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The night before his enlistment, it’s not an entirely unexpected surprise for Seokjin to open the door to find one Min Yoongi- chronically anti-outdoors past ten pm unless it involves holing up in his studio- on his doorstep.
In true Yoongi fashion, the smaller man is, predictably, swallowed whole by an oversized black puffer over an equally oversized hoodie and jeans, glasses half-hidden under the brim of his beanie and the mask he’s wearing. He’s wearing a scarf, too; the only pop of color, Seokjin notes with some amusement. It looks like one of Taehyung’s- it could be Hoseok’s, but their resident ray of sunshine is a tad more possessive over his wardrobe than Tae usually is.
“Get your coat.” He says. It’s less of a request and more a demand as he lifts a bag of what Seokjin can only assume is an unholy amount of home-cooked food, going by the scent of meat. “We’re going out.”
“Yah, Min Yoongi,” He protests, but it’s half-hearted at best and they both know it. He’s been sitting in the middle of his living room packing and unpacking his bags and double-checking the thermal underwear his brother recommended were still where he’d put them for the last few hours; since returning home from the farewell lunch the kids had wheedled out of him. Not much of a hardship when he loves the six of them the way he does, always indulging their fussing and fretting. “You’re telling your hyung you have plans that involve leaving the house at this hour? Should I be concerned?”
The look Yoongi gives him is two parts exasperated, one part fond.
“I have makgeolli, if you’d rather stay here instead.” He offers, tone dry. It’s an out, if Seokjin wants it, but-
“Absolutely not- I’m not letting this opportunity go to waste. Let’s go.” Seokjin scoffs. He makes quick work of pulling his own puffer on- it’s colder than usual, this December- shoving his feet into his boots and snatching a beanie from the arm of the couch to pull over his head.
The lack of hair still feels weird and it’s only been a day. He’s caught himself startling at his reflection more than once around the apartment, unused to seeing his hair so short after spending so many years with longer styles. He’d obligingly sent a handful of more genuine selfies to his same-age friends, fielded the well wishes and hwaiting before finally finding it in him to post something to Weverse.
ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ It’s cuter than I thought, the caption reads.
(If he can’t promote it with confidence, if he can’t laugh about it in the way ARMY are expecting him to, he knows he’ll get caught up in his thoughts. Spiral, probably cry.)
All the while, Yoongi watches him with the same, fond little look on his features as he leads Seokjin back down to the garage, as he folds himself into the passenger seat with ease and pointedly does not ask where they’re going. He doesn’t need to; the destination has never been the point when it comes to them.
-
When they start the winding drive up Bugak Skyway, Seokjin doesn’t do anything more than tilt his face toward Yoongi, illuminated by the faint lights of the dashboard, to life a brow. The other man doesn’t say anything, but Seokjin knows he can feel the questioning look. The headlights cut washed out brushstrokes of light against the trees as they ascend, the December cold ridding the branches of the few leaves left. Through the trunks, Seokjin can see the city flickering below them, lights glittering, the glow reflected off the sporadic clouds.
He's not surprised to note that it’s the scenic route; not that it’s a long drive to begin with, but less so with the minimal traffic. Most people would rather be spending their nights in the comfort of their own beds or the clubbing districts than hauling up the side of a mountain, but it’s probably for the best this way. Better chances to notice if someone’s following them- sasaengs or nosy tabloids looking for a last-minute opportunity to plaster BTS’ Kim Seokjin across the internet just as he’s enlisting.
“We’d better not be planning on breaking the law and drinking up here, Min Yoongi.” He hums, tapping his fingers against his knee as some Yoon Dohyun ballad starts crooning from the radio- something that makes his chest flutter with familiarity.
(Of spending nights splayed loose-limbed across their beds in tiny dorms, listening to anything and everything and trying to remember how to fit back into their skin after spending particularly grueling days in front of fans and cameras and staff.)
Yoongi just snorts, a little quirk of his lip following that… doesn’t really give Seokjin much hope about possibly breaking the drinking law on the mountain, before turning his attention back to the road.
“Don’t worry, hyung, I know better than that.” he finally says, quiet. Amused, even, like stressing Seokjin out further is something to laugh at him about.
They park up by the Palgakjeong Pavilion, unloading the plastic bags of food- still warm, if a little more steamed than when Yoongi had turned up at his door, before climbing up to the lookout. The city sprawls out below them like a painting, Namsan Tower illuminated green, fortress walls tracing dark lines against the glow. It’s late enough by now that most lingering couples have long since gone home, but they spot a few stragglers still wandering the path just out of view.
As appealing as it would be to simply sit on the cold steps like they might have when they were kids, they wind up sitting on one of the proffered benches by one of the walls, breath visible in the air as Yoongi carefully unpacks his cargo between them. Meats, glass noodles, vegetables and every in between, bottles of water cracked open as they tuck into the makeshift picnic and sit quietly amongst the outdoors.
It feels like it’s been forever since they’ve gotten the chance to just slip away like this.
“This reminds me of when I dragged out to go stargazing while we were filming.” Seokjin finally says, warmed by food and quiet company from one of his favorite people.
(His favorite person, really.)
“Do you mean the time you dragged me out to go fishing in the middle of the night, almost fell into the lake, and then decided to stargaze since you were already flat on your back?” Yoongi corrects with an inelegant snort. Seokjin sees the way his lips turn up, gums visible as his cheeks turn his eyes into crescents at the memory. “Sure, you took me out to go stargazing, hyung.”
“Yah!” he protests, even as a smile of his own stretches his cheeks.
(Honestly, it’s one of Seokjin’s most preciously clutched memories.)
Back when the world was still in limbo, making and no-contact and minimal contact, face calls instead of living under the same roof. In the Soop had felt like a balm after being trapped indoors for so long, all of them glad to be sharing the same space again after being apart.
He’d dragged Yoongi down to the water after a couple of drinks one night- grumbling, displeased at being kept away from his bed- but the fond quirk of his lips had betrayed him as they’d bundled up in too many layers and wobbled down to the water, shoes rustling in the grass. Yoongi had given him a Look; one suggesting he wanted nothing to do with Seokjin’s antics with a pout and cat-squinted eyes as he turtled further into his jacket like it could protect him from whatever came next.
-
“You could do this during the day, you know. When it’s warmer.” Yoongi says, just shy of a whine.
“Ah, but then where would I get to see the stars, Yoongi-yah?” he coos, teasing as he flicks the rod and hears, more than sees, the hook hit the water. He glances over just in time to see Yoongi look up toward the sky, squinting like they could see anything beyond the camping light sitting between them.
“You’re so full of shit.”
“I am not- look, you just need to turn the light off.” he sputters through indignant laughter, squeaking delightedly at the sour look he gets in return.
“But then you won’t be able to fish.”
“Well, it wasn’t like he’d really planned to be fishing in the first place, so that wouldn’t be much of a problem. Still, better to play it up.
“I could.” He points out.
“With your luck, one of us would end up with a hook through our hand. Or something equally painful.” Yoongi snorts. “Have your fun, then show me the stars, Galileo.”
(Never mind that Seokjin didn’t even remember any constellations, as they’d lain there looking up at the stars painted across the sky above them, an impressionist view of eternity.)
-
“Do you remember what you said that night?” Yoongi asks, nudging at his shoulder when Seokjin doesn’t immediately reply, lost in thought.
“Mm, not really.” He admits, soft.
“You told me that sometimes, it just helps to look up at the stars and remember how small everything really is. That it’s not all terrible or seems more important than what it is or where we are right now. And that when it’s dark, to look for stars; just to remember that.” Yoongi exhales something that might be a laugh, gentle as he threads their hands together. “I didn’t take you to be much of a philosopher back then, but I still think about that night sometimes. It’s just… a reminder that we’re all people at the end of the day. Bangtan, us, our lives. It still feels so big, even after everything we’ve been through.”
Seokjin just nods. He doesn’t quite trust his voice right now, something swelling in his throat even as he feels soft, soft, soft.
“I’m glad we’re here, hyung.” Yoongi continues quietly, eyes empathetic as his thumb rubs across the back of his hand. Unspoken goes the I’m glad you’re here with me. That we chose each other. That we’ve got each other’s backs.
“Me too, Yoongi-yah.” He finally manages, thawing, shoulders relaxing.
(“Good. Now can we please get back in the car? I can’t feel my feet.”)
-
“Remember our fishing trip?”
Yoongi’s got his hands shoved against one of the vents with the heat cranked on high, cheeks flushed from the cold. Seokjin’s pretty sure he’s not much better- the tips of his ears are cold even with the beanie over them.
“Which one- Malta? New Zealand? The one we rented that ridiculously large boat when it was just the two of us?” he finds himself laughing, loud in the small interior of the car.
“The other one; when you dragged me out of bed at two in the morning and being aggressively awake about it.”
“I was excited-“
“You shoved the camera in my face-“
“You fell asleep on me while we were on a moving boat! I managed to catch three fish and the only thing you managed to catch was a nap.”
“It was a great nap, I’ll have you know.” Yoongi sniffs, flexing his hands before reaching for the wheel. “You did manage to catch our breakfast though, so it wasn’t all bad.”
“I’ll have you know I’m an incredible fisherman. I should give up my day job and move to Jeju. Buy a boat and open a restaurant- I’m a fabulous cook, too. Really, I’m incredible at everything.”
“So humble.”
“I know my limits.”
“Mm.” there’s definitely a smile tugging at Yoongi’s lips as he reverses out of the parking lot, begins the drive back down toward Seoul again.
Seokjin narrows his eyes.
“Say it.”
“Say what?” Yoongi asks innocently.
“You know what.”
“Afraid not, hyung.”
“Say, ‘Seokjin-hyung, you are the most handsome, greatest, and most talented fisherman I have ever known.’”
“I’m going to shove you out of the car and let you roll down the mountain.”
Seokjin tips his head back, looking at the distant, dim stars he can just make out through the city’s glow through the skylight, feeling lighter just by being in the other man’s company. The giggle caught in his throat peters out after a few moments.
“You wouldn’t. You love me too much.”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he does turn the radio up. His mouth twitches.
-
“We’re eternal roommates, right hyung?”
Yoongi’s tone has dropped into that low fondness it gets when he’s pretending he isn’t enjoying the conversation. They’ve both been laughing for a while, have been since they stumbled back into Seokjin’s apartment, took one look at the duffel bags, and cracked open the bottle of makgeolli.
Right now, Seokjin is leaning into Yoongi’s shoulder, touchier than either of them usually allows- Yoongi lets him stay there. For a moment, the weight of tomorrow is eased and it’s just another night, every night, a decade of nights where the only thing that matters is taking care of each other and making sure there were as many laughs as there were tears or curses or fights.
Sometimes, Yoongi gets quiet when he drinks. Like he’s trying to process the entire scope of human emotion without the overthinking that comes along with sobriety. Not always a bad thing, aside from the odd moment where he either looks vaguely pained or constipated. Sometimes both, but that’s usually with the rest of the kids after someone cracks a joke that has all of their noses crinkling in amused distaste.
“Over anyone.” Seokjin says automatically, immediate. “I meant it.”
Yoongi peers at him through his glasses, rumbled and warm and soft along the edges, hum rumbling through him like a purr before he nods.
“Yeah, I know.”
The silence that follows is filled with years. Ten of them, give or take, stretching all the way back to that first closet of a dorm where they’d been living on top of each other. Not an easy feat, given how much teenage hormone was forced into that space. The dorms that followed, as BTS slowly crawled out of bankruptcy. After they’d all split into their little units, roommates settling into a rhythm, it had been ridiculous how easy it was to share space with Yoongi.
There would be the nights, sometimes, where Yoongi would stagger back home at some unholy hour from the studio, still fighting for recognition in an industry that would spit any of them right back out if they allowed even a moment of weakness. The nights where Seokjin would even his breathing and pretend to be asleep instead of admitting he’d waited up for him.
Sometimes, Yoongi would shuffle in on heavy feet, pause before whispering a careful, hyung, are you awake?
Those were the nights they spent watching a movie or anime on Seokjin’s laptop with the brightness low, wired headphones shared between them so as not to disturb anyone else in the dorm.
They were considerate roommates; they cleaned up after themselves, would take turns doing laundry or cleaning depending on their schedules. Their everyday paths rarely overlapped aside from meals and in the late, quiet hours that seemed to belong solely to them.
The thing Seokjin always, always remembers were the nights when a softened Yoongi would stumble home after nights out with friends, alcohol bringing out the quiet slur of dialect as he quietly crept into Seokjin’s bed and whisper, I love you, hyung into the back of his neck like a prayer.
The days where it was still early and they were both awake, Seokjin laughed it off. Yoongi would complain and pout half-heartedly about it the next morning. But neither of them has ever mustered the nerve to actually Talk about it, which meant that it kept happening.
And happening.
(And happening.)
“You know what I think about sometimes?” Yoongi finally muses, eyes fixed out on the Seoul skyline, “That old dorm where it was just the seven of us stuck on top of each other in that single room.”
“God, that room.” Seokjin sighs, shaking his head. “I still don’t know how we all made it through that without starving or killing each other.”
“It was touch and go for a while.” Yoongi recalls. “Thank God you showed up with your eomma’s cookware when you did. Namjoon was trying his best, but-“
“The raw chicken smoothies.” Seokjin shudders. “And I didn’t steal those pots, I just… permanently borrowed them. They were nice! We had nothing. It’s not like I haven’t replaced them. And half of her kitchen since.”
Another drink poured, reminiscence coming about the further into the bottle they’re venturing. Seokjin is probably going to regret it come morning, but right now it’s exactly what he needs to distract from the oncoming inevitability.
(He’s proud to serve his country, but if there’s one thing he’s never quite been able to shake, it’s the ever-present fear of the unknown. Of what the next year and a half is going to hold for him.)
“Kook-ah was growing like a weed for a while there. Grew out of all of his clothes in a week, and you were still feeding him like it was your job.”
Seokjin snorts. Levels a pointed stare over at Yoongi, curled up on the other side of the couch. “Of course I was- we’re the hyungs. It’s what we’re supposed to do for them. Even if Jimin and Taehyung tried my patience every other day.”
“Isn’t it something that we’re the youngest in our families?” Yoongi asks. He picks at a loose thread on his jeans, brows furrowed in thought. “We were just kids raising kids.”
“Ah, well. We kept up pretty well, all things considered, didn’t we? Between the two of us we managed to keep the kids alive.” Seokjin chuckles. It’s less a full laugh now, more a tired breath, but he’s warm and fond in equal measure. “You, me, and the five kids we somehow wound up adopting.”
The quiet resumes. Below them, the city continues to breathe in the way it always does. Traffic and people living their own lives, each of them in their own bubble, their own moments in time. Quieter now, some places dimmed, the office towers winking out floor by floor until only a handful remain.
Finally, Yoongi turns to look at Seokjin. There’s something in his eyes that he doesn’t really know how to name.
“We raised them, hyung. You and me.”
Seokjin knows that much is true.
They might have had some help along the way, but it doesn’t erase the years of cooking dinners and meal prepping into the early morning hours after a schedule, of making sure their youngest three had enough to eat, making sure that Taehyung and Jimin and Jungkook knew that there was someone who was willing to look out for them beyond just the reasons of being in a group together. Waiting up for Namjoon and Hoseok whenever they wound up staying far too late at the company building. All of the years of Yoongi and Seokjin sharing the load and quietly handling the things that could have- would have- fallen apart if someone wasn’t paying attention.
Holding all of their threads together as they became a new fabric together.
“We did a pretty damn good job.” Seokjin says with feeling.
Yoongi watches him. For a moment, his features are completely unguarded, open in a way Seokjin rarely gets to see while the other man is sober.
“Yeah,” he agrees, “We did.”
“Cheers to that.”
They toast before downing the last mouthfuls of their makgeolli.
“I should probably walk home.” Yoongi sighs, a little petulant as he looks toward the door. “It’s an early day for us tomorrow.”
Seokjin nods, the fullness in his chest at odds with the little hollow hole that’s opened up somewhere in his gut. Tomorrow, he’ll put on a uniform and walk into the recruitment center and become someone else’s to direct. This strange and enormous life he has will pause. He’ll still text, but it will be at assigned hours. Joke that he’s experiencing everything first so they’ll know what to expect, just like the eldest should.
Right now, though, he’s not that person. Right now, he’s just Kim Seokjin, sitting next to Yoongi on the couch, the lights of the city imitating the barely visible stars, and the bottle is empty and there’s too many unsaid things that are swelling up to the surface that he’s been ignoring for too long.
“Stay.” He says instead. He wants to make some kind of joke about it, that it’ll be just like old times, but instead his throat closes up on him with an almost embarrassing squeak he can’t clear.
Without hesitation, Yoongi is there, the smell of the food they’d shared earlier still clinging to his hoodie as he wraps his arms around him. It’s awkward; Yoongi’s chin is digging into Seokjin’s shoulder, hands fisting into his cardigan. Underneath it all, he smells like makgeolli and laundry detergent and home. He closes his eyes and holds on for dear life, terrified of what it would mean if he broke the silence first.
“It’s only eighteen months.” He says into Yoongi’s collar. A promise, or a reminder, he doesn’t know.
“It is.”
“I’ll call.”
“You’d better. I’m going to need something to look forward to so I don’t go insane trying to wrangle the kids without you.” he threatens. It’s an empty threat, they both know it.
“Stay?”
“Yeah hyung, I’ll stay.”
-
Seokjin and Yoongi orbit around one another in practiced choreography as they brush their teeth, Yoongi borrowing one of Seokjin’s spare shirts that he’d decided against taking with him and a pair of shorts that were probably Hoseok’s at one point. Either way, they’re about half a foot too long for the shorter man, almost hitting his calves as they sleepily bump shoulders and giggle around toothpaste suds.
One of the perks of this apartment has been the large spare bedroom someone or other can usually be found taking advantage of after a night of overindulgence- usually Jungkook or Taehyung, but occasionally Hoseok or Namjoon.
Seokjin makes it to his room after a murmured goodnight, closing the door behind himself before leaning against it and exhaling. The room is dark and warm, but he knows that his living room is still littered with half-packed bags and the remnants of their picnic dinner and the empty bottle of makgeolli.
There’s too many things he still wants to say. Wanted to say. Has been carefully burying in the small crevices of his chest over the years to make sure that he doesn’t ruin anything between them.
I’m scared.
I don’t want to go.
I don’t know how to be anyone outside of the group.
You make me feel like I know how to be someone, and that terrifies me more than anything else.
When you drink and tell me that you love me, do you mean it? Do you say it the same way I choose you over anyone else, every time?
I have spent too many years learning how to be brave in front of cameras and crowds, but even then, I still can’t say I love you back.
Maybe that was for the best. Closing the door and trying to finally leave this chapter behind him, even if it hurts. They still have the group to return to, a reunion, a career that will continue. Whatever else still tries to grow up through the cracks would have to come second to the seven of them.
That’s what he’s been telling himself lately, anyways. In the dark of his room, he can almost believe it.
The tentative knock against the door almost goes unnoticed.
“Hyung?”
Seokjin’s breath hitches in his throat. Turning, he finds the doorknob, opens the door. Yoongi is standing there. His hair is a mess, eyes wet with some kind of emotion, and his hands are hovering around his sides like he’s not sure what to do with himself.
Before Seokjin can ask, can even open his mouth, Yoongi steps forward, grabs the front of his shirt, and jerks him down into fierce kiss.
It’s clumsy, a little off-centre, toothpaste and makgeolli. Yoongi’s hands are trembling from where they’re gripping onto him like Seokjin could disappear at any moment. His back hits the doorframe, inhales sharply through his nose, before the shock of it wears off enough for him to cup Yoongi’s cheeks in the palms of his hands.
For one long, suspended moment, the world narrows down until it’s only this; Yoongi’s chilled nose pressing against his cheek, Yoongi’s mouth invitingly open, the way the smaller man presses closer like he’s trying to tell Seokjin everything they’ve never been able to say sober.
When they break apart, Yoongi’s forehead drops against Seokjin’s shoulder. They’re both breathing hard, little gasps that seem too loud in Seokjin’s ears. Yoongi’s fingers are still wound tightly in his shirt.
“Hyung,” he finally croaks, cracking along the edges, “Tell me you feel this too.”
It’s like the ground is shifting under Seokjin’s feet again. This time, he’s helpless to stop it as his eyes close, thumbs tracing the lines of Yoongi’s cheeks. Behind them, the city is humming whalesong. Tomorrow is already knocking.
“Aish, of course I feel it too.” he admits, quiet. “Ever since the first time you crawled into my bed and told me you loved me.”
Yoongi exhales like he’s been holding his breath ever since that day. He drags Seokjin closer, impossibly so, to press his face into the curve of his neck. Seokjin wraps himself around the smaller man and presses his lips against the crown of his head and holds on like a man with nothing left to lose, has everything left to lose.
He feels Yoongi’s tears against his skin, finally cracks and lets himself grieve the way he’s been fighting against since… always. They’re crying together, clinging onto one another like it’s the end of the world. The duffel bags can wait. The morning can wait. Eighteen months can wait.
But Yoongi’s breath is warm against his skin, and Seokjin thinks to himself; right now is enough. However long until sunrise is enough.
-
“I’m scared.” Jin admits, blankets pulled under their heads like kids. Too warm, too close, too intimate. Yoongi crowds closer, greedily drinking in the warmth and the smell of the bodywash Jin likes to use, hands slipping under the oversized shirt the other man is wearing. His voice is so, so small, a weight to him that Yoongi knows there’s nothing he can do to fix.
“I don’t want you to go.” Yoongi whispers instead.
Me too, me too, me too.
He’s now unsure, doesn’t know what to do now that they’re here. He’s always resigned himself that the only way he could have anything like this was under the context of being his hyung, his eternal roommate. But… they’d crawled into bed together under the star stickers plastered to the ceiling of Jin’s bedroom, tearfully wrapped around each other as they pressed chaste kisses to whatever skin they could reach.
Now, they’re here. Pressed against one another like they’re one person instead of two, quiet intimacy turning to equally intense longing as Yoongi allows himself to fall into orbit around Seokjin, folding in on one another like a collapsing star, pressing hands into soft bellies and tracing across one another’s hips.
I can’t just let you go like this. Not without saying something.
It goes unsaid between them, but Yoongi knows that Jin understands it. Years of longing they’ve both buried, too self-sacrificing to chase the possibility of a could-be, the what-if.
“Can we have this? One night, just for us?” Seokjin sounds so small, so vulnerable, but there’s a heat lingering in his eyes as his broad palm sweeps low over Yoongi’s back.
“I’m not letting you go until I have to.” Yoongi promises, whispers into Jin’s mouth, hand moving to touch, to tease featherlight at the front of Jin’s boxers. “One more night. Just us.”
There’s not much to say after that; Seokjin trembles as he holds still, allowing Yoongi to touch, to rub the heel of his hand against him until it’s thick enough he shivers. All the while, he mouths at the column of Yoongi’s throat, muffling the low sounds of pleasure rumbling in his chest as he tries not to rut up into Yoongi’s palm.
(It’s never failed to amaze him just how big Jin is over the years, thoughts wondering what it might be like to take him, cock so deep he could feel it in his throat.)
He still wants that, but not today. Right now, all he wants is to see Jin crumble, watch him fall into stardust and pleasure under his watchful eye. When he slides his fingers under the elastic of his boxers, he’s pleased to find pre-come already soaking the fabric, the slick sound of his fingers exploring blindly muffled by the sheets.
Just like this. He silently thinks, eyes closing with a whine as Jin sucks a mark at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Somewhere he can cover up later, still conceal from the public eye but feel every time he touches it.
“Fuck, Yoongi-“
He’s never heard Seokjin like this- not for him, not even when they all politely pretended that nothing was happening whenever they’d needed to find relief in their tiny dorms over the years. Likes the way his name sits on his tongue.
Yoongi chuckles, low and raspy as he swallows Jin’s whimpers, fingers curling a little tighter on his upstroke, thumb pressing just under the head as Jin’s cock weeps onto his fingers unendingly. He could probably use it to help open himself up, fuck himself with his fingers until one of them grabs lube and actually does something about it.
He’s hard too, but his pleasure comes second- he wants to see Seokjin come undone first. At least, that’s what he thinks until Jin has other ideas. Gasps when his borrowed shorts are tugged low enough to return the favor, long fingers gripping with enough pressure it borders on painful. It’s everything Yoongi wants, both of them breathing into sweaty skin, the lights from the city scattered across the walls.
“God, hyung, just like that.” he hisses through his teeth, starbursts behind his eyes as he moves further down, rolling Jin’s sac in his hand just to hear the way his breath hitches before moving back to his throbbing cock, “Fuck, gonna-“
“Come on, baby, just like this.” Seokjin tells him, warm even with the strain in his voice, bucking up into Yoongi’s grip as he squeezes a little rougher around him, both of them nearly panting in the dark. “I’m close too, just-“
He breaks off with a low groan, cock jerking in Yoongi’s palm as cum hits Yoongi’s wrist hotly. Yoongi shivers at the glassy, dazed look that follows, fucked out even as his hand reaches back to rub against Yoongi’s hole, thumb teasing at the tight furl of muscle as the smaller man pushes back, moaning into Jin’s mouth as he ruts against his thigh.
Just like this.
When he comes, it’s with a soft cry, tears in his eyes at how much he feels all at once. Seokjin’s arms cradle him close almost immediately, hips still jerking in small aborted movements, exhaustion hitting him all at once.
He hasn’t slept well in days- longer than that, really, more like since he found out the conclusive date- everything hitting him all at once. This is real. He gets to have this for one more night, tucked protectively under his hyung’s chin, playing with his fingers as they catch their breath in the afterglow.
(Turns out Jin kept wipes in his side table- a lesson learned.)
“It’s not forever.” Jin finally whispers. “Remember- you can always look for the stars. They’ll be the same ones I see, even if we’re not sitting next to each other.”
“You’re not allowed to say that right after we’ve had sex.” Yoongi protests, sleepily trying to muster the strength to be annoyed at how sweet the words are. “I’m delicate.”
“You’re a brat.” Jin snorts, just as soft. “You should listen to me more.”
“Mm.” Yoongi hums, ear pressing against Jin’s chest to hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. “Just for tonight.”
Jin laughs, more a grumble as he runs his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp.
They’re both almost asleep, the stars on the ceiling glowing dimly, when Yoongi sighs. Whispers, so softly, that it might be a dream,
“I love you, hyung.”
Seokjin doesn’t need to say it back. Yoongi can feel the way his arms tighten around his waist, the hitch in his breath, all of the things they’ve never really needed to say. He hears it anyway.
(“Love you too, Yoongi-yah.”)