Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Hoseok felt warm. He felt warm and comfortable and cocooned and safe in a way he hadn’t felt in a while. And so fucking cuddly warm. The soft blankets of sleep cushioned his mind as he slowly came back into consciousness, briefly wondering what had pulled him out of sleep in the first place.

“Hyung! Are these pancakes for anyone?”

That was it. That voice that was loud and obnoxious and didn’t belong to anyone in Hoseok’s house. No one said “hyung” in his house. Hoseok blinked his eyes open against the bright sunlight streaming through the window and glanced over at the warmth next to him. His senses jumped into overdrive, taking in the sight of a nest of dark hair and a scrunched button nose peaking out from under the blankets, the now familiar feeling of plastic resting on his hip and the unfamiliar ache in his ass, and the waves of guilt and arousal and anger that quickly pummeled his brain. He groaned as he rolled over, his elbow hitting something soft and pulling a resulting grunt.

“Hyung!”

Hoseok froze halfway out of the sheets as the bedroom door opened revealing a young guy with wide eyes and large teeth. 

“Oh! Sorry!” He shouted, but he didn’t shut the door, just stared at Hoseok like he was a ghost. 

“Jeongguk get the fuck out,” Yoongi growled from beneath the sheets Hoseok was desperately trying to cover himself with - not that he was completely naked, but he didn’t need some random guy seeing him in his boxers. 

“Y-yeah,” the kid stuttered, still not moving. “S-sorry, I-“

“Jeongguk!” 

The door slammed shut and Hoseok immediately leaned back and smacked at the lump of Yoongi under the sheets.

“What the fuck,” he hissed - more like screeched with the way his voice cracked. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?”

Yoongi groaned beneath the sheets, little sheet-ghosts trying to bat Hoseok’s hands away until Yoongi finally disentangled himself and got a good enough grip on Hoseok’s arm to stop him. Yoongi yanked hard and Hoseok had to throw his arms out so that he didn’t land on Yoongi’s sleepy face.

“Good morning to you too,” Yoongi drawled, the hand that had been used to pull Hoseok down releasing and instead mussing through Hoseok’s hair.

Hoseok pulled his head away, resisted the urge to start hitting Yoongi again. “You said there was no one else after your fiance,” Hoseok accused, and Yoongi’s eyes widened almost comically before he snorted and ran his good hand over his face. 

“I’m not sleeping with Jeongguk, are you fucking nuts? The kid’s seventeen .”

“Hyung?” Jeongguk’s voice filtered through the door again, timid and hesitant. “About the pancakes…”

“Go ahead Gguk,” Yoongi shouted at the door, then returned his focus to Hoseok. Even though he had insane bedhead and pillow creases on his cheeks Yoongi was still infuriatingly beautiful for whatever-o’clock it was in the morning. “I used to teach Jeongguk piano. His home’s not that great so he comes over when he needs to.”

Hoseok blinked, unreasonable warmth blooming in his chest. Yoongi raised his eyebrow and crinkled his nose - like a confused kitten.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Hoseok said, biting his cheek against smiling. “That’s just…surprisingly sweet.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised even higher and he smirked. “Surprisingly? I gave you five orgasms last night.”

Hoseok smacked his hand hard against Yoongi’s bare chest, Yoongi’s resulting laugh-groan only fueling his anger and embarrassment. Hoseok threw off the sheets and rolled out of bed, but sharp pain ran up his spine as soon as he stood and he collapsed back onto the bed with an embarrassing squeak.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” he asked - didn’t whine - as he tried to massage the general area of his tailbone.

“Well,” and Hoseok could hear the fucking smirk in Yoongi’s voice. “I fucked your ass six ways to Sunday.”

“Oh my god.” Hoseok let himself fall back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands. “Shut up. Please just shut up.”

Hoseok felt a tentative touch on his shoulder and peered through his fingers to take in Yoongi’s wide worried eyes.

“Would you like some Advil?” he murmured, and Hoseok wanted to say no - wanted to leap out bed indignantly and definitely not be taken with how sweet Yoongi looked with a worried crease in his brow.

“Yeah,” Hoseok grumbled behind his hands. “That’d be great.”

Hoseok felt the bed dip slightly, peered through his fingers to watch Yoongi’s scrawny frame pad across the floor to the attached bathroom. Yoongi’s boxer briefs hung low on his hips to where Hoseok could see two small divots above his waistband, and they hugged around the curves of his small bum. Hoseok watched as Yoongi crouched down to get to the cabinet under his sink and was once again hit with the animalistic desire to pin Yoongi down and feed him as his skin hugged over his bones. 

“And actually,” Hoseok mumbled as Yoongi came back into the room balancing a small cup of water and two orange pills. “You only fucked my ass two ways to Sunday.”

Yoongi laughed, mouth open wide and squeaky ‘ha-ha’s’ making Hoseok choke on his water. 

“Fuck,” Hoseok coughed. “What am I doing?”

“I dunno,” Yoongi said, gummy smile still out as he slipped into an over-sized cream sweater. “Waiting for the Advil to kick in? Maybe go for round six?”

“What the fuck?” Hoseok squeaked, reaching for his jeans on the floor. “No. No we’re not going for round six. We aren’t doing anything.”

“Harsh.” Hoseok ignored the sting in his backside as he slipped into his jeans and forced himself up to dig around for his shirt.

“No. Not harsh. I’m going to marry your brother, okay? And you and I are not going to speak of this ever again.”

“Ever?” Hoseok lost sight for a second as he pulled his shirt over his head and when his head poked through he caught Yoongi’s smug smile. “Not even when I go to give the best man speech?”

Hoseok almost choked on his spit. He stared at Yoongi with wide eyes as the man pulled the sheets taut over his bed. 

“You’re not giving a best man speech. You’re not coming to this wedding.”

“But Seokjin wants me to come.”

The tears came before Hoseok could fully process that he was crying. He slumped down onto the bed, head aching, and nose running, muttering under his breath.

“Oh god, I knew it. I’m a part of a revenge plot.”

“Hey, hey no-“ Hoseok felt Yoongi wrap an arm around him and he slumped further into himself.

“I’m just going to have bad luck forever-”

“I swear you’re not part of a revenge plot Hoseok-”

“It’s your eyes. You’ve got those bad eyes-“

“What?”

Hoseok whirled around, fist gripping the soft cream knit of Yoongi’s sweater. Yoongi’s eyes were wide and such a deep caramelly-brown and his lips pouty and god he was so attractive.

“Your eyes, Yoongi! Your fucking eyes! They-they draw people in and can make them do things they wouldn’t normally do and-“

Yoongis mouth fitted over his soft and warm, and he tasted a little salty from Hoseok’s snot and tears and a little stale from the morning, but his mouth was warm and his lips were plush and his tongue felt so good sliding against Hoseok’s own.

“Thank you,” Yoongi murmured, brushing his nose against Hoseok’s. “You know, about my eyes. I never liked them.”

“I like them too much,” Hoseok whispered, the admission coming out of him unbidden.

“You know,” and Yoongi’s mouth was brushing over his again and it was so, so nice. “You’re not a part of a plot. I do actually like you.”

“Yoongi,” Hoseok murmured, but Yoongi’s fingers were tracing along his jawline and the plastic of his other hand was resting on his inner thigh and maybe…Hoseok brushed his lips against Yoongi’s before he pulled back, the resulting pout on Yoongi’s face almost making him smile. “Yoongi, we can’t do this.”

“Why not?” 

Hoseok opened his mouth. Then closed it. Yoongi stared at him with his cat-like eyes, face completely serious, like what he was asking wasn’t completely ridiculous.

“B-Because! I’m engaged!”

“Yeah, to someone you don’t love.”

“And what?” Hoseok stood and grabbed his shirt, buttoning it up as he paced. “Me hooking up with you is better? Is okay?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi stood as well and Hoseok tried to not stare at long pale legs clad in black slipper socks. “Yeah it is. Because I like you . And you like me.”

“You don’t know what I like!”

“We fucked five times!”

“So what?” Hoseok threw his hands up into the air and then ran them through his hair. “God, just because I - I find you attractive- ”

Yoongi crossed his arms, the pink of his prosthetic standing out against the light colour of his sweater. “Just attractive? Really?”

“Fine! I’ll admit you’re a good lay.” Yoongi raised an eyebrow and Hoseok groaned. “Okay, maybe a great lay. Fuck, you’re fuckin great in bed, but that’s not love.”

“I’m not saying it is.”

Hoseok felt tears pricking at his eyes again - his annoying reaction of automatically tearing up when he was frustrated or overwhelmed. 

“Then what - “ his voice cracked, “are you saying? What do you want?”

Yoongi stepped forward and gently removed Hoseok’s hands from his head, one hand squeezing his gently and the other just resting in the palm of cool plastic. “Let me take you out.”

Hoseok laughed, something too loud and rude for the situation. Yoongi scowled, but maybe it was the morning light or just Yoongi softening up to him, but his scowl wasn’t as intimidating as it was three days before.

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious.”

Hoseok bit his lip against his urge to laugh again. “You want to take me out on a date?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi said, too serious, and it made Hoseok’s stomach rise to his throat in a way that wasn’t wholly unpleasant. “I do.”

“Yoongi I - we can’t.”

“Why not? Because you’re so in love? Because you’ve got the ooey-gooey chocolate-chip cookie feeling you had the first time you got engaged?”

“Oh, fuck you.” Hoseok dropped Yoongi’s hands and stepped backwards, smacked Yoongi’s hand away when he reached for him again.

“Hoseok- that’s not - I didn’t-“

“Do you think you’re the only one that’s ever been heartbroken, Yoongi? No wonder you’ve stayed alone.”

“I’ve stayed alone because no one has barged into my apartment determined to make me breakfast.” Hoseok made the mistake of catching Yoongi’s gaze, of catching the way he sucked in his bottom lip like he was trying to be coy - only he wasn’t trying. “Hoseok, I’ve stayed alone because I haven’t wanted to not be.”

Hoseok chewed on the inside of his cheek and breathed deeply in through his nose and out between his teeth. It couldn’t hurt…as long as they didn’t sleep together again. And they had time - Seokjin wouldn’t be home for another week at least. 

“Fine,” he huffed, tried to ignore the bright smile that lit up Yoongi’s face. “What do you want to do?”

“Give me your number.” Yoongi grabbed his phone off of the side table and pressed it into Hoseok’s hand. “I’ll figure out the details and text you.”

“One date,” Hoseok agreed as he typed his number into Yoongi’s phone.

“Sure.” Yoongi took his phone back, smug smile back on his face. “One date if you hate it.”

“One date.”

“If you don’t want another one.”

“One date,” Hoseok said, but his voice came out breathy because Yoongi had gotten close, so close that Hoseok was pressed up against the door. 

“Whatever you say.” And when Yoongi kissed him it was soft and sweet, a brush of lips, a slight slip of tongue, and Hoseok tried to ignore it, but he liked Yoongi way more than he wanted to.

***

“Hobi?” 

Hoseok glanced up from his phone and caught Jimin’s worried look in the mirror. He quickly x’d out of his messaging app, an embarrassed flush rising on his cheeks even though he knew Jimin couldn’t see who he was texting.

“What’s up?” Hoseok asked as nonchalantly as possible despite his burning face.

“Are you feeling okay?” The crease between Jimin’s brows deepened and Hoseok took a deep breath to try to calm down his frazzled nerves.

“Yeah. Yeah, why do you ask?”

Jimin shrugged and then executed a perfect double pirouette. “I dunno. You just seem out of it. And you’re all red and sweaty. And you were limping earlier.”

Hoseok groaned before he realized what he was doing and quickly shook his head at Jimin’s raised eyebrows in the mirror.

“No. I’m fine, I promise. Just…personal stuff.”

“Hobi-Hobi, did you get a boyfriend?” Jimin slid across the floor and settled his face on Hoseok’s knees, cheeks pudging out as he rested his chin between Hoseok’s kneecaps.

“Chimmy-Chimmy, I have a boyfriend.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Seokjin doesn’t count. He’s a friendly companion. Like Sherlock and Watson.”

Hoseok chuckled even though he felt the heat of embarrassment rising up his chest again. His phone vibrated on the floor and he spoke quickly to try to catch Jimin’s attention. “You know, Sherlock and Watson were probably fucking.”

“No “fucks” allowed,” Jimin said absently as he snatched up Hoseok’s phone and leaned back away from Hoseok’s grabby hands. “Who’s Min Yoongi?”

“No one,” Hoseok said, but his voice rose two octaves higher and he nearly fell on his face as he snatched his phone back. Jimin’s mouth spread into a mischievous grin, the one he got when he put shaving cream on top of a pie slice or right before he pulled out the chair as you were sitting down. 

“You know…Taehyung works with a Yoongi. At Banjangsoo.”

Hoseok knew it was a trap but he groaned anyway - the familiar voice over the phone now given a face with a wide boxy grin. Taehyung was Jimin’s best friend; Hoseok only really saw him briefly at competitions, but he knew Taehyung had probably seen him when he went to visit Yoongi at the bakery.

“It’s no one,” Hoseok repeated. Jimin grinned wider, wriggled his eyebrows and gyrated his hips, and Hoseok covered his face with a low groan.

“No one? Like…a booty-call type no one?”

“No one as in no one,” Hoseok grumbled. “Now don’t you have a competition to prepare for? I want to see that routine with no mistakes.”

Jimin huffed, but soon the studio was filled with lilting contemporary music and Jimin was working across the floor, his body bending and molding through ballet and gymnastics alike. Hoseok’s lips quirked as he stumbled through a quick liquid digits movement they had added in - despite teaching ballet, hip-hop was Hoseok’s specialty - and he gave an encouraging nod when Jimin met his gaze in the mirror and restarted the music from the beginning. Hoseok’s phone vibrated again and he glanced down at the incoming messages.

Min Yoongi [11:48]: What about Tuesday night?

Jung Hoseok [11:49]: Can’t. Parents anniversary. I’m on cake duty.

Min Yoongi [11:52]: Come over.

Min Yoongi [11:55]: Bakery’s closed. We’ll bake a cake.

Hoseok rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help his childish grin as he typed out his response.

Jung Hoseok [11:57]: You want to bake a cake on your day off?

Min Yoongi [11:58]: I like baking

Min Yoongi [11:58]: Besides I want to see you.

Jung Hoseok [11:59]: You’re ridiculous

Min Yoongi [12:00]: Ridiculously in love with you.

“Hobi! I did it and you weren’t even paying attention!”

Hoseok dropped his phone into his lap and covered his flaming cheeks with his palms. “I’m sorry Chim. One more time; I promise I’ll watch.”

Jimin gave an exaggerated pout, sweat sticking his bangs against his forehead. Despite being nineteen and in college, Jimin still looked like the chubby-cheeked kid Hoseok had started teaching when he was in college. Jimin’s pout almost immediately dissolved into a bright grin.

“I forgive you because of your boyfriend,” he said cheekily, and Hoseok had to resist the urge to go up to Jimin and twist his ear like he’d done when Jimin was a kid.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Jimin.”

“Maybe not yet,” Jimin sing-songed as he started the track up again.

“No mistakes,” Hoseok yelled over the music. “If you mess up I’ll cane you.”

Jimin laughed as he danced, and while he did mess up in a couple of places - mostly the new hip-hop additions - Hoseok praised his hard work and dismissed him early.

“You’re favoring your right leg,” he said as he pulled Jimin into a one-armed hug. “Don’t overwork yourself before you even compete, kid.”

“I won’t,” Jimin whined, half-heartedly pushing against Hoseok’s chest. “I’m good Hobi. I’m a grown ass man.”

“Yeah? Come back to me when you actually hit puberty.”

Jimin smacked him in the center of his chest with a sharp laugh. “Fuck you,” he said with a too-large grin before he ran down the stairs. Hoseok shook his head as he watched his favourite student leave, then pulled out his phone to check the string of messages Yoongi had sent him.

Min Yoongi [12:05]: I’m sorry that was probably too much

Min Yoongi [12:07]: I’m free til 1230 

Min Yoongi [12:10]: But you can text me if you’re free or not whenever

Min Yoongi [12:17]: If you want to buy a cake I understand.

Hoseok glanced at the time in the top corner of his phone - 12:28 - and pressed the dial  button before he could lose his nerve.

“Hey.” Yoongi sounded surprised, and Hoseok could hear the commotion of the bakery kitchen in the background.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok said, his words coming out in a rush. “I was with a student. He’s preparing for a competition.”

“That’s alright.” Hoseok could hear the smile in Yoongi’s voice, imagined his small teeth and exposed gums. “I’m sorry for distracting you.”

“That’s alright,” Hoseok parroted, and his cheeks flushed at how juvenile he sounded. “Um. So. You want to bake a cake?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi’s voice got a little louder, like he had gotten pushed closer against his phone or was overly excited. “Yeah. If you want. I’d love to bake a cake with you.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok echoed again - resisted the urge to smack his forehead at how he seemed to be rendered to his seventh-grade self.  “I think I’d really like that.”

“Cool. Come by in the morning, like ten or eleven. That way the cake has time to rest. I gotta go - lunch crowd n’ all that.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok said, biting his lip against his grin. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Cool.” Hoseok pictured Yoongi leaning against the silver table in his bakery, dark hair swooped over his eyes, small smile on his face. “I’ll see you then.”

***

“So,” Yoongi said as he weighed dry ingredients and Hoseok sifted them into a giant glass bowl. “You have a star five-year old?”

“What?” Hoseok patted the sieve a little too hard and a puff of white floated up, tickling his nose. He crinkled it against the urge to sneeze and caught Yoongi’s soft gaze out of the corner of his eye.

“You said you had a student preparing for a competition.” Yoongi passed a small bowl filled with sugar and Hoseok obediently dumped it into his sieve.

“Oh, no. That’s Jimin. He’s nineteen. I’ve worked with him since he was a kid though.”

“Yeah?” Hoseok glanced over and watched as Yoongi’s tongue poked out between his teeth as watched the scale. Hoseok’s stomach flip-flopped wildly and he put his focus back onto his task of sifting. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah. Jimin’s a good kid. Really talented. Tried to get him to go out on Broadway a few years back, but he wasn’t ready for it. Mentally I mean. Skill wise he’s amazing.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow raised as he passed another bowl, this one filled with what looked like a darker, coarser flour. “Broadway? That’s pretty fuckin’ huge.”

Hoseok shrugged as he patted the sieve. “I worked on Billy Elliot. Sanjeev, that was my husband, he was sm-ing, and they needed someone to help teach the little ones. Well, help wrangle them more like.”

“So they got you?” Yoongi dumped a small pile of white powder into Hoseok’s sieve and Hoseok felt goosebumps rise along his skin as warm breath hit his bare neck. “That’s pretty impressive.”

“Well…I was fucking their stage manager.” Yoongi snorted and Hoseok smiled, watched as Yoongi put away the small scale and cleared their dirty dishes. “But anyway. I got to do what I always do but got paid a lot more for it. And most of those kids were really great, only a few shitty parents.”

“Sounds pretty amazing.” Yoongi held out his hand for the now empty sieve and Hoseok obediently passed it over. “Separate six eggs into those bowls,” Yoongi said over his shoulder, nodding toward the two small glass bowls on the table. 

“It was,” Hoseok agreed. His hands shook as he cracked the eggs, but he managed to separate them with relative ease - only getting a couple of shells into the bowl. “Sanjeev and I got married right before the show opened…” he trailed off. He hadn’t spoken about his husband to anyone really in the two years since he had passed away, and now that he was his throat felt clogged.

“You alright?” Hoseok looked up into large worried eyes and he forced a tight smile.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah. I’m great.”

Yoongi ran calloused fingers down his cheek and cupped his jaw in a way that made Hoseok blush and pushed him dangerously close to crying. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Hoseok choked out a laugh, his cheeks burning hotter when he felt Yoongi’s thumb brush along the wetness on his cheek. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I am.”

Yoongi gave a small smile, his face kind of sad, and before Hoseok could think about what was happening Yoongi’s pouty lips were pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead. “You don’t have to talk about it,” Yoongi murmured.

Hoseok shook his head and stepped away, back of his hand wiping across his eyes and laugh bubbling up his throat. “No. No it’s fine. I was just…I was gonna say that we got married before it opened and he died before it closed…kinda funny how it worked out.”

Yoongi gave a gentle smile and Hoseok returned it with watery eyes. “Ready to beat some eggs?”

Hoseok laughed, a short burst that caught him by surprise, but he nodded and followed Yoongi to the small mint-green Kitchen-Aid on the corner of the table. 

“It’s so tiny!” Hoseok exclaimed, and Yoongi chuckled. 

“Yeah, well. It’s mine. I brought it down for this. Normally we make enough to feed the city, not a cake for a family. So. Ever made a meringue?”

Hoseok shook his head and Yoongi grinned wider. “Cool. Well. Just dump your egg whites in here, put it on medium and let it go until you got a pretty white meringue.”

“Oh, well since it’s that easy,” Hoseok said with a roll of his eyes, and Yoongi’s resulting chuckle made butterflies flutter in his stomach. He followed Yoongi’s instructions as he finished the meringue and folded it into the flour mixture along with melted butter that Yoongi seemed to have pulled out of nowhere. Soon Hoseok was shoving a long pan filled with cake batter into the industrial oven and Yoongi was prepping the ingredients for mocha buttercream.

“You know,” Hoseok said with a laugh at the sheer number of ingredients Yoongi was placing on the counter, “my parents would have been happy with a plain old chocolate cake.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s their thirty-fifth anniversary, right? Opera cake is classy.”

Hoseok chuckled again and watched Yoongi as he expertly went about making another meringue.

“So, have you worked on any other big shows Mr. Broadway?” Yoongi asked over the sound of his stand mixer.

Hoseok shook his head. “I - it was too hard. You know? They asked me for help over the summer but…well I’m teaching at the Y now. And I’ve got work at the high school, so-“

“So you’re hiding,” Yoongi said bluntly as he switched off the mixer and folded in soft butter. “Pass me the espresso.”

“Excuse me?” Hoseok squeaked while he obediently passed the small cup of espresso. “I am not hiding.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows and flipped the stand mixer back onto a low setting. “You don’t teach ballet at the Y for two years because you’re still mourning,” he said without even blinking. “You do it because it’s safe.”

Hoseok felt the embarrassing flush rise up his chest and neck and he crossed his arms defensively. “Who are you to -“

“Woah,” Yoongi said, holding up his prosthetic hand. “I’m not judging you. Fuck, I haven’t been the most outgoing person either. But it is what you’re doing. Salt please.”

Hoseok passed over the salt, stubbornly silent and sullen when Yoongi locked eyes with him. Yoongi sighed and dumped the salt into the mixer, stayed quiet for a few rotations of the whisk. 

“You should try it again sometime,” Yoongi said at last, his eyes flitting up to meet Hoseok’s. “If you liked it. I’m sure you were great at it, especially if they invited you to do it again.”

“Tell me about you,” Hoseok blurted instead of what he had wanted to say - something like ‘thank you’ or ‘you’re really cute baking in your street clothes,’ or ’no one has ever made me feel this way before in my life.’ “Why baking? Aside from being good at it, I mean.”

Yoongi didn’t seem perturbed by Hoseok’s sudden change of subject. He gave a small chuckle and ducked his head as if he was checking on the state of his buttercream. “It’s science. Certain things will always react a certain way together - it’s predictable. It’s a living thing that’s predictable, and it doesn’t judge you. Just waits for you to shape it.” Yoongi paused as he flipped off the mixer and scraped down the bowl with a small angled spatula.

“And when someone comes in for bread or a pastry or whatever, they know that’s what they’re coming in for. And when they take that first bite they’re happy. I like that.”

Hoseok blinked at Yoongi, feeling very much like a fish out of water. “You’re actually very sweet,” he said, realizing too late that he sounded completely shocked.

Yoongi snorted and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Would you rather me not be?”

“No,” Hoseok said, maybe a bit too quickly. “No, it’s just…you’re so harsh sometimes it’s just…I don’t know.”

“Being an asshole is safe,” Yoongi said bluntly. He raised his eyes, dark and focused, and Hoseok felt his heart stutter in his chest. “You’re not the only one hiding, Hoseok.” He nodded down at his buttercream again. “Want a taste?”

Hoseok shrugged. “Sure.”

Yoongi gave a crooked smile. “You can dip your finger in. It’s just us,” he said as he ran the tip of his own index finger across the top of the cream until he had a healthy sized dollop on his finger. And Hoseok didn’t know why he reached out and placed Yoongi’s cream covered finger into his mouth, but he did. And the cream was smooth and sweet but also slightly bitter with a salty undertaste from Yoongi’s skin. Hoseok glanced up into Yoongi’s wide eyes, watched the way his Adams apple bobbed when he swallowed. He swirled his tongue over the digit once before he pulled away, the slight ‘pop’ too loud in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.

“Hoseok,” Yoongi croaked, and Hoseok focused on the laces of his trainers, grey and quickly on their way to becoming black. “Fuck…you’re making it really hard for me to not -“

“Not what?” Hoseok whispered, and Yoongi released a tight breath.

“To not kiss you,” he said seriously, and Hoseok felt that flutter again. He stepped forward and ran his fingers down the sides of Yoongi’s jaw, felt the slight itch of stubble against his dry hands.

“Maybe I want you to,” Hoseok whispered, and he swore Yoongi whined before pouty lips pressed against his own. Yoongi gripped his low back and Hoseok arched into the touch, molding himself to Yoongi’s body. Yoongi’s tongue swiped against his lips and Hoseok parted them readily, his tongue sliding forward to rub against Yoongi’s in a way that dragged a low moan from the back of his throat. Yoongi’s lips felt perfect against his, warm and soft, his tongue hot and slick and he kissed Hoseok breathless, kissed Hoseok until he forgot why he ever thought kissing Yoongi was a bad idea.

A sharp beep made Hoseok bite down in surprise and Yoongi pulled away with a low hiss, a bead of blood blooming on his lower lip. 

“Fuck Hoseok, you gave me permission,” he growled, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You didn’t have to assault me.”

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok said, but he couldn’t stop giggling at Yoongi’s disgruntled look, like he was a grumpy cat instead of an actual human. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yoongi waved Hoseok off, but Hoseok didn’t miss the small quirk of his lips before a paper towel blocked them from view. “Pull out the cake before you give your parents burnt shit for their anniversary.”

Hoseok worked his bottom lip with his teeth as he did what he was told, hyper aware of Yoongi’s eyes on him with every move that he made. And the worst part was that Hoseok didn’t mind. Not one bit.

***

“So who is this ‘special friend’ that helped you bake the cake?” Hoseok’s mother asked as she licked her fork. Hoseok had burnt the edges, but Yoongi had expertly trimmed them off and layered the cake into a perfect square. It was ridiculously good; Hoseok was surprised that it actually turned out considering he had no idea what he was doing.

“He’s…he’s no one. Just a baker.”

“The same baker that you called at breakfast?”

Hoseok could feel his cheeks starting to turn red and he immediately grabbed the plates and began to do the dishes. His mother laughed, high and lilting.

“The same one that gave you that love-bite on your neck?”

Hoseok knew it was a trap, he knew it was, but his hand immediately went to his neck to feel for the hickey even though he was still wet and covered in soap suds. He did have a hickey, right under his shirt collar, but he had made sure it was hidden before he got home. Even if his mother had glimpsed it at some point, he knew she couldn’t see it now, knew that he just confirmed her suspicions by reacting.

“It’s not - he - it’s from-“

“Don’t say it’s from Seokjin,” his father said around his mouthful of cake. “I haven’t seen a mark on you since Sanjeev.”

His mother smacked at his father’s arm. “Ilseong.”

“He can talk about him, mom,” Hoseok sighed as he turned off the faucet. “I’m not going to cry just because you say his name.”

His mother gave him a pouty look, the one that she usually reserved for Dawon when she refused to let their mother buy more baby supplies or maternity clothes. 

“But…your father is right. I don’t necessarily approve of you sleeping around, Hoseok-“

“I’m not sleeping around!”

His parents gave him identical looks of disbelief and Hoseok huffed out a laugh as he sunk back down into his chair, arms folded over his chest.

“My own parents,” he said with an exaggerated roll of his head.

“That’s quite an impressive love bite,” his father said, still more to his cake than to Hoseok, and Hoseok’s cheeks flushed.

“It’s from Seokjin,” he insisted, but the lie felt heavy in his chest. “Mom’s just - you remember when I was in high school and you thought dad was cheating on you? You’re seeing things.”

“But I was.”

Hoseok stared at his father, took in his watery brown eyes, his focused gaze. “You were what?”

“I did. Cheat on her.”

Hoseok’s breath whooshed out of him like he had been punched in the stomach, all the air in his lungs sucked out and into the room. “You what?”

“Oh but Hoseok, that’s old news,” Hoseok’s mother said, slapping his wrist lightly. “We want to know about this stud in your life.”

“No - wait. No! How did I not know about this?”

His father shrugged, glanced at his mother who shrugged back, and then sighed. “It was a long time ago. I ended it, we talked, I haven’t done it since. We are much happier.”

“We both had periods where we were unfaithful. They happened once, we decided to be with each other and, well, here we are.”

Hoseok stared between his parents, feeling like his entire world had shifted and changed, feeling like his parents had been replaced at some point in the day between him making the cake and slicing it for them to eat. And the worst part about the whole revelation was that in the back of his mind his first thought was: ‘oh my god, is cheating an affinity passed down from parent to child?’

“Oh darling,” his mother said softly, gripping his hand. “Don’t look so upset. It happens sometimes.”

“I thought, god and this is going to sound so stupid, but I thought you guys were perfect. Had the perfect marriage.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” his mother said. “But we do have a pretty perfect marriage. By my standards at least. Ilseong?”

“Marriage is what you make of it, son. But you know that.”

And that, that twisted him, made the sting hit in the back of his eyes, because he really didn’t; he and Sanjeev hadn’t had enough time to explore what it meant to be married. They had still been honeymooning, cultivating only good memories. 

“So this baker,” his mother prods softly, tapping Hoseok’s knuckles with her bony fingers. Hoseok sighs and tilts his head back against the chair.

“So this baker,” he grumbles in return.

“What’s his name?”

“Yoongi. Min Yoongi.”

“A Korean,” his father interrupted, standing and grabbing the rest of the plates from the table. “I like him already.”

Hoseok snorted. “Are you vetting him? He’s not even - I’m engaged . And for fuck’s sake, Seokjin’s Korean.”

“Language,” his father said over the sound of the faucet and Hoseok rolled his eyes.

“Min Yoongi.” His mother said the name with a soft smile, like she was trying it out on her tongue. “And he must be nice, to help you bake a cake for our anniversary.”

“He bakes for a living mom,” Hoseok said softly. “It’s what he loves to do.”

She hummed and squeezed his hand, and he flipped his palm up so that he could squeeze hers in return. 

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he just likes you.”

Hoseok’s phone buzzed on the table, the vibration against the wood of the butcher-block too loud for their conversation. Hoseok glanced over, fully expecting to see a text from Jimin and jumping to his feet when he realized Yoongi’s name was flashing on the screen and his phone was still vibrating. 

“Oh, you’re popular,” his mother said with a grin as he picked up his phone, and he stuck out his tongue in response.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Yoongi’s voice was gruff over the line, something a little raspier than Hoseok was used to hearing. He briefly wondered if Yoongi had somehow caught a cold, or if maybe Yoongi smoked. “How did they like it?”

Hoseok grinned. “I dunno,” he said, “how did you guys like it?”

“They’re still up?” Yoongi sounded embarrassed and it made Hoseok grin wider. 

“It was delicious,” Hoseok’s mother said at the same time that he added: ‘yeah, we eat dinner at like, nine o’clock here.”

“Jesus,” Yoongi muttered. 

“Put him on speaker,” his mother said, scooting her chair around so that she could perch her chin on Hoseok’s shoulder.

“What the fuck? No, ma. He called me, I’m not putting him on speaker.”

“Put him on speaker so we can thank him,” his father said from the sink, and Hoseok rolled his eyes at the sound of Yoongi’s laughter over the line.

“You can if you want,” Yoongi mumbled. “I really don’t mind.”

“Alright,” Hoseok agreed, and he wasn’t sure why he was okay with this; he should’ve been embarrassed, should have been trying to hide Yoongi away from his family. “But remember that you said it was okay. Don’t blame me for what happens.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

The last of Yoongi’s words came out tinny and distorted over the line, and Hoseok groaned when his mother immediately snatched the phone out of his hand.

“Min Yoongi,” she practically shouted. “The cake was delicious. Thank you so much.”

Yoongi’s chuckles sounded like gruff sandpaper. “Your son did most of it. I just made it look nice.”

Hoseok’s mother tutted and his father laughed as he shuffled over to join them at the table. 

“Yoongi, that’s sweet of you dear but Hoseok is an awful baker.”

“Thanks, mother.”

“Well I’m a lousy cook so I guess we’re quite the pair then.”

Hoseok’s mother raised her eyebrows and Hoseok could feel his entire face burning red. It was scary how easily the conversation was flowing between his parents and Yoongi; scary because he’d never had this with Seokjin - never would as long as his father was still alive, and he hadn’t felt something like this since before Sanjeev died. It made him ache with a deep nostalgia, made him slightly queasy. 

“We won’t keep you,” Hoseok’s mother shouted into the phone. “You have a lovely night Min Yoongi.”

“You as well Mrs. Jung.”

His mother giggled before she passed the phone back and Hoseok immediately took it off of speaker and sped out of the kitchen - not before pecking both of his parents on the cheek because he didn’t need that scolding at almost thirty.

“You’re quite the charmer,” Hoseok muttered into the phone as he grabbed his coat and stepped into the meager backyard. Yoongi chuckled.

“That’s me. I’m a hit among parents.”

“Do you win them all over with cake?”

“That is my speciality.”

Hoseok grinned, sat on the top step of the stoop. The concrete was cold against his bum, chilled all the way to his bones, and it made him feel like a teenager again, sneaking outside with the telephone to speak to his secret crushes.

“So, um.” Yoongi sounded gruff again, a little awkward, a little nervous. “What are you doing Saturday?”

Hoseok laughed, maybe a bit too abruptly from the way it quieted over the line. “Are you serious? Yoongi, we’ve had our date.”

“We baked a cake, that’s not a date.”

Hoseok chewed the inside of his cheek. He knew he could argue the point, knew the smart thing to do would be to say that the cake counted and cut ties, but he was curious. He had enjoyed his time with Yoongi, liked him a bit too much. It terrified him, and that in turn thrilled him.

“Okay. Say I’m free Saturday.”

“Are you posing a hypothetical?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi laughed and the sound made Hoseok smile. “I want to take you to the opera.”

Hoseok could feel his mouth drop open, too many emotions hitting him at once: excitement, terror, confusion. “You want to what?”

“The opera. They’re playing Turandot through the weekend and I haven’t had a chance to see it yet. Would like to take you.”

Hoseok laughed, something bordering on the hysterical. “The opera is like…that’s what rich people do. Famous people. Old people who have special wardrobes for galas and shit.”

“That is a misconception.”

“Still. That’s too expensive. I - I can’t-“

“Well I get free tickets so I’d really only be paying for your dinner and drinks.”

“You get free tickets?” Hoseok asked, not bothering to hide the disbelief in his voice.

“Yeah.” Yoongi sounds a little uncomfortable and Hoseok could picture him, standing in his kitchen with his oversized sleep clothes awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I uh. Used to do accompaniment for them. For rehearsals. Before. You know.”

Their conversation from earlier in the day came back to Hoseok hard and fast: “so you’re hiding.” He felt a sudden rage towards Seokjin, even though he knew deep down that nothing regarding Yoongi’s circumstance was actually anyone’s fault.

“That’s what you meant,” he said softly, nearly whispered into the phone. “When you talked about hiding.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi tried to sound dismissive but Hoseok caught the slight tremble in his voice, the breathiness that betrayed how much he actually cared. “You’re not the only one.”

Hoseok chewed on the inside of his lip as he thought about it. The prospect was exciting, and not just because he’d never been to the opera. He was genuinely excited to see Yoongi, felt middle-school-butterflies in his chest whenever he saw a text or call from the other man. He wanted to go out with him, spend time with him, learn more about him. He had said only one date but…well, Yoongi had been right. Baking a cake for his parents didn’t count.

“Alright,” he said, and his voice shook.

“Yeah? Want me to pick you up?”

“What is this, homecoming?”

“It could be. We could take a picture in your foyer.”

Hoseok laughed, laughed so hard his stomach hurt, laughed harder than he’d laughed since Sanjeev died.

“I think maybe I should meet you there.”

“You sure?” And Yoongi sounded a bit sly now, a bit coy. “The Met is a big place. And there are a lot of rich famous people in gala outfits.”

Hoseok snorted, glanced up at the still impossibly bright moon in the sky. Supermoon , the news had said. 

“Fine. If you don’t mind bussing it out to Brooklyn.”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

***

Seokjin didn’t call that week, and Hoseok didn’t find it odd because he was spending too much time panicking over what he was supposed to wear to the opera. Google searches only revealed outfits worn by celebrities for the Met Gala, and Hoseok spent his days living in joggers and fast-wicking cotton shirts. He didn’t have the capacity to come up with an outfit that extravagant. He would ask Yoongi, but their text (and phone call) conversations were free-flowing and easy, and maybe Hoseok was trying to play cool, and maybe he was trying to appear like he wasn’t as freaked out by this whole “opera” notion as he was, but he couldn’t bring himself to straight up ask.

“Just wear a suit,” his mother said as he paced around the kitchen, going to the coffee pot and back to the table so often that it almost started to feel like a workout routine. It was Saturday, the day of the show, and he felt like he could vibrate right out of his skin.

“What suit?” He said, sitting down at the table only to jump back up again and cross back to the coffee pot. It was still brewing, gurgling and dripping much too slowly for his taste. “I don’t own a suit. I didn’t even wear a suit when I got married.”

“Hoseok, sit down. You’re so nervous you’re making me break out in hives.”

“ You’re breaking out in hives?” Hoseok scratched at his neck reflexively, suddenly itchy. “You’re not the one that has to go on a date to the Met with no suit!” 

The coffee pot gave a final gurgle and wheeze, and Hoseok pulled it off of the hot plate; coffee hissed as it dripped onto the hot surface.

“That’s how you ruin a perfectly good coffee maker,” she said, a teasing tone clear in her voice, “pulling it off early like that.”

“Mother, this coffee pot is ancient.” He poured a mug of coffee for himself and when he poured milk his hands shook so much that it sloshed over the side and onto the counter.

“Hoseok,” his mother chided, and then she was there next to him, patting the counter dry with a dishtowel. “Sit down before you hurt yourself.”

“Mom,” he started, but the look she gave him made whatever excuse he had been building die in in his throat. He sighed and sat back down at the kitchen table, resting his face in the palms of his hands while his foot tapped out a discordant rhythm on the tile floor. He heard his mother place his coffee cup back on the table, and looked up just in time for her to press a wet kiss to his forehead. He grimaced.

“Mother, I’m not five,” he said, a slight whine creeping into his voice.

“Well, you’re acting like you are,” she replied as she sat across from him, clearly amused. He sighed again and fixed her with his best ‘I’m not amused’ glare. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I haven’t seen you this nervous about a date since you were in high school. 

Hoseok blushed, knew that she was right. The last time he was this nervous was when he was going to prom with his friend Namjoon. He spent weeks fretting over what to wear, worrying over the slightest blemish and even debating going to get his asshole waxed in case he lost his virginity (because that was what prom was for, wasn’t it). In the end he decided against trying to wax himself, and settled on wearing a navy suit that his mom helped him pick out at the local department store. At the prom itself, Hoseok danced with Namjoon half-heartedly, trying to figure out when they were going to actually get to it. It was during a slow dance moment, when they were crowded at the snack table, that Hoseok had pulled Namjoon into a sloppy, Hawaiian Punch flavored kiss, and Namjoon had responded with a startled laugh.

“What was that?” Namjoon asked.

“A - a kiss.”

“Yeah.” Namjoon laughed, but shook his head. “But why?”

“Oh,” Hoseok said. “I just…I thought.” Hoseok stuttered over his words, embarrassment thick in his throat as he thought about how to convey that he thought they were going to have sex.

“Oh. Wow.” Namjoon stepped back slightly, one hand up like he was trying to tame a wild animal. “Hoseok, dude, I’m so sorry. I thought we were just here as friends.”

Hoseok had stayed locked in his room for the rest of the weekend - would have stayed in bed for the rest of the school year if his mother hadn’t dragged him out of bed. Luckily Namjoon had never treated him differently, and they were still close friends even though Namjoon had moved to Chicago after college.

Hoseok had lost his virginity in college, sacrificing dates (and their accompanying nervous energy) for easy hookups where he could play confidence. He didn’t have crushes anymore, therefore he could never be nervous. And when he met Sanjeev, things were just easy. They worked together - colleagues first and then fast friends. They fell into bed together as easily as they fell into friendship, and dates (actual romantic dates) didn’t happen for them until after they were married, which made them much easier to handle.

This, his current panicked state over what to wear, wanting to impress someone because they made his gut flutter with want, with need , was distantly familiar but also something brand new. Hoseok looked at his mother across the table sipping at her green tea, and huffed.

“I think…I think I really like him, ma,” he admitted softly. She smiled at him from over the rim of her mug, and reached across the table, taking his hand in hers.

“I know, sweetheart.” He squeezed her hand. Shame and nervous excitement rolled in his gut, churning his coffee into an acidic lump that weighed heavily in his stomach.

“I don’t know what to do.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’ve got to figure that out on your own. But, if you’re still going to the opera, I can help you pick out what to wear.”

Hoseok released a long breath and then nodded. Normally he would argue that he was a grown man and fully capable of dressing himself (like he had done during prom season all those years ago), but at least not having to panic over what to wear freed up some brain space for him to instead panic over his ever-growing crush on a particular grumpy baker.

***

Yoongi arrived at Hoseok’s parent’s house at six p.m. on the dot, announcing his arrival with a quick rap on the door - almost quiet enough that it almost seemed like he had hoped no one would hear it. Maybe Hoseok wouldn’t have if he hadn’t already been pacing back and forth in the hallway. He opened the door as soon as Yoongi had started knocking, Yoongi standing there with wide eyes and his hand still raised mid-knock.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, voice a little raspy. His hair was slicked back, but a cowlick caused some of his fringe to fall into his eyes. His pale cheeks were pink from the cold, and he nervously bit his lip.

“Hi,” Hoseok croaked in response. He opened the door wider and cleared his throat. “Wanna come in for a moment?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Sure. The A is fucked, so I was thinking of taking a cab anyway.”

“What? No way,” Hoseok said, closing the door as Yoongi unbuttoned his black coat with one hand. “That would be expensive.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Not really. And when I say the A is fucked, I mean seriously fucked. I was supposed to get here an hour ago.”

Hoseok sighed as he hung up Yoongi’s coat -  his only agreement that perhaps the trains were too fucked to be reliable. He finally faced Yoongi, actually looked at him, and Yoongi smiled, tops of his small teeth barely visible.

“Hey,” he said again, and Hoseok smiled back. Yoongi wore a black blazer with a satin finish over a brown paisley shirt that was too big and fell below his knuckles. He wore black pants that were tailored so that they hugged his skinny legs. Hoseok felt a little self-conscious in his grey sweater and royal blue blazer that he got on discount at a Top Shop pop-up years ago.

“You, um, you look really good,” Hoseok said, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. 

“So do you.” Yoongi stepped in close and stood on his toes to press a kiss to Hoseok’s cheek. It was so simple, so juvenile, but Hoseok still felt his cheeks bloom with warmth.

“My, um, my mom made us dumplings - she makes these really big ones, so we can eat them on the way there.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s so kind.”

Hoseok lowered his voice. “It comes at a price.”

Yoongi ginned and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. “What kind of price?”

“You have to go into the kitchen to get them…and my parents are in there.”

Yoongi laughed, loud and sudden and squeaky, and Hoseok couldn’t help but laugh along with him. 

“I think I’m up for the challenge,” Yoongi said, but Hoseok didn’t miss the way Yoongi tucked his prosthetic hand into a pocket so that it was unnoticeable.

“Are you sure?”

Yoongi nodded. “I’m a hit among parents, remember?”

Hoseok released a breath and nodded as he led Yoongi through the living room and into the kitchen where his parents were sat at the table. Hoseok’s mother stood as soon as they walked into the room, arms outstretched.

“Min Yoongi,” she said, pulling him into a hug. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows over Hoseok’s mother’s shoulder, and Hoseok shrugged, mouthed ‘I told you.’

“You look so handsome,” Hoseok’s mother continued, holding Yoongi at arm’s length as she inspected him.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Yoongi said, his Korean thick and clumsy. “I don’t speak Korean very well.”

“That’s a shame,” Hoseok’s father said in English. “We were hoping to have more Korean in the house.”

“Seokjin speaks Korean,” Hoseok said, and the resulting awkward silence made him instantly regret it.

“I should probably practice more,” Yoongi finally said after Hoseok was sure that the silence and awkward tension would stretch into the next year. He pointedly avoided Hoseok’s gaze, and Hoseok’s stomach rose into his throat.

“Well, come over more often,” Hoseok’s mother said, passing two large lumps wrapped in paper towels to Yoongi, forcing him to take his prosthetic hand out of his pocket to accept them. She didn’t say anything about the plastic, even though Hoseok caught her noticing it with her gaze.  “We’ll be happy to talk to you.”

Yoongi bowed, and Hoseok didn’t miss the way his cheeks colored a light pink. “Thank you,” he said.

“Oh, nonsense.” Hoseok’s mother pulled Yoongi in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then pulled Hoseok in and did the same. “Have fun, be safe, and call me if you’re staying out.”

“ Ma ,” Hoseok said, embarrassment creeping into his voice and turning it into a whine. He gently pushed Yoongi back into the hallway before his parents could embarrass them further, holding Yoongi by his elbow. He took the dumplings from Yoongi as he put his coat back on, then passed the dumplings back as he put his own coat on. The air felt thick with awkwardness and Hoseok tried to clear it from his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said once they stepped outside. “For bringing up Seokjin. I made things awkward.”

Yoongi shrugged as he carefully unwrapped his dumpling and took a bite. “You weren’t wrong,” he said in between bites. “Seokjin does speak Korean better than I do. He actually talks to family, visits and stuff.”

“Yeah, but I mean -“

“Hoseok.” Yoongi looked at him with dark eyes as their cab pulled up to the curb. “You don’t - we don’t have to think about that right now. Let’s just have a good night.”

But Hoseok couldn’t not think about Seokjin, couldn’t stop the guilt clawing its way up his throat. When he saw the fountain of The Met as the cab pulled up to the curb, Hoseok felt like he was glued to his seat with shame.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked when he opened the cab door and Hoseok still hadn’t moved.

“What are we doing, Yoongi?”

Yoongi sighed and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. For a horrible moment Hoseok worried that Yoongi had given up on him, would leave him in the cab by himself, but Yoongi opened Hoseok’s door and held out his hand. Hoseok looked at Yoongi’s hand, at his bony knuckles red from the cold and cracked from dryness, nails bitten down to the quick. He looked up into Yoongi’s hopeful face, took his hand, and stepped out of the cab. Yoongi didn’t let Hoseok’s hand go; he twined their fingers together as they walked toward the building - which from the street seemed to be just made up of glittering lights.

“We’re going to the opera,” Yoongi finally said, leading Hoseok through the crowd of people in elegant coats and expensive shoes. It wasn’t the answer that Hoseok was seeking, but he found that he didn’t need an answer - at least, not yet. Hoseok shoved his anxiety and guilt down as best as he could, and let Yoongi lead him into the extravagant building with red velvet walls and red velvet carpet and men in tuxes taking their tickets. 

Yoongi took Hoseok’s coat as they shuffled into the theatre. He chuckled and leaned in close to whisper in Hoseok’s ear, breath teasing along his neck.

“You should be careful. A fly might zoom right into your mouth.” 

“Are there flies in this building?” Hoseok asked with just a little bit of sass. He felt a little out of his element - self-conscious of just how much he didn’t belong here. “Do rich people have to deal with flies, too? I thought they only bothered us poor folk.”

Yoongi hummed, guiding Hoseok along with a hand placed at the small of his back. “Maybe not flies,” Yoongi admitted, clearly amused. “Definitely rats.”

“No way,” Hoseok whispered. Yoongi laughed, leaning into Hoseok slightly.

“Why are you surprised? There are rats all over this city.”

“But this is the Met .” 

Yoongi gently guided Hoseok to their seats - somewhere mid-center. From the looks of everyone sitting around them, it looked like the seats were ones that Hoseok would never be able to actually afford.

“Rats don’t discriminate,” Yoongi said quietly, leaning in close to Hoseok’s ear. It sent a shiver down Hoseok’s spine, and he tried to not think about how easy it would be to turn his head and connect their lips. In the lobby, Hoseok could hear what sounded like aggressive xylophone playing. Dingdingdingding bongbongbong . He glanced around, trying to gauge if anyone else could hear what he heard. Yoongi watched him with a bemused smile.

“That’s how they let us know the show is about to start,” Yoongi explained as he took his seat (and also took any chance Hoseok might’ve had for a sneaky kiss). Hoseok resisted the urge to pout.

“Why does it sound so…” Hoseok searched for the word as he took his seat as well. “Intense?”

Yoongi snorted. “They get pretty aggressive with it. Like, if you’re standing outside the door waiting for someone, this guy will march up to you with the xylophone and keep banging until you go inside.”

Hoseok laughed loudly, and then covered his mouth with his hand. “You’re joking,” he said when he could finally get his giggles under control. Yoongi shook his head.

“Dead serious.”

The xylophone abruptly stopped and the lights in the theatre started to dim. Yoongi pointed up, and Hoseok watched in awe as beautiful crystal chandeliers rose up into the cavernous ceiling. He didn’t even have to try to clap as hard as everyone else. He was so absorbed in the spectacle that he didn’t notice when Yoongi leaned into him until his warm breath tickled Hoseok’s ear.

“That xylophone really gets people to their seats, doesn’t it?”

Hoseok nodded, almost said something in response, but then the orchestra music swelled and the curtains opened and he felt almost breathless at the sheer magnitude of the set on the stage. Hoseok had worked on Broadway, but he had never seen anything like that. His awe only lasted so long though; it became clear that the style of Opera was something still very old fashioned, and the acting completely over the top. The plastic bracelets for the character Prince of Persia were plastic, and Hoseok could hear the snap of elastic and plastic beads as he threw them to his crowd of adoring fans. There were sword fights where the two people fought each other on opposite sides of the stage, with no risk of them coming close enough to make contact. Children with badly fitted bald caps marched around the stage singing in falsetto. By the time the curtain closed and lights came up for intermission, Hoseok’s stomach ached from his quiet giggling. Yoongi looked at him with expectant eyes, Hoseok still had a hand clamped over his mouth.

“So,” Yoongi prompted. “What do you think?”

Hoseok removed his hand fully intending to talk about the beautiful sets, but then he remembered the bald children and he started to laugh again.

“What?” Yoongi asked.

“I’m sorry - I just - the egg-children,” Hoseok managed to get out in between giggles. Yoongi’s brows knitted together in confusion.

“Egg-children?”

Hoseok swallowed down his laughter. The anxiety he had felt getting ready that evening crawled back up his throat; he didn’t want to disappoint Yoongi with his uncultured stupidity.

“Um, the kids,” he said, feeling embarrassed. “With the bald caps? They had their hair piled up so their heads looked like eggs.”

Yoongi blinked at him, and Hoseok felt his stomach drop.

“I’m sorry,” he said, right as Yoongi started to laugh.

“Sorry for what?” Yoongi asked, still laughing.

“For - this is your turf and I don’t want to be rude-“ 

“Woah, Hoseok,” Yoongi interrupted, grabbing Hoseok’s hand squeezing. “Hoseok, this isn’t my turf at all. I just like the music.”

“Yeah, but - “

“I never really noticed the kids before, but you’re right. Those bald caps are ridiculous .”

“And…kind of racist,” Hoseok said, leaning closer.

Yoongi shrugged. “This whole show is pretty racist.”

“I’m surprised no one has said anything about it. Or - or that you don’t care. I mean, you’re Asian.”

Yoongi shrugged again. “It’s all so fake. I’m mean, it’s not like it’s based on any historical figure. It’s a fairytale.”

Hoseok leaned back into his seat. “I guess.”

“Are you offended?”

“No,” Hoseok admitted, “but I do think it’s stupidly funny.”

“But you’re enjoying it?” The way Yoongi asked the question, like a little kid seeking praise for their very first homemade meal (burnt, and a bit shitty) made Hoseok’s heart swell.

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing Yoongi’s hand, “I’m enjoying it.”

***

The opera ended almost four hours later. Hoseok had felt bad for starting to yawn towards the end, but he looked at his watch as they filed out of the opera house and made some sort of embarrassing sound of shock.

“What?” Yoongi asked, fixing his coat.

“It’s nearly one o’clock!” People standing near him looked his way, some bemused, and none of them as shocked as he was about the time.

“Yeah, it ran a little long tonight,” Yoongi admitted. “Usually we’re out by eleven thirty.”

Hoseok whistled and followed Yoongi past the fountain and down the steps to the subway station. During the ride Hoseok talked about his problems with the story line ( I mean,  she said she would kill them if they got the riddles wrong, at least she was honest ), and Yoongi talked about the music ( that moment when it’s just the woodwinds? Chills, every time ). Hoseok didn’t pay attention to where they were going, just followed Yoongi until he blinked in the cold wind outside of a subway station that was not the one near his house.

“Wait,” Hoseok said, glancing around for a familiar landmark. “This isn’t my stop.”

“No,” Yoongi agreed.

Hoseok glanced around again, took in twinkling lights that decorated the awnings and balcony railings of apartment buildings. He saw the lights of the bakery, dim to ward off potential thieves and late night shoppers. Hoseok sighed.

“This is your stop,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You’re taking me to your apartment.”

Yoongi nodded, and Hoseok sighed again. He put his hands in his pockets, took them out of his pockets, and then shoved them back in again. It started to snow, little white specs getting caught in Hoseok’s eyelashes.

“Yoongi,” Hoseok said slowly, trying to choose his words carefully around the mess of swirling emotions in his head. “Yoongi, I said I would go with you to the opera, but that’s it.”

Yoongi scraped his teeth over his bottom lip; it made it look bright pink and shiny. Hoseok licked his own lips reflexively.

“You don’t want to come upstairs?” Yoongi asked, a little sheepishly, like he knew he had been caught. “I could make some coffee. Warm you up.”

Hoseok shook his head with a small smile. “It’s one in the morning. It’s too late for coffee.”

“I’ve got decaf.”

“ Yoongi .” Yoongi ducked his head, and Hoseok sighed. “It’s not the coffee - it’s that we wouldn’t just drink coffee and you know it.” Hoseok hoped that Yoongi would catch on, that he wouldn’t make Hoseok admit aloud the desire he felt.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Yoongi questioned, peeking through his bangs. 

“I’m engaged to your brother.” 

“I know, but…” Yoongi trailed off and held both hands out, palm up. Hoseok placed his hands in Yoongi’s - the plastic surprisingly warm despite the chill air. “I’m just…what if…”

“Yoongi, I can’t keep seeing you behind Seokjin’s back,” Hoseok blurted, and Yoongi scowled before he quickly shook his head.

“No,” Yoongi said. “I know, but - listen to me a moment, yeah?”

Hoseok huffed and Yoongi squeezed his hand - one, two. Hoseok squeezed back and nodded for Yoongi to continue.

“What if…” Yoongi trailed off again and huffed out a large puff of air. “What if we dated?”

Hoseok laughed, a startled “HAH” that was a bit too loud. Yoongi flinched, looked like Hoseok smacked him in the face, and Hoseok’s laughter immediately died.

“I can’t date you while I’m married,” Hoseok said, trying to sound placating while feeling so guilty.

“That’s not what I meant,” Yoongi said, some of the gruffness that was there when they first met coloring his words. “What if instead of getting married, you date me.”

Hoseok blinked, embarrassed that the thought of seeing Yoongi instead of Seokjin hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Oh,” he said dumbly. He tried to formulate a response, but he couldn’t even wrap his brain around the suggestion. “But I’m engaged.”

“So get un-engaged,” Yoongi said with a small smile. “It’s really easy.”

“But…” Hoseok stuttered over a response. “I mean, I said…and Seokjin-“

“Look,” Yoongi interrupted, “if you want to marry Seokjin, that’s fine. I’m a big boy. I can handle rejection.”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, but if Yoongi noticed he didn’t say anything.

“Seriously,” Yoongi continued. “If you want that, I’ll back off. I’ll go to the wedding and then you’ll never hear from me again. Seokjin will be happy, you’ll be in the clear. But if you want to try…” Yoongi gave a small smile and shrugged.

Hoseok swallowed. “I’d have to tell him.”

Yoongi nodded. “ We’d tell him. I mean, we should probably tell him anyway.”

Hoseok adjusted his hand so that his fingers twined with Yoongi’s instead of his hand just resting on top of Yoongi’s palm. “What if it doesn’t work out?” He whispered. The snow was starting to come down harder, chilling the back of his neck where it melted and slid down his collar.

“What if it does?” Yoongi countered.

“But what if it doesn’t?”

Yoongi pulled Hoseok in so that they were chest to chest, plastic hand resting around Hoseok’s waist. “It’s your choice,” Yoongi said softly. “If you want to go with Seokjin, I’ll call a cab and leave you alone. And if you wanna try…well, I’ll take you upstairs.”

Hoseok bit his lips. He wanted to give it actual thought, but his mind felt completely blank. Perhaps not blank; it felt so stuffed full that he couldn’t think at all. He felt overwhelmed, excited, and terrified.

“Hoseok?”

“I think you should kiss me,” Hoseok said. His voice stuck on every other word, like his consciousness was trying to censor what he said.

“Does that mean-“

“Just kiss me?”

Yoongi hesitated, and Hoseok almost asked again, was ready to get on his knees and beg, but then Yoongi leaned forward and wet chapped lips pressed against Hoseok’s. It was chaste, just their lips together, sharing breath, but that was enough to calm Hoseok’s nerves. It grounded him in something familiar and comfortable. When Yoongi pulled back, Hoseok saw snowflakes trapped in his long lashes before they melted. Yoongi didn’t say anything, just stood while still holding Hoseok close enough that their noses touched.

“It’s cold,” Hoseok finally whispered. Yoongi nodded with a small hum. “I think you should take me inside.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly and he took a step back. “Inside, like, my apartment?”

Hoseok nodded.

“You don’t want to go home?” Yoongi asked, and Hoseok shook his head. He didn’t even have to think about it. Why not follow the crazy impulse in his gut like he did when he got married the first time? What was there to lose?

“So…” Yoongi said, pulling Hoseok close again. “Are you saying-“

“Yes,” Hoseok answered before Yoongi could even finish asking the question. “I’m saying yes.”

***

They kissed on the steps leading up to Yoongi’s front door, and they kissed while Yoongi dug around for his keys, and they kissed when Yoongi finally got the door open and tried to go up the stairs backwards while still keeping his lips locked on Hoseok’s. They kissed as Yoongi fumbled with the door to his apartment, and as he fumbled to get his shoes off - neither of them really paying attention to the fact that the lights were on.

“Um…Yoongi?”

The small voice made them jump apart, made Hoseok’s heart jackhammer in his chest. Yoongi made some sort of embarrassed noise, and he stepped away from Hoseok, leaning against the wall where he hung his keys and stored his mail (Hoseok had never noticed the fake-aged wooden mail holders Yoongi had hanging there; cute), Hoseok saw the same kid that walked in on them before sitting on the sofa.

“Hey, Gguk,” Yoongi said, shooting Hoseok an apologetic look as he began to take off his boots. “Sorry you had to see that. I um, didn’t expect you here.”

“I can leave,” the boy, Jeongguk, Hoseok remembered,, said quietly. Hoseok noticed a metal bowl filled with popcorn on the couch near the boy’s feet. There was a tattered backpack leaning against the coffee table, opened to reveal clothes messily shoved in. There was a pile of mangas on the floor, and one laying open on Jeongguk’’s lap. His skin was shower pink, and his damp hair fell into his eyes.

“No, kid,” Yoongi said softly. “Of course you don’t have to leave. I just meant,” Yoongi gave Hoseok an apologetic look, and Hoseok mouthed ‘it’s fine’, “I just meant I didn’t mean to come in here making out with someone.”

Jeongguk shrugged, his cheeks flushed a bright pink. “You’re allowed to. It’s your house.” Hoseok noticed Jeongguk glancing at him as he took off his coat, scarf and shoes. “Is this the same person who was here the other day?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi said. He grabbed Hoseok’s hand and pulled him further into the living room. There was only one couch and one chair, but Yoongi managed to squeeze them both onto the chair. “Jeongguk, this is Hoseok.”

“Your boyfriend?” Jeongguk asked, glancing between them.

“Yeah,” Hoseok said. He could feel Yoongi’s breath catch beside him, could feel the way Yoongi gripped his hand a little harder.

“It’s a recent development,” Yoongi added, and Hoseok could hear the smile in his voice.

Jeongguk nodded. “That’s good,” he mused, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his hands around them. “Yeah, that’s good. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks kid.” Yoongi squeezed Hoseok’s hand again. “But, this does mean that you should probably knock before you try to come into my room.”

Jeongguk’s cheeks blazed, and he hid his face behind his knees. “I know, I know. I learned my lesson.”

Hoseok nudged Yoongi gently. “We probably shouldn’t come into the apartment making out, either.”

Yoongi shrugged. “At least we had our clothes on.” Jeongguk groaned and Yoongi smiled, clearly enjoying his chance to torment the younger boy with embarrassment. “What, it could have been worse. We could have been naked like last time.”

“I said I was sorry!” Jeongguk practically wailed into his knees. “I didn’t think you had anyone over! You never have anyone over.” Jeongguk finally peeked out from over his knees. “I won’t walk in on you now that you have a boyfriend.”

Yoongi hummed, and Hoseok wondered how long Jeongguk was going to stick around, wondered how this little arrangement between Yoongi and Jeongguk worked. He felt he should do something, offer to cook Jeongguk some food at least, but the situation felt delicate and out of his depth. It reminded him of how much he still had to learn about Yoongi; he’d fallen for the man hard and fast, but he wasn’t Seokjin. Hoseok hadn’t worked with him for years, hadn’t had the benefit of being his friend first. Again his stomach knotted up with worry that agreeing to come up was a bad decision.

“Are you hungry, Jeongguk?” Hoseok asked, the question blurting out of him. “I could make you something to eat?”

Jeongguk blushed again and shook his head. “I got dollar pizza and some of those street nuts. And Yoongi hides popcorn above the fridge, so…” Jeongguk trailed off, nodding at the bowl of popcorn.

“Dollar slice isn’t a meal,” Hoseok started, but Yoongi squeezed his hand gently.

“Let us know if you get hungry, okay Gguk?” Yoongi said softly, and Jeongguk nodded. Hoseok felt embarrassment coloring his cheeks, but then Jeongguk smiled at him.

“Thanks, Hoseok. For caring, I mean.”

The relief that washed over him made him sag against Yoongi’s chest. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I’m a way better cook than Yoongi, though, so ask me if you want food, okay?”

Jeongguk’s smile widened. “Yeah, okay.”

“Well, on that note,” Yoongi said, poking the ticklish spots on Hoseok’s sides in order to get him to stand up, “I think we’re going to do some adult things in the bedroom.”

“Yoongi!” Jeongguk wailed, covering his ears with his hands. Even Hoseok wanted to hide himself away in sheer mortification.

“What?” Yoongi asked, shit eating grin on his face. He ruffled Jeongguk’s hair as he walked by the couch. “Blankets and pillows in the closet.”

“I know,” Jeongguk grumbled, still with his hands over his ears. 

“There’s also some spare headphones in the desk drawer,” Yoongi added, holding the bedroom door open for Hoseok. Jeongguk groaned, and Hoseok saw him get up from the couch and cross over to the small desk that was in the corner of the room.

“You’re the worst,” Jeongguk grumbled, grabbing some over-the-ear headphones and then slamming the desk drawer shut.

“I love you too, Gguk,” Yoongi cooed, then he blew a kiss as he closed the door. Hoseok stood in the center of Yoongi’s bedroom, suddenly feeling shy. He couldn’t tell if it was because Jeongguk was on the other side of the door and obviously aware of their sexual proclivities, or if it was because this was more than a hookup. He and Yoongi weren’t just fucking around anymore - they agreed to date, to be an item. He agreed to break off his engagement with Seokjin so that they could be together and, oh god, now Hoseok felt a little nauseous. He slumped on the bed, and Yoongi almost immediately sat next to him. He didn’t try to hold Hoseok, just sat beside him, and for that Hoseok was grateful.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked after a few moments of Hoseok trying to get his breathing under control. Hoseok nodded, but he still wasn’t able to sit up. He clutched the edge of the bed and breathed in…breathed out. “Look, Hoseok, you don’t have to stay here. I don’t want you to feel like you’re forced to-“

“I don’t,” Hoseok blurted. He finally lifted his head and forced a smile. “I’m just…I feel bad. Seokjin’s a good friend and I don’t want to hurt him, you know?”

Yoongi bit his bottom lip and nodded. “Yeah, I know. I mean, we’re not close, but I get it. I do.”

“But I want you,” Hoseok said. It was more than that really; the longer he was around Yoongi the more he felt like he needed him. But he couldn’t say that out loud. They’d only known each other a few weeks. Shit. He hadn’t even thought about planning the wedding, and now that he thought about it he was supposed to be married in two weeks. He groaned and covered his face with his hand.

“Is there anything I can do?” Yoongi asked softly. He rested his hand on Hoseok’s thigh right above his knee, a grounding touch that was a gentle invitation. Hoseok let his hand slide off of his face, and rested it on top of Yoongi’s, and then he leaned forward so that their lips brushed.

“Take my mind off of it?” He whispered. “I just want to think about you.”

“We’re gonna have to think about it,” Yoongi whispered back.

“I know,” Hoseok said, nudging Yoongi’s nose with his own. “I know we will. But right now I just want it to be the two of us.”

Yoongi squeezed his thigh as his breath hitched. “Yeah, yeah, I think I can do that.”

“Cool,” Hoseok said, surrendering to Yoongi’s mouth, his big hand traveling up to his chest and pushing him back into the mattress. He surrendered to Yoongi’s dark eyes and his messy too-long hair and his gummy smile. He surrendered to the gentle kisses and soft rutting and needy hand jobs. He surrendered to falling asleep in Yoongi’s arms, feeling completely and totally in love.

***

Hoseok felt like he traveled home via cloud; it was still early, around seven in the morning, but the fuzzy haze had nothing to do with the early hour. He kicked a can down the sidewalk as he walked the familiar street where he lived. He felt happy, comforted in the knowledge that he had someone that cared about him, that loved him. He couldn’t remember feeling so happy since before his husband had died, and it was unfamiliar and a little scary, but it was also so nice .

He danced his way into the house, hanging up his coat and switching out his dress shoes for house slippers. It was quiet inside, and he shuffled into the kitchen, humming under his breath.

“Well, you’re in a good mood.”

His mother’s voice made him squeak and jump. He knocked into the counter, wincing at the sharp pain that shot across his hip. His mother sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea.

“I can’t believe you thought you would get away with sneaking in after being out all night,” she chastised. Hoseok sighed and grabbed a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Mother, I’m almost thirty.”

“I told you to call me if you were going to stay out.”

Hoseok brought his mug to the table and sat down across from her. “Again, I plead the ‘I’m thirty.’”

She sighed and shook her head, taking a small sip of her tea. “I worry about you. I had no idea where you were.”

“I was at the opera.”

“But afterwards,” she said firmly. “Seokjin came by and I had no idea what to tell him.”

Hoseok choked on his coffee mid-sip; some of the warm liquid dribbled down his chin as he coughed.

“What?” He rasped, still coughing. His mother gave him a look that said she had told him this way on purpose.

“Seokjin came by last night,” she repeated.

“No,” he said, dabbing at the front of his white button-up with a napkin. 

“Yes,” she said, grinning.

“No, he couldn’t have. He’s in Korea.”

“He came back.”

“He’s in Korea with his mother who’s dying,” Hoseok said a little desperately.

“She got better,” his mother said, leaning back in her chair.

“She got better?!” Hoseok shouted, standing up abruptly. “She was dying !”

His mother shrugged. “It was a miracle. You’ve got a hickey on your neck.”

“A miracle? This is the 21st century, there are no miracles anymore!” He went to the small guest bathroom that was off of the kitchen and regarded his reflection in the mirror. His hair was mussed and he had hickeys down the side of his neck. His lips were chapped and bitten raw; he looked like he had just walked home after attending one of the orgy parties they held near Lincoln Center.

“He’s coming back this morning,” his mother shouted from the kitchen. “He wanted to talk to you!”

Hoseok cursed and gripped the edge of the sink. He knew he needed to talk to Seokjin; he was fully prepared to talk to Seokjin, but not today. Not this morning. The doorbell rang, and he looked up, frozen in place. It rang again and he let out a shaky breath. He peeked out of the bathroom and caught his mother’s eye.

“Get the door?” He asked, voice tiny and caught in his throat. “I need to change.”

His mother leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.  “I’m not cleaning up your mess,” she said firmly.

“I’m not asking you to clean up my mess,” he said, now starting to sound a bit whiny, a bit like he was thirteen. “I’m just asking you to answer the door.” The doorbell rang again and still she didn’t move. Hoseok groaned and started to go up the stairs. “Mother!”

“You’re pushing it, Hoseok,” she said, but he heard the scrape of the chair across the linoleum and he sighed with relief as he ran up the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he did so. He stripped quickly, tossing his clothes haphazardly onto the floor as he pulled on a pair of sweats and a ratty tee. He checked his reflection in the mirror attached to his closet door - there was nothing to do to hide the hickeys unless he wore a scarf, and wearing one inside would probably be more suspicious than just owning up to them. He raked his fingers through his hair, squared his shoulders, and padded back downstairs.

He paused at the base of the stairs and leaned over the rail to peek into the kitchen. He couldn’t see Seokjin’s broad shoulders, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here. He took a deep breath and jumped the last step. He caught his mother’s eye as he walked down the hall.

“It’s not Seokjin,” she said, gesturing to Yoongi taking off his coat and draping it over one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“Yoongi?” Hoseok said, his heart suddenly beating much too fast and much too high in his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I got a text from Seokjin,” Yoongi said. “I figured he’d probably come here, and I didn’t want you to - I mean, we should probably do this together, right?”

Hoseok’s mother put a mug of coffee down in front of Yoongi, then reached over and flicked the collar of his shirt. “You’ve got a hickey on your neck,” she said, shooting a look over at Hoseok. Hoseok rolled his eyes in response. “Do either of you want some oatmeal?”

“No, ma-“

“Yeah, Mrs. Jung. I would love some oatmeal.”

Hoseok shot Yoongi a withering look and threw his hands up. “Fine. Yes. Oatmeal is great. Let’s all eat oatmeal.”

“Oatmeal?” Hoseok’s father shuffled into the kitchen and sat down in the chair at the head of the table. “That sounds great. Count me in as well.”

“Ilseong, just in time.”

“Just in time for what?” Hoseok’s father asked. “Hoseok, get me a coffee, would you?”

Hoseok huffed, but he poured his dad a mug of coffee. He placed the cup on the table and sat down between his dad and Yoongi. He waited for his dad to say something, to notice Yoongi sitting there, but he seemed to be completely absorbed in his coffee. The minutes passed in a tense silence only broken by the sound of his mother stirring oatmeal in the pot and his and Yoongi’s respective fidgeting. His mother placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of Yoongi right as the doorbell rang. They all froze; even Hoseok’s father paused in his stirring to look up toward the door.

“I’ll get it,” Yoongi said, pushing his chair out, but Hoseok shook his head.

“I should get it.”

“It’s my brother,” Yoongi said, standing up.

“And it’s my fucking house,” Hoseok said, rising as well. He sighed. “Just sit down, I’ll get it.” Yoongi opened his mouth, but Hoseok pressed his finger against Yoongi’s lips. “No. Don’t wanna hear it. I’m gonna answer the door.”

Yoongi closed his mouth and nodded, but he didn’t sit back down. Hoseok caught his mother’s eye and she nodded at him with a small smile. He released a short breath and padded down the hall. The doorbell rang again, but even so Hoseok stood in front of the door for a moment, debating whether or not they could pretend that they weren’t home. He took another deep breath, and opened the door. Seokjin stood on the front porch, hands deep in his coat pockets, looking as handsome as ever. His hair had gotten a bit longer and was pushed back off of his forehead. He looked tired, but still so, so beautiful.

“Hey,” Seokjin said, stepping forward and pressing a small kiss to the corner of Hoseok’s mouth.

“Hi,” Hoseok said, nerves making his voice shaky. He hoped Seokjin would blame it on the cold. He opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “Come on in. My mom just made oatmeal.”

“Oh, thanks.” Seokjin stepped in and removed his shoes and coat. Hoseok passed him a pair of slippers reserved for guests, and Seokjin slipped them onto his feet.

“You’re back early,” Hoseok said, for lack of anything else to say.

“Yeah,” Seokjin replied with a small smile. “Turns out my mom is pretty resilient. She wasn’t ready to go yet.”

“That’s great.”

When Seokjin stood up Hoseok stepped in for a hug. He saw Seokjin notice the marks on his neck, but he still held Hoseok close and kissed the top of his head. Hoseok felt like his stomach was going to either launch itself out of his throat or drop out of his ass.

“I, um, wanted to talk to you,” Hoseok said, voice muffled in Seokjin’s chest. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin said, running long fingers down Hoseok’s spine. “Me too.”

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” Hoseok said, stepping away and leading the way down the hall. “You know how my mom is about feeding people.”

Seokjin chuckled behind him. “Yeah, I do. I came here last night and I thought she was going to throw me out when I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t.”

Hoseok heard when Seokjin’s slippers stopped shuffling behind him, and he paused, looked over his shoulder. Seokjin was staring past him, and when Hoseok looked at the table he realized that Seokjin and Yoongi were staring at each other. Finally, Seokjin released a long breath and smiled wide, his cheeks puffing up and covering the corners of his mouth.

“Yoongi,” he said, stepping around the table with his arms out. Yoongi returned the hug, though clearly awkward and tense. “God, it’s been too long. You look so good.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi said, stepping back. “You do, too.”

“Fuck, it’s so good to see you,” Seokjin said, resting a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “How have you been? How’s the bakery?”

“Bakery’s great,” Yoongi said, glancing at Hoseok. Hoseok wondered if Yoongi was feeling as nervous as he was, if he was wondering if what they were about to admit to would destroy his relationship with Seokjin forever. “So, mom’s better?”

“Well,” Seokjin sighed and shrugged. “Not better, exactly. That’s actually why I came back.” Hoseok’s mom placed another bowl of oatmeal on the table, and Seokjin smiled at her. “Thanks Mirs. Jung.” 

“You better eat it,” she said, taking a seat beside Hoseok’s father.

“What do you mean she’s not better?” Hoseok asked. He stood behind his chair, too antsy to sit down.

Seokjin put down the spoon he had just grabbed and rested both of his hands on the table. “Hoseok,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “I’m sorry, but I need to call off our engagement.”

Hoseok blinked at Seokjin’s face, serious like it got when he was running lines for a particularly dramatic role. His ears felt stuffed; he could only hear his own breathing.

“ What? ”

“My mom is better right now, but she’s not exactly healthy,” Seokjin explained. “I’m gonna go back to Korea for a bit. Stay with her. And, well, I mean, she’s not exactly keen on me marrying a guy.”

“What? You’re breaking off our engagement because your homophobic mother won’t like it?”

Seokjin shrugged. “I knew she wouldn’t approve, and it was one thing when she was going to drop dead-“

“But now that she’s miraculously better you’re going to hide me away and go back in the closet?”

“Um, Hoseok,” Yoongi said stepping around to his side of the table. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that he made a promise!” Hoseok said, pointing to the ring on his middle finger.

“Oh, yeah,” Seokjin said, standing up as well. “Can I have that back?”

“Are you serious?”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi said, sounding a little bit pleading. 

“Yes, fine, you can have your stupid ring back,” Hoseok said, pulling it off of his finger and slamming it down on the table. 

“Hoseok,” Seokjin said, staring at his neck pointedly. Hoseok felt his entire face heat with shame and embarrassment. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Yeah, and maybe I’ll come to your funeral in a red suit!” Hoseok snapped. He felt hurt, even though he didn’t love Seokjin and he knew that Seokjin didn’t love him, the fact that he was so easily dropped because someone didn’t approve of him - that hurt. Even though he knew he was no better; maybe he was even worse because he had fallen in love with someone else. He was unfaithful. His eyes stung and he stared at the table.

“Um,” Yoongi said, after a few moments, “Hoseok?”

“What?” Hoseok said, trying to get the tremble in his voice under control.

“Will you marry me?”

Hoseok’s head snapped up and he caught the shocked expression on Seokjin’s face as well. He turned to face Yoongi, one hand on his hip, part of him wanting to punch Yoongi in the face and part of him filled with the same nervous butterflies he’d had when he was getting ready for the opera.

“What?” Seokjin said.

“Hoseok?” Yoongi prompted. His cheeks were bright pink and he looked like he was five seconds away from bolting from the house and hiding under a rock for the rest of his life.

“You’re really asking me?” Hoseok asked.

“Yeah,” Yoongi said, voice even smaller.

Hoseok eyed Yoongi, the butterflies migrating from his stomach to his chest. He wouldn’t at all be surprised if he opened his mouth and a few flew out. “Where’s the ring?” He asked.

Yoongi’s eyes widened, and he patted his pockets like he actually walked around with engagement rings at the ready. “Um, Seokjin,” Yoongi said, then coughed to clear his throat. “Can I borrow that ring?”

Hoseok didn’t know what he was more shocked by, Yoongi asking his estranged brother for the ring, or Seokjin actually handing it over. Yoongi gave a grateful smile, and Seokjin nodded.

“Should I, um, get down on my knee?” Yoongi asked. He looked suddenly nervous, and Hoseok felt his heart rate pick up even more.

“Well, if a man is going to propose, he should kneel down,” Seokjin said, and when Hoseok glanced over at him he had a bemused smile. He raised an eyebrow and Hoseok blushed, as much from residual embarrassment as Seokjin using his own words for another proposal.

“Right,” Yoongi said, using the table to stabilize him as he knelt down. “Sorry, I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Take your time, old man,” Seokjin said, still grinning.

“Fuck off, you’re older than me.”

Hoseok looked between them; he felt like he had whiplash. Weren’t they not speaking to each other only months ago? Weren’t he and Seokjin engaged not ten minutes ago? Why was everything so cool - so okay ?

“Hoseok?” Hoseok looked down at Yoongi kneeling in front of him, and he couldn’t help but smile at Yoongi’s shy expression. Yoongi took Hoseok’s hand in his plastic one, and held up the ring with the other. “Would you, um, would you marry me?”

Hoseok released a long breath and took the ring from Yoongi, slipped it back onto his finger. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, Yoongi, I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi’s smile was infectious, and when Hoseok helped him to his feet and they kissed they were both still smiling so hard that it was mostly teeth.

“Do you love him, Hoseok?” His mother asked, and Hoseok laughed into the kiss.

“Yeah, ma, I love him awful.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Well,” Seokjin said, holding out his arms. Hoseok looked at Yoongi, then stepped into Seokjin for a tight hug. “I’m glad I asked you to talk to him.”

“Did you set us up?” Hoseok whispered harshly, and Seokjin laughed.

“No, but honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised.” He broke the hug, and Hoseok took Yoongi’s outstretched hand in his own, twined their fingers together. “I’m happy for you guys.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi said.

“And um, I won’t come to your funeral in a red suit,” Hoseok added, cheeks flushing deep red. Seokjin laughed, bright and wide, and Hoseok thought he had never been so lucky.

***

“He’s taking so long,” Hoseok said, fidgeting in the church courtyard. Seokjin stood beside him, looking sharp in a pale grey suit, and Namjoon stood on the other side of him - looking tan and gorgeous after working a few months along the Florida coast. Hoseok’s parents were standing off to the side, talking with Jeongguk - his mother trying to figure what his favorite food was, most likely. Jimin and Taehyung were there as well, both of them clinging onto Jeongguk like they had finally found a third to accompany them in all of their mischief. The photographer kept taking pictures, and Hoseok almost wanted to snap at her to stop. He knew that his face was probably increasingly panicky - definitely not photo material.

“Hasn’t it been a long time?” Hoseok asked.

“It really hasn’t,” Seokjin said, clearly amused.

“Maybe I should go check on him,” Hoseok said after another few seconds of fidgeting in place. Namjoon grabbed his sleeve before he could wander off and raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that bad luck?” Namjoon asked, leaning into the superstition that Hoseok knew he didn’t believe in. “To see the bride before the wedding?”

“Technically, Yoongi isn’t a bride,” Seokjin offered.

“Yeah, but it’s the first look,” Namjoon said. They both grinned, clearly joking, and Hoseok pouted.

“Isn’t it worse luck to have the bride stand you up at the altar?”

Both Namjoon and Seokjin laughed, and Hoseok pouted harder.

“He’s not standing you up, Hoseok,” Namjoon said, patting his back reassuringly.

“He’s probably having a hard time buttoning his jacket, honestly,” Seokjin added.

“Yes, but - “ Namjoon nudged him hard and Hoseok faced the front of the courtyard. His words caught in his throat at the sight of Yoongi coming out of the side door, dark hair shiny in the sunlight and white suit absolutely perfect. Hoseok felt a hand on his chin pressing upwards, and he closed his mouth, cheeks heating.

“I told you,” Namjoon whispered. “Now, go greet your man.”

Hoseok nodded; he had to resist running across the courtyard, but when Yoongi looked up and smiled at him, all bright and gummy, he definitely picked up the pace.

“Hi,” Yoongi said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. His cheeks were a light pink, and Hoseok kissed one, only barely resisting the urge to bite.

“You look gorgeous,” Hoseok whispered. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Yoongi looked properly embarrassed, his blush reaching over his nose like he had spent too much time out in the sun.

“For everything,” Hoseok said. He took Yoongi’s hands in his own, both of them, plastic and flesh, and brought them to his lips to press kisses along his knuckles. “I’m so, so happy, Yoon.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi used the grip Hoseok had on his hands to pull Hoseok closer so that they were chest to chest, nose to nose, clasped hands trapped between them. “Me too.” He tilted his chin, brushing the tip of his nose against Hoseok’s. “Is it bad luck to kiss before we exchange vows?”

“No,” Hoseok said. “No, definitely not.”

He felt Yoongi grin against his lips, and as they kissed, as Hoseok ignored the sound of the camera shutter and the sounds of his family and friends clapping, Hoseok thought about all the future kisses he’d get to have. He thought of the future, and for the first time, it didn’t terrify him. He felt ready, ready to face the world, as long as he had Yoongi’s two hands still clasped in his.