘fucking dominate’. Yoongi plays with the knowledge that Hoseok is waiting in the wings for him, watching the show from the side. It carries him through what turns out to be an entirely emotional experience; he has to step back from greetings and thanks at the end of their set, for fear of completely breaking down in sobs of gratitude. He knows this may follow him into this new sunrise of their career: Yoongi, the stoic one, the quiet, brooding guitarist… Well, he supposes, there’s got to be one in every band. He’ll find other ways of sharing his warm, open nature with the fans.
For now, Yoongi sets his sights on weaving through sound engineers and tour staff, all jumping on him to congratulate and commend him for such a good opening. He spots Lost Men limbering up at the same time as he finds Hoseok and Seokjin standing by a large, unused amp. Hoseok grins when he sees him, bouncing on the soles of his feet and waving. Yoongi clears the floor in seconds, offering bows to each of the Lost Men members, Beomseok included, as he passes. Their introductory music, the intro from their latest album, booms over the speakers.
“You were amazing,” Hoseok calls over the shouts of the crowd that rise as Lost Men make their entrance. One day, Yoongi thinks, that'll be for us. For now, though, Yoongi is more than content enough to grab a tight hold of Hoseok, still feeling raw. Hoseok, in all his wonderfulness, doesn’t seem perturbed by his emotional state, and cradles him carefully.
Yoongi doesn’t care if it makes him less of a rockstar, he loves feeling this safe in Hoseok’s arms.
As Namjoon, Seokjin and Jungkook arrange themselves to watch the Lost Men set, which even Yoongi has to admit is pretty impressive, he leeches to Hoseok, snaking his arms around him from the back, so Hoseok is leaning back into his chest, head on his shoulder. They get through the first couple of songs, and then Yoongi is itching for alone time. He rubs his nose into the crease of Hoseok’s neck. Hoseok’s hands cling to his wrists.
“You alright?” Hoseok manages to shout-whisper. He looks back at Yoongi, his face half in shadow, and he is the most beautiful thing Yoongi has ever seen. He strains his neck to kiss him, parting his lips easily, their bodies naturally swaying together. When they part, Hoseok looks a little winded. “You wanna get out of here?”
“Are you sure? You can stay and watch the show if you want to.”
Hoseok makes a face. “Not the biggest fan of Lost Men. Their latest stuff has gone downhill. Almost like their best songwriter stopped producing stuff for them.”
Yoongi grins, relinquishing his grip only to tug Hoseok away.
Strictly, they shouldn’t; Yoongi should show Lost Men the courtesy of staying until the end of their concert, but he’s about to embark on months of listening to the same songs, some of which he’d written, and so allows himself the freedom of one night to do just as he pleases. While not strictly bound to the venue, Yoongi figures it’s best to sneak out. He figures this may be the last time he can do so without the danger of being followed, recognised, chased, and that thought kind of makes him sick. Like a caged animal, poked and prodded. He grips tight of Hoseok’s hand, wanting to remember this feeling of being truly, blissfully free.
Hoseok squeezes back, as if telling Yoongi that he knows, that they’ll face it all together.
With Roadie already in the car park of Hoseok’s apartment, Yoongi pulls them to the nearest station.
“Where are we going?” Hoseok asks, seeming bright and alive with the rush of sneaking out.
“Where else?” Yoongi grins.
“Seoul really is beautiful from up here,” Hoseok muses.
Yoongi, reclining back on his hands, one overlapped by Hoseok’s, hums in agreement. It’d taken a good hour for them to get here, but the mere glimpse of the city, the breeze that carries the promise of autumn, Hoseok’s warm, slender hand over his, it’d been worth it.
Yoongi looks out at the city, offering it a farewell with a nod of his head.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Hoseok says.
“Mhm?” Yoongi finds himself always just waiting on whatever Hoseok is going to say next.
“When we first met, you asked me out. Well, you asked me to come to your show. I’m assuming that was you asking me out.”
Yoongi smiles bashfully. “Guilty.”
Hoseok hums, squeezing Yoongi’s hand. “But then you never told me you liked me, even after all that time we spent together…”
“Ah.” Yoongi scratches the back of his head, embarrassed. “I thought you were into JK, to be honest.”
Sitting upright, Hoseok snorts. Actually snorts. “How could you think that?!”
Yoongi feels the need to defend himself. “You kept asking about him!”
“For hyung !”
“You said you thought drummers were hot.”
It takes Hoseok a moment to place the comment. Once he does, he laughs again, and Yoongi thinks it might just be worth making a fool of himself if it makes Hoseok sound like that.
“After you’d literally just shown me you knew how to play the drums! You had drumsticks in your hand as I said it.”
They laugh together.
“Well, we got there, I guess,” Yoongi says, content, leaning back on his coat until his head hits where he’d folded his scarf to form a cushion. He reaches out his arms, allowing Hoseok to settle into them, his head below Yoongi’s chin, a hand over his heart.
“We did.”
They ease into a comfortable silence for a while, pointing out planes they mistake for stars, and laughing at each other. But it’s not long before the weight that’s been swelling in the back Yoongi’s brain pushes forward.
“Can I tell you something now?”
“Of course.”
Yoongi chews his thumbnail. Hoseok takes his hand away and gently tucks it under his own chin, kissing the knuckle. Yoongi smiles, then sighs. “I lied to you before."
“Mm?”
“Before, when I said that it was casual with Beomseok.”
For one horrific, suspended second, Yoongi feels Hoseok tense against him, and his stomach gives an unhealthy jolt. He drops Yoongi’s hand, and Yoongi feels it crash with him. They sit up quickly.
“Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean like- I mean, it was casual, officially. He never wanted to call it anything, but it was serious. For a little while, it was exclusive. Or, like, on my end it was. He said he didn’t want me to fuck anyone else, but I’m pretty sure he was with other people. But he’d get jealous if there was even a notion of me being with anyone who wasn’t him. We weren’t boyfriends, but we were… something. He just didn’t want to acknowledge that. Not outside of sex.”
“I see.”
“I’m telling you now because I want to do this right. With me and you. I wanna be honest and open, no secrets. If you want me to shut up, I will. But I want you, and I need you to know: Whatever he and I had, whatever I felt, it’s over and done, water under the bridge, so fucking dead and buried you’d need a excavator to dig it back up again, but I’d kill anyone that even tried.”
Hoseok laughs despite himself.
“I mean it. You’re… This, you and me, this is it. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the moment I met you, and it may be the most un-rockstar thing I’ve ever said, but I wanna be your boyfriend so bad it makes my whole body sore sometimes. I wanna buy you flowers and pick you up from work in the van, be that mysterious boyfriend that your coworkers have heard more than enough about. I wanna listen to you talk about your day. I like everything about you, and when we kissed for the first time it was seriously like I understood what the fuck Jungkook has been trying to capture in his songs for the last 5 years, what I’ve been trying to avoid ever writing because it freaks me the hell out to imagine myself in love. But whatever he or I imagined it was… this is so much fucking better because it’s with you.”
A split second later, as silence hangs in perfect, precarious balance between them, Yoongi must realise exactly what he’s admitted to, the wording he’s used, because his eyes widen slightly, and already he’s opening his mouth to explain, to backtrack.
Hoseok stops him with a kiss.
And it’s not their first kiss, not even their second. Neither is it their best in terms of technique, because Hoseok is kind of crying a little bit, and Yoongi is in the middle of explaining something so his mouth is open and his face isn’t tilted right- But from the second it starts, when Yoongi starts to feel Hoseok kiss back, it’s absolutely the kind of kiss that Yoongi will no doubt endeavour to remember for the rest of his life.
This is Yoongi’s favourite kiss. It makes it hard to pull away long enough to mutter a stupid, flirty thing between them.
Instead, because he’s brilliant, Hoseok m anages. “If it helps at all, I think that was a pretty fucking rockstar thing of you to say. What’s more metal than screaming out your feelings for the whole world to hear?”
“You might have a point,” Yoongi laughs, breathing into it. Their foreheads are still pushed against one another. There’s a tiny smudge of eyeliner under Hoseok’s eyes. Yoongi wants to kiss him forever. “Actually, one sec-” Yoongi pulls his body from Hoseok’s suddenly, and Hoseok reaches for him, fingers flexed into Yoongi’s plaid shirt.
Before he can pull him back more firmly, Yoongi has stood up, taken a couple of paces forward and cupped his hands around his mouth to yell into the bright, shiny nothing: “MY NAME IS MIN YOONGI, I’M A ROCKSTAR, AND I REALLY WANT JUNG HOSEOK TO BE MY BOYFRIEND!”
He glances back and gazes at Hoseok, a smug smile on his face, a challenge. Hoseok does not back down. He stands, brazen, and goes to stand with Yoongi. With hands around his mouth, he bellows: “MY NAME IS JUNG HOSEOK, I WORK TWO JOBS TO PAY FOR COLLEGE, AND MY BOYFRIEND IS A ROCKSTAR!”
Yoongi is dizzy with it all.