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Yoongi fucking hates parties.
Okay, perhaps not parties, per se. Maybe that's a bit too much. He likes people. He just doesn't like being with that many of them all at once. It's too much to navigate, too many social nuances to worry about forgetting.
He doesn't hate parties. He just hates how parties make him feel.
He would have been much happier at home. Less stressed. Less anxious. But Jeongguk had wanted to go. Jeongguk had wanted him to be here.
“It’s New Year’s Eve, hyung,” he’d whined, “You can’t spend it alone. I’m not letting you.”
So here he is, sat alone on a couch in a stranger’s home instead of his own, with a plastic flute of cheap champagne in one hand, the other anxiously picking at the worn, pilling fabric beneath him.
There isn't even a dog.
He hates this.
He knows some of the people here. Not well though, and not enough for anyone to come up to him of their own accord. Jeongguk seems to fare much better, at least seems comfortable enough.
Yoongi watches him. Even from across the room he can see the way everything about him gleams, natural. Figuratively and quite literally, his eyes accented with silver glitter that's catching the light in such dazzling ways.
He's so beautiful, Yoongi thinks, an ache building in his chest.
He's staring, taking his time to appreciate the smooth curve of a waist visible under thin, red chiffon tucked into black jeans tight enough that Yoongi can see the outline of muscle, the outline of…
He looks away when he feels his cheeks begin to heat.
He closes his eyes, mind spinning. He won't admit it aloud, not yet, but he knows the truth. He is in love with his best friend.
Yoongi doesn't quite remember how long they’d been friends before he'd realized his feelings, how Jeongguk had seemingly seeped into all the right places within him. At some point his mind had decided that it had wanted more. More Jeongguk. His world had begun to color itself in nothing but Jeongguk.
Jeongguk makes him feel whole. Not that he wasn't whole before, isn't a whole person. Perhaps it's fullness that Jeongguk adds to his life. Yoongi feels full, fulfilled. He feels his heart pounding in his chest, alive, every time Jeongguk inclines his head, looks at him with doe eyes wide, and speaks satoori heavy, “Ah, hyung!”
There are many facets to the “Ah, hyung!” Sometimes it's a question, sometimes it is not. It's spoken in surprise, in disgust, in endearment, in joy. It expresses all the ways in which he connects to Yoongi, and so it is Yoongi's favorite sound, his favorite combination of words, no matter how they're spoken.
But all Yoongi can think about lately when he looks at those lips is how he wants to taste them. The thought always makes his stomach swoop low. And sometimes, when it’s quiet and Yoongi is left to himself, his thoughts turn to Jeongguk. His body. His touch. But once his mind has quieted, body has been satisfied, there is always guilt.
He shouldn't keep this from Jeongguk, should not keep up the illusion that his feelings are strictly platonic. In a way, he wants to tell him, wants to figure out if they could be reciprocated in any way.
He gets close to telling him a few times, just to hinting, but he’s always too afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Jeongguk keeps him on the phone until late at night sometimes, until they run out of things to say and fall into a quiet, laying in their own beds connected by a phone line. During those moments, Yoongi feels the urge to confess, to break the silence. But then he fills up with fear, chest heavy, airways clogged, words caught. It's Jeongguk that always breaks it, usually with a “It's late. I should sleep, hyung.” Yoongi will feel the fear dissipate, replaced with self-doubt, and he’ll whisper, “Alright. Good night.”
Some nights no one speaks, and the silence drags on until Yoongi can hear the way Jeongguk's breath slows, evens out with sleep. On those nights it is especially difficult to hang up.
There are other moments.
When Jeongguk stays over and they watch a number of stupid films neither of them really care about. Just to numb themselves out a bit. When it's dark and the length of the single couch cushion separating them feels like an infinite expanse. Yoongi wonders what it would feel like to close that space.
Yoongi watches him now, the way he interacts so much easier than Yoongi ever could. He's meek in the boldest of ways. Yoongi can still see the hint of a blush when he laughs too loudly at something someone next to him cracks, and his hand comes up to cover his mouth. Too self aware. Just like Yoongi.
It’s enough to remind of how out of place he is here, how he’s managed to isolate himself in plain sight. Inept and dysfunctional and awkward . His stomach turns and he feels panic bubbling just under the surface.
He escapes into a hall, slips into a bathroom. There's silver garland hung around the mirror, a hand soap dispenser in the shape of a snowman. Gaudy and dumb looking, the snowman smiles up at him. He turns it around so that it faces the wall and turns the faucet on, lets it run ice cold over the back of his hands.
This is how he grounds himself. This is how he stays focused on the present. The sounds from outside drift in under the door. Everything seems so much louder than it is. It fills up his head, murky and dark, makes it difficult for his body to fight off the panic he's trying to keep caught inside his chest, tight and tense.
There's a knock at the door then. Yoongi grips onto the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles turn white. The door is locked. He doesn't bother responding.
“Hyung?”
Jeongguk.
Something makes him move. He doesn't want to be alone in here, as much as he wants to tell himself he does. He doesn't want to be alone anymore.
He unlocks the door, turns the handle and nudges it open far enough for Jeongguk to see him, to take hold, to let himself in.
Jeongguk doesn't say anything. The water is still running. Yoongi's thoughts are so loud, crowding his conscious, flooding. He wishes he could turn them off the way he could reach over and turn the knob on the faucet. He doesn't. He leaves it running, the sound a companion for his thoughts.
“Are you alright?”
Jeongguk's voice sounds far away and too loud at the same time, like he's underwater but Jeongguk's speaking right up against his ear, despite the three feet between them. Yoongi shakes his head, No.
He zones out, feels himself drifting from reality, feels the anxiety taking hold of his body. He turns to face Jeongguk, better than himself in the mirror. His eyes focus on a single piece of silver glitter stuck to the center of his cheek, fallout from prettily decorated lids.
“Do you need to get out of here?”
Yoongi doesn't want to speak the truth, doesn't want to say how he very much does need to leave. Jeongguk has been looking forward to this, has spoken of little else all week. He's being a burden. He's nothing but a burden. His mind shouts, persistent.
Yoongi looks at him though, can see that he understands, can feel that Jeongguk knows this feeling, is too familiar with it himself. It is what he needs. Jeongguk can see that.
He doesn't wait for Yoongi to respond, pulls him back, takes his hand, “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”
Yoongi has no mind to combat the pull of that hand, to refuse. He's too focused on keeping his breathing even, too consumed in trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling.
He follows where Jeongguk leads, back through too many people, past the pilling couch. He pulls the front door open, drags Yoongi through. He doesn't realize where he is until Jeongguk's tugging him down to sit next to him on the front steps.
He tucks his head between his knees, does his best to catch his breath before he starts hyperventilating. The frigid air feels good, cooling the sweat at the back of his neck. He realizes Jeongguk still hasn't let go of his hand. It's held in his lap, held between two warm palms. He breathes, but it comes short, too quick.
He needs his mind to be quiet for just a moment. He just needs to catch up. It feels like he never will.
“Here. Just focus on me, okay? It's just me.”
Yoongi does, finding that one speck of glitter still stuck to his cheek. He reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, skin so terribly soft and warm beneath the pad of it.
Jeongguk cares so much. He's lucky enough just for this. He's in love. He's so in love and it feels selfish to want so much more, but he's too exhausted from trying to hide it.
Jeongguk smiles gently when Yoongi shows him the piece of glitter now stuck to his thumb, squeezes the hand he still has trapped between his own.
“You're okay, hyung. You're safe.”
Yoongi nods, too out of breath to speak. Jeongguk gives him time, doesn't rush him, allows the quiet to linger. It allows him to catch up to his thoughts, to sort through them, to pack away the anxiety-driven nonsense. He's back on solid ground.
Minutes pass before he realizes there aren't too many minutes left. He clears his throat, finds his voice.
“Jeongguk?”
“Yeah?”
“I- Do you- What time is it?”
One of Jeongguk’s hands leave his to to slip his phone from his pocket. The screen lights up, and Yoongi enjoys the way it bounces around all of that glitter.
“11:56. Almost midnight.”
Four minutes left in the year. Jeongguk should be inside with his friends. He should be inside enjoying the party he had been so excited about. Jeongguk should not be sat outside in the cold with his sorry ass.
“I’m sorry you have to be out here with me.”
Jeongguk laughs, but it's kind, far from mocking. It doesn't make Yoongi uncomfortable in the slightest, the sound of it more than welcome.
“I don't have to be out here with you, hyung. I chose to be out here with you. As long as you aren't alone, I’m happy.”
He realizes his hand is still tucked against Jeongguk's. He's okay now, but Jeongguk still holds on.
It must be nearly midnight, he thinks. Another minute left, maybe two. Suddenly he feels almost jittery, excited. Something new is coming.
“Jeongguk?”
He says it simply to get him to look. He's not really sure what he's doing when Jeongguk does turn to him, eyes wide and waiting, trusting, expectant.
“Hm?”
He wants to kiss him, feels the pull low in his stomach. He wants this, Jeongguk.
He leans in, moves slow, watches, waits for Jeongguk to hesitate. Jeongguk never does, doesn't waver. His eyes stay steady, focused, and Yoongi’s heart skitters when he catches the longing in them, clear as day. When Jeongguk slips his eyes shut, waits for it to happen, Yoongi almost stops himself. If only to look at him, eyelashes dark against cheeks nipped rosy by the cold. Pretty.
He can hear those still inside start to countdown, muffled through the door but loud enough to be clear.
10, 9, 8, 7
He's so close now, feels Jeongguk's short little breaths, held too long before they mix with his. All the edges blur, and he loses himself in Jeongguk. There is only Jeongguk.
6, 5, 4
You're the only one here.
3, 2, 1
Jeongguk sighs into him, sweet and high. It seems like relief. It sounds a lot like Finally . It makes Yoongi feel less alone than he ever has.
It's awkward at first, as two bodies that aren't yet used to fitting together this way, but it's no less good. For him, at least. For them both, he hopes. When he pulls away to look again, fear lumping in his throat, it's dispeled immediately. Jeongguk bubbles until he's giggling, bursting with joy, and Yoongi watches the way his eyes crinkle up, his teeth show.
“Happy New Year,” he whispers, and Jeongguk's smile somehow manages to brighten further.
“I’ve been waiting for that for a long time.”
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
Jeongguk pulls him in again, steals his breath, if he had any left. Yoongi feels his cheeks heat up. Jeongguk gives no pause.
Auld Lang Syne pours from under the door behind them. Jeongguk’s fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck. His nose is cold. Yoongi smiles, pulls away only to kiss it warm.
“I think I’m a little bit in love with you.”
“A little bit?” Jeongguk laughs, musical, and it makes Yoongi's heart clench, “I think I’m a little bit in love with you too, hyung.”
A new year. A fresh start.
A beginning.
Yoongi clings to Jeongguk's steadiness. There are fireworks, lit from a few houses down, that crack loud enough to resonate in his chest, that light up Jeongguk's face all different reds and blues. Yoongi sees a smile that does not dissipate, a brightness he wants to hold dear, protect. He is glad they are here, in this space, at this time. He is glad they have found each other.
Jeongguk breathes, and the air around them clouds up.
Jeongguk breathes, and Yoongi's world is so much sweeter for it.