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there’s something that feels a bit like home about the tattoo parlour. he’s sat in those chairs long enough to become intimately familiar with the panels on the ceiling and the artwork on the walls, has watched out of those windows at passing strangers enough times to wonder if there’s any more of seoul to see. once, years ago, his mother looked at another fresh tattoo on his arm and clicked her tongue, asked if he understood what the word addiction meant. and maybe something about that pain always has adrenaline running through him, and maybe something about waking up with another piece of priceless, forever art on his body, gives him a high that he’s never found anywhere else.
but it’s not really about that.
yoongi leaves his bag and coat in the car before heading into the shop, already feeling at ease as the familiar smells and sounds hit him. that buzzing could put him to sleep at this point, haunt all of his dreams. this late at night, the shop is never busy, and yoongi sends a warm smile to the receptionist.
“got here just in time, hyung,” hoseok tells him from where he’s sitting behind the desk and cutting up paper towels for the artists to use. “five more minutes and i would have locked the door on you.”
“as if you would,” says yoongi, but there’s a certain fondness colouring the words. “i’m one of your best paying customers.”
“you’re one of my most frequent customers,” corrects hoseok, “and yet, i never see a fucking cent of your money for all of that ink you’ve got on your arms.”
“perks of knowing the owner,” winks yoongi, to which hoseok scoffs. knowing is an understatement—and as yoongi skirts around the end of the desk and heads back into the main part of the parlour, where several tattooing stations are set up—all perfectly clean and empty now, awaiting the parlour’s opening in the morning—and yoongi hears familiar voices in the gaps between the buzzing of the tattoo machine, he thinks: this is what it’s about. this is why the tattoo parlour feels like home.
jeongguk and jimin are sitting at the farthest station, illuminated by the lamps next to jeongguk’s equipment and the string lights set up around the room. quiet music filters out to him, some indie rock band that yoongi has been into recently and has subsequently gotten them into as well; something about this small detail makes the fondness swell within yoongi, deepened further merely by seeing them—seeing them after a long evening, seeing them knowing that he gets to do this every day for as long as he wants.
and yoongi wants.
as they’re facing away from him, the pair doesn’t see yoongi when he walks up behind them, leaning against the hand he places on the back of jeongguk’s chair. nor do they hear him—between the music and the buzzing of the machine and the story jimin is in the middle of telling, they’re lost in their own world. yoongi takes a moment to cock his head and stare down at what they’re doing; jimin is lying on his stomach on the padded table, shirt hiked up and pants around his knees, and jeongguk appears to be tattooing his ass. it’s not the strangest situation yoongi has ever found them in.
and yoongi would know them anywhere—would know that pink hair of jimin’s, the tattoos that curl around his ribcage and over his back, down to where jeongguk is leaning over him, his own brown hair sweeping against jimin’s skin where some of it has fallen out of his bun. he’d know that, too—the ink curling up jeongguk’s exposed arms, the countless piercings that dot his ears. he’d know that laughter, know that breathing.
there are some things he simply can never forget.
he waits until jeongguk pauses, wiping away excess ink from jimin’s skin in the silence of the machine, and then yoongi says, “nice bum, where ya from?”
jeongguk physically startles, turning around to look up at him as jimin turns his head and says, “jesus, hyung, you could have made him ruin my tattoo!”
yoongi grins, snorting as he leans over to look at jeongguk’s handiwork. “i’m sure a line right into your ass crack would look attractive,” he says. “not like anyone else is gonna see it.”
“you certainly won’t be seeing it if you give me a heart attack again.”
“like you could resist.”
jimin sticks his tongue out in retaliation, to which yoongi blows him a kiss and then finally looks down to see jeongguk still looking up at him, wearing that bright-eyed expression he so often does when he sees yoongi—like the whole sky opens up, like yoongi is the first ray of sunlight after the winter solstice.
“hi, hyung,” says jeongguk.
yoongi bends down and presses a kiss to his forehead, breathing out a, “hi, guk-ah,” as he does so before he steps around the chair to the table, bending further to card his fingers through jimin’s hair and press a kiss to the back of his head, too. “and hello to you, too.” he skirts around to the other side of jimin and pulls up one of the spare chairs so he can join them, watching the way both of them follow him with their eyes, their bodies; it feels strange, sometimes, to have so much attention on him. overwhelming. but something would be missing without one of them.
“how was work?” asks jeongguk.
yoongi gives a non-committal grunt, putting his foot up on one of the metal bars under the table. “work,” he says. “i swear kids get dumber every year.”
“or maybe you just get smarter,” says jimin, and when yoongi looks at him, there’s a shit-eating grin on his lips. “or you’re just getting old and can’t deal with kids these days.”
“you try teaching a group of nineteen-year-olds about philosophy, park jimin, and then we’ll talk.”
“i do teach them about philosophy,” says jimin. “the philosophy that drinking makes all of your problems go away.”
yoongi rolls his eyes as jeongguk snorts, although he knows that if he ever gets too fed up with his students, both of them will be at the ready to make it better. finals are always stressful for yoongi; no matter if his students are the ones responsible for studying and doing well on their exams, it still feels like he’s failed them as a professor if they don’t do well. and he likes to think he’s likeable—he’s covered in tattoos and piercings, has good taste in music and literature, tries to keep up with pop culture to be able to communicate and relate to his students better.
still. it’s philosophy. even he finds it difficult after devoting several degrees and a whole decade of his life to the subject.
“speaking of work,” says yoongi after a second. “don’t you have a shift at the bar in like, half an hour?”
jimin turns to his head to look at yoongi, grinning. “yep. plenty of time for gukkie to give me a tattoo.”
“you two are the most ridiculous people i’ve ever met.”
“my last appointment for the day got cancelled,” explains jeongguk with a frown. “so i called jimin-hyung and he said he would come in to keep me company because i have to stay anyway. but then we just decided it would be fun if i gave him a tattoo.”
“on his ass.”
“it’s about the only available real estate left on my body,” says jimin.
“and he doesn’t know what i’m doing,” adds jeongguk. “hyung likes surprises, you know.”
yoongi just blinks at them until jimin starts giggling at the look on his face. sometimes—times like these—yoongi feels entirely out of depth with the two of them. he’s not so much older than either of them, but they’re still different people even if they joined their paths years ago. yoongi isn’t sure getting a tattoo on his ass half an hour before work is fun, but then again, jimin and jeongguk have done more reckless things. he’s had to get them out of many more reckless situations in their pursuit of adventure and adrenaline rushes.
either way, he can’t help leaning over jimin’s bare ass to look at the half-finished tattoo as jeongguk begins working on it again. it’s a peach, clearly—and a cute one at that. jeongguk has done the entire outline and is now beginning to colour it in with oranges and yellows and reds, a little stem of black and green. under it, he’s written just peachy!
and it’s—entirely ridiculous. but also entirely jimin, so jimin that yoongi feels that fondness kick up in his heart again. and yet—“hm,” he says. “jeongguk-ah, are you sure a self-portrait on his ass is the best idea?”
“jeongguk,” jimin gasps, awkwardly twisting around and jerking away from the tattoo needles nearly touching his skin as he stares at the younger man. “i specifically told you not to do something like that!”
“hyung, he’s joking,” says jeongguk, quickly smacking yoongi in the arm. “right, yoongi-hyung?”
“obviously,” laughs yoongi. “it’s actually a tattoo of me.”
“jeongguk, i swear to christ—”
“why would i put yoongi-hyung’s face on your ass?”
“my face is in there frequently enough—”
“that’s disgusting.”
“you’re disgusting.”
“can someone please just tell me i don’t have either of your faces tattooed on my ass?” snaps jimin, still looking horrified. it would be kind of hilarious if jeongguk had decided to go with that, because yoongi knows the tattoo would be beautiful either way. all of his are—which is why yoongi has always trusted him, always had every single one of his dozens of tattoos done by jeongguk’s own hand, even before he was the prestigious and well-respected artist he is now. back when he was first starting out, still didn’t quite understand how to use a tattoo machine, yoongi was always first to offer his skin for practice. (most of those have been covered up by now, thankfully, but it’s the principle of the thing.)
it’s why jeongguk owns his own tattoo parlour now, even at the age of twenty-four. he’s good at what he does. he could make yoongi’s face look like art on jimin’s ass—but he’s still glad jeongguk didn’t actually do that.
“i was just kidding,” says yoongi, and jimin sighs with relief. still, it’s replaced with a frown, so yoongi leans over and presses a kiss to the small of jimin’s back in consolation. “sorry. couldn’t help it.”
“we were having a nice time before you showed up,” says jimin. “i’m about to tell you to go home.”
“no,” says jeongguk. “i haven’t seen him all day, so just because you two can’t get along—”
“i’m not going anywhere,” says yoongi earnestly; he’s missed them, always does. it’s hard when all of their schedules are so different from each other, but they make it work as best as they can. these nights are some of yoongi’s favourite—when he has a night class, he’ll head to the tattoo parlour after and hang out with jeongguk until the shop closes, and then they’ll visit jimin at the bar next door for an hour or two before heading home and waiting for jimin to join them. yoongi’s usually asleep by then, but he doesn’t mind; it’s waking up with them that is always the best part of his day, anyway.
once jimin relaxes again, jeongguk returns to the tattoo, continuing to work on it as yoongi asks, “how are you going to pay for this, anyway?”
“blowjobs,” says jimin immediately.
“what?” asks yoongi. “you can just give him blowjobs but he makes me do all of his chores for two weeks and let him fuck me against the wall for touch-up on a tattoo he fucked up on because he was drunk out of his mind?”
as jimin begins laughing, jeongguk looks up from jimin’s ass with a vaguely panicked look on his face. “i-i mean,” he begins. “it’s not like you complained.”
“because i’m a nice boyfriend!”
“i’d do tattoos on you two for free, but you’re the ones who insist on doing something, so excuse me for wanting to get the most out of it.”
“honestly, i just like giving blowjobs,” shrugs jimin. “hyung, i’ll give you one too if you tell me what jeongguk is actually tattooing on my ass.”
“i already told you it’s my face.”
“i’ll bite your dick.”
“wouldn’t be the first time.”
“okay, first of all, i didn’t bite it and second of a—”
jeongguk turns on the machine right at that moment, conveniently cutting jimin off with the incessant buzzing of the needles. yoongi has to laugh, leaning back in his chair as jimin tenses up for a second, and then immediately relaxes. at this point, all three of them have enough tattoos that the pain doesn’t even affect them—and yoongi has always had a high pain tolerance to begin with.
when the machine lets up again, jeongguk throws him a wink and yoongi huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. sometimes it feels like the three of them bicker more than anything else, but he knows it’s all coming from a place of love, anyway. and besides, it only takes a minute before jimin is turning his head to look at yoongi, making a grabby hand as he says, “hyung, c’mere. m’bored.”
yoongi scoots his chair over until he’s sitting in front of jimin. he taps jimin’s forehead once before jimin grabs his hand and tugs it down, using his arm as a pillow as he squishes his cheek into it. and yoongi takes the chance to card his fingers through jimin’s hair again, flopping the strands back and forth before he comments, “your roots are starting to grow in again.”
jimin makes a noise in the back of his throat. “jeonggukkie said he’d dye it for me this weekend,” he says. “right, guk-ah?”
“yeah,” says jeongguk, somewhat distracted. “i’ll have extra bleach and dye if you wanna join, yoongi-hyung.”
“i’m not sure i can show up to class on monday with pink hair, but nice try,” says yoongi, absently patting at his own black locks; back when he was still in university, he did try out a few wilder hair colours, but he’s not sure it would be so acceptable in his place of work. the tattoos and piercings are far enough, as evidenced by the several conversations he had to have with the admin board at the university he works at before they could actually hire him.
“you could just go blonde,” suggests jimin. “wouldn’t he look good with blonde hair, guk?”
jeongguk hums in agreement without even looking up, still working on the tattoo. yoongi has had blonde hair in more recent years, before he and jeongguk knew jimin. but he’s gotten used to the black, to the professionalism and regality of it. besides, he thinks it’s a nice mix with jimin’s pink hair and jeongguk’s brown, although both of them are constantly changing their own hair colours to any combination they can think of, as long as they can find hair dye for it.
“you need more colour in your life, hyung,” says jimin, lifting his head so he can grab yoongi’s arm and begin tracing the lines of ink there. yoongi watches him absently. “guk-ah, can you pass me the markers?”
without question, jeongguk leans over to the station holding his equipment and pulls out a box of markers from the bottom drawer before handing it to jimin. yoongi has no idea why he has those in the first place, but he doesn’t question it, even as jimin sorts through the various colours and finally chooses a bright red, uncapping it and trapping yoongi’s arm with his hand. he then proceeds to begin colouring in one of yoongi’s tattoos—one of the flowers on his forearm that he has yet to actually get coloured in with real ink. he can only snort as jimin begins to colour his tattoos, if only because it’s such a familiar thing in his life, even if not with jimin.
they used to do that—he and jeongguk. back when they were mere teenagers, nothing but best friends, and jeongguk was an artist with too many dreams and ideas and not enough paper to put them all down on. he would constantly draw on yoongi’s arms when they were together, yoongi’s skin always covered in flowers and geometric designs, animals and nature scenes, lyrics of songs they would listen to non-stop for a week and then never again. it only made sense, then, that when jeongguk decided to become a tattoo artist, those drawings he used to do on yoongi became tattoos instead, putting all of his love into the ink until yoongi became jeongguk’s first masterpiece.
jeongguk likes to call yoongi a walking billboard. yoongi likes to call it love.
somewhere between one tattoo and the next, between jeongguk excitedly telling him about all of his plans for the future and thinking about their past, yoongi realized it had always just been… this. that he’d always just wanted this.
they had been dating for two years when jeongguk opened his tattoo parlour next to a little bar and subsequently met the bartenders there when he and the other artists in the shop would often stop for a drink after their shifts. so it was jeongguk who met jimin first, who introduced him to yoongi between jimin pouring them shots and stopping by at the shop to beg jeongguk to sneak in an appointment. and it was evident from the very beginning that there was something there, although none of them ever really admitted it, put a name to it. it took a few months for jeongguk to get drunk enough to break down crying on their couch and admit that he liked jimin, liked him so much that it hurt sometimes, and it did hurt because he felt guilty, because he loved yoongi, but maybe, maybe, maybe—
it took another drunken night and at least one of them being on the high of a new tattoo and a confession for something to happen—for a one night stand to turn into two into three into a year and a half of yoongi getting to kiss more than one person hello and goodbye every day. of wondering how he and jeongguk ever felt complete together without jimin, too, without someone to hold his other hand, because obviously that’s better than just one person holding both of them.
sometimes he worries that jimin and jeongguk might like each other more than they like him—fleeting moments of insecurity, things that he promised to voice to them so they can show him that he’s entirely wrong. and maybe he wouldn’t mind it, anyway, because nothing is ever perfect and he loves them anyway. because love means he wants them to be happy, too, almost more than he wants himself to be happy, and he knows they make each other happy. but he knows he makes them happy, too.
yoongi watches jimin colouring in his tattoos for a few peaceful minutes, the only sounds in the room the buzzing of the tattoo machine, the soft music, and jeongguk humming along to the melody. not for the first time, he wonders how he got so lucky to have this—to have two of the best people he’s ever met and to have them so close, to know that he loves and is loved in return, to have such moments of clarity in understanding what this peace means: he’s found it. found paradise, found his family.
at least until jimin says, “ah, fuck,” and yoongi looks down to see there’s a huge streak of blue across his arm. “sorry, hyung, jeongguk pinched my butt.”
“i did not,” says jeongguk. “you just wanted to colour outside of the lines.”
“colouring inside the lines is overrated.”
“please don’t tell that to a tattoo artist,” says yoongi, to which jimin and jeongguk both snort. as jimin goes back to colouring (outside of the lines this time because he doesn’t seem to care and yoongi knows it’ll end up bleeding all over their sheets later anyway), yoongi turns his attention back to jeongguk.
“any other plans for the weekend, guk-ah?” he asks.
jeongguk looks up, moving a few stray hairs out of his eyes and getting a streak of orange ink over his forehead in the process. yoongi schools his expression into something less fond than it wants to be. “i only have one appointment on saturday morning,” he says. “that cool harley quinn shoulder piece i was telling you about, remember? and um, after that, i have nothing. so we should do something.”
“jimin?”
“i have friday and saturday night off,” mumbles jimin, still hard at work on yoongi’s tattoos. “we should get out of seoul for a day or something. it’s too fucking hot to stay in the city.”
“i kind of have a lot of marking to do…” begins yoongi, noting the way jimin’s head finally snaps up to level yoongi with those wide, droopy eyes he knows neither yoongi nor jeongguk can resist.
“ah, hyung,” says jimin. “you can put it off for a weekend, right?”
“it’s been so long since we’ve gone anywhere for even a day,” agrees jeongguk, and when yoongi looks at him, he’s pouting something fierce. suddenly, it feels like yoongi is under attack. “we never have the same days off. please?”
“please, hyung?” adds jimin.
“i don’t know,” sighs yoongi.
“hyuuung,” groans jeongguk. “we can do your marking for you. jiminie-hyung and i totally know philosophy.”
“yeah,” says jimin. “you teach about ethics, right? uh, don’t fuck your professor for an a. class dismissed.”
“oh my god,” groans yoongi. “might i remind you that the two of you did try marking a few papers last semester and jeongguk just doodled all over the paper while jimin kept correcting people’s grammar?”
“that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re marking,” protests jimin.
“you didn’t even notice that everything in the paper was factually incorrect.”
“okay, so no marking,” interrupts jeongguk. “but one of us can drive and you can mark in the backseat on the way there or something.”
there’s a beat, and then—“jeongguk, i don’t have a driver’s licence and you’ve gotten like seventeen speeding tickets in four years,” says jimin.
“it’s not my fault the speed limit is too low for my tastes.”
“how about,” says jimin, turning to give yoongi a feral grin. “since i’m apparently in the business of giving blowjobs right now, i just blow you. and you can do whatever you want with jeongguk. and we’ll let you do your marking at some point.”
“and i’ll give you another tattoo,” adds jeongguk. “also, what does you can do whatever you want with jeongguk even mean?”
“i don’t know, you two are freaky as fuck.”
“you’re the one who wanted to get your dick pierced.”
“that’s not freaky, that’s an aesthetic.”
“that’s asking for a dick infection.”
“okay,” says yoongi quickly, and both jimin and jeongguk turn to look at him with wide, hopeful eyes. “okay, we can do something this weekend. no freaky shit needed. although i won’t say no to freaky shit.”
their smiles are wide and yoongi’s heart does something strange in his chest—something that reminds him what their happiness does to him, what it means to be wrapped up in the both of them and not being afraid to admit it. he thinks of them in the summer sun, of wasting away the days tangled up in each other and always wanting more. thinks of them reaching for him as he reaches for them, bold. reckless. they’re always reckless.
“aw, hyung,” beams jeongguk. “i’d kiss you but you’re all the way over there.”
“i’ll do it for you,” says jimin and then awkwardly tries to crane his neck toward yoongi without moving so that he doesn’t jostle jeongguk’s work. and here, yoongi can’t help laughing, letting him stay in that position for a time before jimin lets out a vague whine of yoongi, seriously before he finally concedes, leaning forward and planting a kiss on jimin’s lips.
“hm,” says jeongguk immediately. “tastes like coffee.”
“actually, he tastes like stress and despair,” says jimin.
“don’t i always?” asks yoongi.
the buzzing of the tattoo machine starts again, only for a few more seconds, and then jeongguk finally puts it down and leans back, sighing out a, “done.” immediately, yoongi gets up from his chair to walk around and look at the finished product on jimin’s ass. it’s a beautifully done tattoo, cheeky and cute and naughty like jimin himself. it makes yoongi laugh to see, curling his arm around jeongguk’s head and pulling him into his stomach before leaning over and kissing the top of his head. “brilliant, baby,” he says. “can’t wait to eat the fuck out of that.”
“not until it’s finished healing,” jeongguk says firmly. “i don’t want this to scar.”
“are you going to tell me what it is now?” asks jimin as jeongguk goes about cleaning up the tattoo, putting lotion on it, and wrapping it in protective bandages until jimin can go home and clean it up.
“nope,” says jeongguk with a grin. “you’ll just have to wait until you come home so we can tell you.”
“guk-ah,” whines jimin. “that’s not fair. i’m not paying for this until i know what it is and know i like it.”
“it’s fine, i can just get yoongi-hyung to give me blowjobs in the meantime.”
jimin turns over his shoulder, leveling them both with a less than impressed glare. yoongi can only laugh, still hugging jeongguk’s head. “i swear the two of you are the worst boyfriends in the world,” says jimin. “never should have gotten involved with people who were already in love.”
“aw, jimin,” laughs yoongi. “your life would be so sad without us.”
“i was perfectly fine before you came along, thank you very much.”
jeongguk leans over and bites the swell of jimin’s ass—whether in retaliation or in consolation; it’s always a bit unclear. but then he swats the other cheek, the one without a fresh tattoo on it, and stands up, saying, “you can put your pants back on. i assume i don’t have to give you the spiel about healing a tattoo.”
“oh, give it to me anyway,” says jimin as he climbs off the table and pulls up his pants. “you know how hard i get when you use your authoritative tattoo artist voice on me, jeongguk.”
“that’s disgusting,” says yoongi. “please go to work.”
checking his phone, jimin blanches. “oh shit, i’m actually going to be late if i don’t go right now.” he’s quick to button his pants and make sure he has anything he brought with him before pulling jeongguk in for a quick kiss and then breezing past yoongi with a kiss to the cheek (“why did he get a real kiss and i didn’t?” “because you sat there and bickered me with for fifteen minutes while he gave me an ass tattoo and told me i looked pretty today.”) on his way out of the door and to the bar next door.
once he’s gone, yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. when jimin leaves, it’s always like he takes all of the light with him—like the world is a worse place without him, like yoongi can only grasp onto the remnants left behind. of course, he and jeongguk will be following jimin, anyway, but it already feels wrong without him here.
as yoongi helps jeongguk clean up the station and the rest of the tattoo parlour for closing, he muses on it—on life before jimin. these days, he categorizes he life like that—before jeongguk, after jeongguk. before jimin, after jimin. before both of them. and he thinks of how he still loves jeongguk in the same way he did before jimin, and how the two of them will always have something that can only be theirs, carved out by their childhoods together, growing in and out of each other. but he’ll always have something special with jimin, too, something different and good. it’s this dynamic, this love that works in so many different ways, has so many different words. has so many different colours and sounds and names.
yoongi never thought he would call himself greedy for it, but it’s the truth: he wants it all, wants anything that either of them will give him.
when the shop is officially closed half an hour later, jeongguk and yoongi walk hand in hand a whole ten feet over to the bar jimin works at. on a wednesday night, things are busier than yoongi might have imagined—but it’s karaoke night, so he changes his mind about that. while he’s never been big on drinking, it’s not about that—it’s about slipping into their seats at the bar, two of the stools near the end where they can be away from the action. it’s waiting until jimin spots them, light dancing in his eyes as though they all weren’t just laughing together half an hour ago.
and that’s what yoongi likes about all of this—every time they’re together is like the first time, something jittering down his spine despite the familiarity of it. he’s done this so many times, but it never gets old. jimin doesn’t even have to ask for their orders, just sets them out for them and blows them both a kiss before he heads across the bar to attend to some newcomers.
they never get to talk much when jimin is on shift, unless it’s a quiet night—but yoongi likes watching him anyway, the way he commands the entire bar like he’s the captain of a ship, like he’s the general of an army. jimin has always had a big personality and is a great leader, but he’s charming and personable and good with people. he can work quickly, can get orders right, but can charm his customers too, so they’ll tip him more, so they’ll come back on the nights he works just to have a chat.
he must be staring a little too fondly, though, because he feels a nudge and looks over to see jeongguk grinning at him as he sips at his drink. “you have heart eyes, hyung,” he says.
yoongi purses his lips. “maybe i should get that checked out.”
jeongguk giggles, already losing the tension from the day as he swivels around in the barstool and glances over at jimin. “it’s okay,” he says. “i have them, too.” yoongi snorts, curling his hand around the back of jeongguk’s neck to pull him in and give him a wet kiss against his cheek.
jimin chooses that moment to pop back up again, having a free moment to spare as the line for drinks at the bar dies down. “i smelled affection,” he says as he leans against the bar, wiping a glass. “if i’m not a part of it, then it’s not allowed in my bar.”
“don’t you get in trouble if you make out with the customers?” asks yoongi, raising an eyebrow.
“not if they’re my boyfriends.”
“it’s okay, hyung,” says jeongguk. “we were just talking about how much we like you.”
“oh,” says jimin, eyes sparkling as he takes a small step back. “then in that case… feel free to continue.”
and yoongi laughs—yoongi is always laughing with them. maybe that’s the best part. maybe they make him feel at home, make him feel light, make him feel like his jagged edges are a little less sharp. or maybe like it’s okay to have jagged edges in the first place, because so do they, and who ever said jagged edges were wrong to begin with? they each have their fair share of scars, even from each other. but they’re here. they’re staying. yoongi wants to spend the rest of his life right here, in this little bar, in the little tattoo parlour, always tasting peaches and whiskey and laughter. always tasting love.
after an hour, yoongi concedes that he’s too tired to spend much more time out. he can tell that jeongguk is reluctant to leave, likely for the same reason yoongi is—jimin working a late shift means he won’t get home until the early hours of the morning, when one or both of them will be asleep. and it’s not quite the same. it was harder when jimin didn’t live with them, and since he moved in a few months ago, it’s gotten easier, but—there’s still something missing. there’s always something missing.
still. they finally flag jimin down during another lull in drink orders and admit they have to leave. maybe to cover up the way the heart yearns, jimin says, “what? you can’t leave until you tell me what the fuck i have tattooed on my ass.”
“jimin, for the last time, it’s my face,” sighs yoongi, and jeongguk just giggles, leaning over the bar so he can fist his hand in jimin’s shirt and tug him over. from there, he presses their lips together in something more forceful than necessary—but yoongi gets it.
jimin laughs into it, pushing jeongguk away before it gets too heated. “goodbye, baby number one,” he says and then turns to yoongi, who holds up a finger.
“i’m not baby number two,” he says, and jimin rolls his eyes as he beckons yoongi closer.
kissing him over the bar, jimin says, “no, you’re bastard number two. i’m bastard number one.”
“i would have taken baby number one, actually.”
“you can be the only bastard baby, then.”
yoongi grins, kissing jimin again for good measure before he finally pulls away. jeongguk immediately latches onto his hand, pressing into yoongi’s side as they give jimin a wave. yoongi calls out, “bye, jimin-ah! don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone.”
“don’t hog all the blankets by the time i get home,” jimin calls back, and then has to turn back to the next customer. yoongi and jeongguk watch him for another minute before yoongi finally turns and tugs jeongguk out of the bar, heading into the night air with a slight shiver at the drop in temperature.
jeongguk huffs, pressing his nose into yoongi’s shoulder as they walk back to the tattoo parlour, where jeongguk has left his belongings. “need to get my skateboard,” murmurs jeongguk, to which yoongi frowns.
“is that thing really a necessary mode of transportation?” he asks. “every day i worry you’re going to fall off and crack your head open.”
“i’m not a child, hyung,” sighs jeongguk as he grabs his things, tucking his godforsaken skateboard under his arm. “you drive a car every day and those have a much higher chance of killing you than a skateboard.”
“but at least i have a seatbelt on in a car.”
“i’ll have to teach you how to ride a skateboard one day, hyung,” grins jeongguk, threading their fingers again once they get outside and begin making their way to yoongi’s car. “i’ll give you a hello kitty helmet and if you fall off, i’ll kiss your scraped knees and give you ice cream to make you feel better.”
“that feels extremely patronizing,” huffs yoongi.
jeongguk kisses his cheek. “that’s what you get for dating someone who’s totally punk rock.”
“you are not punk rock,” says yoongi. “you’re a baby. even jimin says so.”
there’s a sigh on jeongguk’s lips as they reach yoongi’s car, separating so they can climb into their seats. yoongi doesn’t even have to ask about it, just reaching over the console to rub at the back of jeongguk’s neck, curling a finger through a piece of hair that has fallen out of his messy bun. “miss him already,” grumbles jeongguk, leaning into yoongi’s touch. “bed’s too big without him.”
“i know,” says yoongi. “but just think, when he comes home he’ll wake the both of us up because he’s cold and we’re taking up the whole bed and then we’ll wish he was back at work so we could continue having our moment of peace.”
even though it makes jeongguk giggle—because it’s true that jimin does that all of the time—the both of them know they could never wish jimin was anywhere but with them. the both of them know it only feels right when all three of them are together, when they’re together and in love. the bed will always feel a little empty without jimin in it. yoongi and jeongguk will always be waiting for him to come home—come home to them.
when they go home and crawl into bed together, yoongi does try to enjoy those peaceful moments with jeongguk—wraps jeongguk up in his arms and kisses him silly, already mentally planning what kind of adventure the three of them can go on during the weekend. when he falls asleep, it still feels like something is missing.
it’s only when he wakes up hours later to a dark room and jeongguk’s heavy breathing and a knee in his side, jimin having crawled in with them and just flopped on top of the both of them, that that feeling of being home finally returns. a lazy grin curls on his lips as he rearranges himself so that jimin is squished between he and jeongguk, hitching an arm over jimin’s middle as his legs tangle with jeongguk’s.
this is it, he thinks. this is what makes the tattoo parlour feel like home, and even the bar, and especially this little apartment they’ve somehow managed to squeeze all three of them into. it doesn’t matter where or when or how—it’s just jeongguk and jimin that make anything feel like home. that make yoongi feel like home, too.
(and still later, the next morning—
“hyung,” jeongguk asks groggily, still half asleep with his face pressed into the back of jimin’s neck. he’s holding yoongi’s arm over the both of them, though, squinting through the light coming in from the blinds at yoongi’s tattoos and the myriad of colours jimin added with the markers last night.
yoongi makes a noise, cracking open an eye to look at jeongguk over jimin’s head.
“why does your arm look like a hidden object game except all of the hidden objects are crudely drawn dicks?”
there’s a beat, and then—“jimin,” deadpans yoongi, staring down at jimin’s sleeping face. “jimin-ah. park jimin, did you draw dicks all over my arm yesterday?”
he thinks jimin might actually be sleeping, but then he spots the tiniest hint of a smile on jimin’s lips, the edges curling upward in a dead giveaway. it only takes a second, and then jimin lets out a little giggle, too, clearly pleased with himself, and yoongi just rolls on top of him, fingers jabbing into his sides in a tickle attack as jimin shrieks and jeongguk laughs and yoongi laughs along—
and if they waste the morning in bed, laughing and talking and bickering like they always do, yoongi doesn’t mind. this is home. he’d let them do anything to him, if only they let him stay.)