Work Text:
Taehyung jerks awake to angry yelling and the sound of a door slamming. He groans because this is the third fucking time this month and he knows it’s not going to stop any time soon.
“Kim Namjoon, I swear to god if you move my equipment one more time I’m going to cut the fucking branches off your stupid bonsai trees,” he hears a voice shout from the direction of the living room.
“Then stop taking up the goddamn window space with your dumb sheet music. My plants need sunlight, Min Yoongi!”
“I wouldn’t have to put my shit there if you weren’t growing fucking orchids in my studio!”
“They’re gardenias!”
The voices continue but Taehyung grabs his earbuds and shoves them unceremoniously in his ears. He turns some shitty pop song on at full volume and pushes his head under his pillow.
He stays like that for a good five minutes before hesitantly pulling the earbuds out. He looks up at the ceiling in silent prayer when he’s met with silence. Taking the lack of noise as a good sign, he slips out of bed and tiptoes out of the room. When he enters the living room, he finds Yoongi and Namjoon sitting facing away from each other on opposite sides of the room. Their arms are crossed childishly over their chests and they have matching looks of petulance on their faces. When they notice Taehyung, Namjoon sends him a polite nod and Yoongi manages to grumble a sulky, “Morning, babe.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes, “Morning, Joon.” He turns to Yoongi, “Morning, baby.” He crosses his arms too, “Wanna tell me what the fuck this is all about?”
Yoongi’s face flushes red with shame. “Joon-“ he starts indignantly, but when he sees Taehyung’s jaw muscles jump in barely-concealed anger, he stops.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry too, Taehyung,” Namjoon cuts in, chewing at the inside of his cheek.
Yoongi shoots him a glare but doesn’t say anything else.
Taehyung sighs. “Look, if you guys are going to keep fighting and waking up the entire neighborhood at six in the morning, we’re going to have to figure out a new living situation.”
“But-“
Taehyung silences him with a look.
Yoongi and Namjoon sigh and stand up. It’s clear that their argument is over, and they have to start getting ready for work soon anyways. They glare as they pass each other to get to their respective rooms, but don’t say anything else.
When Taehyung closes the door after Yoongi, he slumps over on the bed.
“You guys are lucky Jimin pulled an all-nighter at the studio today,” he mutters. Yoongi nods a little miserably. “He would’ve slaughtered your asses.”
Yoongi huffs out a small laugh at that. “Come here,” Taehyung says, extending his hand. Yoongi takes it and crawls into bed with the younger.
“He’s just so fucking annoying sometimes,” he grumbles into Taehyung’s chest.
“I know, bub.”
“Maybe we really should move out.”
Taehyung bites his lip and looks down at the man sprawled over him. They’ve been living with Namjoon and Jimin since college, which worked just fine when they all had different schedules and were allowed to be carefree. But now that they’re all employed with actual jobs, maybe it’s about time to find their own place.
“Yeah, I think so.” Taehyung says, rubbing small circles on Yoongi’s back.
Truthfully, Taehyung used to envy Namjoon. Namjoon, who had been inseparable from Yoongi since the delicate age of five. It was a whole fiasco in high school, because he thought that there was no way Yoongi would actually pick him over Namjoon. Especially when underneath all the bickering, Namjoon gets Yoongi on an intellectual level that Taehyung doesn’t think he ever will. Especially because underneath all the bickering, Namjoon and Yoongi are soulmates.
Taehyung used to hate that. And it took a long time for him to understand that they’d only ever been brothers since they knocked heads in the produce aisle at their local supermarket. So when he thinks back to the time Namjoon drunkenly pulled him into the alley of their favorite club, he knows it was only ever his own insecurity.
“Listen to me Kim Taehyung. Are you listening. You have to listen to me. Listen!” Namjoon had Taehyung’s face gripped tightly in his hands, palms squishing his cheeks unattractively.
“I’m listening, Joon.” A significantly less drunk Taehyung raises his hands to grab at Namjoon’s wrists, hoping to pry his hands off.
“Taehyung, Kim Taehyung. Listen to me, I’m not giving Yoongi to you,” he slurs. Taehyung makes an abortive movement, twisting his face out of Namjoon’s grip because he’s not having his conversation.
“No, no. You have to listen to me Kim Taehyung!” Namjoon yells, pulling Taehyung’s face back into his hands. “I’m not giving Yoongi to you because he’s not mine to give anymore.” He exhales heavily through his nose. “He hasn’t been mine ever since he met you, I think.”
Taehyung’s eyes soften.
“And I’m okay with that. I’m never going to get that bastard the way you do.” He wrinkles his nose, “I don’t think I want to get him the way you do.” He trains his unfocused eyes on Taehyung’s, “So take care of him, okay? Don’t let that shithead get all in his head. Just. God, just-“ he rests his forehead against Taehyung. “Just promise me, okay?”
“Yeah, I promise Joon.” Taehyung softly dislodges his face and grips Namjoon tightly, so that the older will look up. “I promise.”
He remembers the way Namjoon nods slowly, before stumbling inside. He remembers the way he cries a little, in the cold alley behind their favorite club, because he’s so relieved. He’s so relieved and full of love for Yoongi and his biting words that are at constant odds with his kind and sweet behavior. He’s so full of the love he has for Yoongi, and of the love he knows Yoongi has for him.
He remembers slipping back inside, nose red from the cold, he says if anyone asks. He remembers the way a tipsy Yoongi wraps himself around him, kissing his cheek shyly and asking if everything is alright. He remembers burying his face in Yoongi’s neck, inhaling his familiar scent.
“I love you, Min Yoongi.”
Yoongi pats Taehyung’s head. “I love you, too.”
He cards his fingers through Taehyung’s hair softly, waving off a knowing Hoseok. He continues to pet him for so long that Taehyung starts to get sleepy. He slips back into consciousness when Yoongi stops and ducks down to peer at him.
“Hey,” he says to get Taehyung’s attention. “Wanna dance?” Taehyung whips his head up at the suggestion because Yoongi doesn’t dance. Yoongi just quirks an eyebrow, and Taehyung’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he lets Yoongi take him by the hand and lead him to the dance floor.
They dance horribly. Yoongi’s doing a weird shimmy, arms like a robot. He looks the farthest thing from sexy, but Taehyung couldn’t be happier. They dance like that until they’re exhausted and drunk on each other’s presence, whispering soppy things into the other’s ears. Jimin chucks them into a cab and sends them home because he “doesn’t need to see their corny-ass flirting,” and Taehyung thinks that this is what happiness is.
So Taehyung hasn’t been jealous of Namjoon in a long, long time. But when Yoongi talks about moving out and having their own home, talks about forever with Taehyung, he gets nervous. He gets nervous because sometimes, he gets worried that he’s stolen Yoongi from Namjoon. Sometimes, he can’t help but feel a little guilty. Sometimes, he’s not sure he deserves Yoongi. Not when a whole genius-horticulturist Kim Namjoon exists.
But he knows that mostly, he gets nervous because old habits die hard. Because if thinks about the countless days and nights Yoongi has spent proving his doubts wrong, he thinks that yeah, maybe they are ready to move out. Maybe he does deserve Yoongi. He thinks that maybe he’s not wrong to trust Yoongi with his heart.
“Kim Namjoon I swear to fucking god, if you scratch the wall with my piano one more time I’m going to put itching powder in your underwear!” Yoongi‘s voice echos across the empty walls.
Namjoon yanks at the red string connecting their pinkies, and a loud crash sounds from the kitchen. “Oh, you’re fucking dead. That was my favorite mug!”
Taehyung exchanges an exasperated look with Jimin. “If you guys both don’t stop fighting we’re withholding sex for a week,” Jimin tuts dangerously, helping Taehyung fit the sofa through the door.
“... Sorry.” They say in unison, pout evident in their voices alone.
They spend the rest of the day piling in boxes from the moving van. It’s hard work, and Taehyung’s muscles ache by sundown. Jimin has already whipped out the wine, pouring them all generous portions.
Taehyung curls up next to Yoongi, unpacked boxes and furniture still in bubble wrap surrounding them. They’re sweaty and disgusting and tired and sore, but when Yoongi flashes him a bright smile, he finds a boxy smile spreading across his cheeks. He was definitely right to trust Yoongi with his heart.