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Yoongi clicks the button that will end his stream, waits for a count of five, and only then does he let himself collapse back into the comfortable embrace of his chair. He loves his job (most days), and he loves his audience (most days), and he loves interacting with his audience (most days), but he’d be lying if he said being entertaining and On™ for a full hour and a half wasn’t exhausting, even at the best of times. On the heels of accidentally spending a hyper-focused 28 hours in his studio, with only a few breaks for meetings? Absolutely excruciating.
A garbled noise breaks the blissful peace provided by his noise-canceling headphones. He sighs and pulls them away from his ear on one side. “Wazzat?”
“I said good show today.” Yijeong’s voice is chock-full of barely suppressed laughter. “And everyone really liked the last segment, but I can see now that I should’ve said go home, you look like you’re about to fall over.”
“Can’t fall over if I’m already sitting down,” Yoongi says with impeccable logic, and only a hint of petulant four-year-old.
The look Yijeong gives him speaks volumes.
Yoongi sinks deeper into his chair. “It was one time!”
“It’s been at least three.”
“And it only happened because someone messed with the settings!”
“You were the one who fucked up the tension while trying to figure out how to increase the lumbar pressure.”
Yoongi tries glaring at Yijeong, just in case that can cow him into submission. It works as well on him as it had on Namjoon, who’d been the one to point out the chair’s settings could be changed in the first place, in response to Yoongi’s complaints. Yijeong adds insult to injury by saying, “Go home. Play with your cats. Get at least six hours of sleep, on an actual mattress, and then you can get back to losing this argument.”
“I never lose an argument.”
Both of Yijeong’s eyebrows jump towards his hairline.
“Never,” Yoongi repeats firmly, heaving himself up out of his chair. “And you’d do well to remember that.”
Yijeong’s expression most closely resembles a smile, if a smile could be sharpened like a knife. He rips off a salute so textbook it makes Yoongi wince. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Thankfully the equipment shut-down process isn’t too complicated, and there isn’t too much to pack up before they can leave — Yoongi streams from the studio he sublets from his biggest client’s offices, so all he really needs to take with him are his laptop, notebook, phone, and wallet.
“Your fucking wallet is already in your bag,” Yijeong says, not bothering to hide his amusement.
Yoongi must be more out of it than he’d thought, if he’d been muttering aloud while he hunted without realizing it.
Yijeong clearly agrees. He almost sounds concerned as he asks, “Are you actually going to make it home?”
“I’m fine,” Yoongi says, not snapping. His wallet is in his bag, just like Yijeong said. He flips the flap closed, buckles it shut, and hoists the strap over his shoulder. “Ready?”
“You aren’t going to fall asleep on the subway?”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Do you even remember what you talked about on today’s stream?”
Here, at least, is a question Yoongi feels confident answering. “Relationship stuff,” he says promptly. “No need to mother me, I get enough of that from my actual mother.”
Yijeong is still frowning. “And what topic did they pick for next week?”
This, too, Yoongi knows the answer to. “Speakers.” Apparently his audience had really enjoyed that portion of the studio tour he’d done a few weeks back, once he’d finally got everything in the studio set up to his tastes a mere six months after moving in. As much fun as he’d had doling out advice for the relationship problems his audience had written in with, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t more excited to talk about sound equipment.
He still can’t quite believe that between his freelance production work, and his royalties, and his sponsorship deals, and his music-and-production-breakdown podcast, and his once-a-week streams, he can afford to pay rent on an apartment and a studio space. It feels surreal. He wishes he could take pictures of everything, and print copies of his contracts, and invent a time machine to show his teenaged self that everything would be okay, eventually.
Yoongi gets so lost in imagining what his younger-self might think if shown the evidence of his future-self’s success, and also in how rich he could be if he invented a time machine, that he has no idea how much time has passed when Yijeong clears his throat from somewhere over by the door.
He quickly scans his desk for a pen and some sticky notes, pretending the burn he feels across the back of his neck is embarrassment about how many coffee cups, mostly-empty waterbottles, and take-out containers have collected on it, and not at all about spacing out.
“Just got an idea for a topic,” he mumbles, the burn moving up his neck to his ears. He tears the sticky note off the pad and sticks it to the bottom of the monitor. His writing is even less legible than usual. “There, that’s the last thing, promise.”
Yijeong clearly doesn’t believe him, because he holds the door open and refuses to let Yoongi wave him through first.
They make small-talk about the weather on the way to the elevator, always a safe topic, then by mutual agreement turn to their phones while they wait for the elevator to pick them up. Yoongi has a depressing amount of notifications — emails from work, activity on Instagram, KaKao chats from his family, friends, and group chats — but nothing from Namjoon.
He opens the chat anyway, just in case KaKao is pulling a fast one and hiding the notification the way it sometimes does.
Namjoon: You doing anything Saturday? Apparently Spin It Again got a bunch of albums at some estate sale, Sunhi said we could pick through them before she puts them in the catalogue of we want, and then there’s that new barbecue place that opened up nearby? Yoongi: Yeah sounds fun! What time are you thinking?
Nothing. It’s not even been read yet, which isn’t that unusual, for all it’s disappointing. Namjoon does have his own work, after all, and he’s at least as susceptible to being sucked into a state of hyper-focus as Yoongi is. He might also be out with his coworkers, or pulled in to some last-minute production meeting, or having a nap on his couch, or lots of other things. Yoongi could list things forever. It’s nothing to stress about.
He ignores the rest of the notifications cluttering up the top of his phone in favour of staring at the numbers on the elevator as the count down to the ground floor. They can wait until after he’s washed 28 hours of studio time off his skin, and fed himself, and poured himself a whisky, and sat himself down in front of the NBA semifinals game he’s taped and studiously avoided spoilers for.
Namjoon accosts them almost as soon as they step out into the gathering dusk.
He appears at a run from the direction of the bike racks, yelling “Hyung!” and waving his hands in the air as if there’s a chance Yoongi, and most of their fellow pedestrians, hadn’t noticed him. His helmet dangles by its strap from his hand, nearly braining an innocent bystander as he sprints past them. Sweat glistens at his temples, and on his neck, and makes his dress shirt stick to his chest. The right pant-leg of his slacks is tucked into his sock. All signs point to a frantic bike ride from his office, which makes no sense when Yoongi holds it up against Namjoon’s lack of response to his very un-urgent message.
Yoongi is suddenly wide awake. His heart thrums in his chest, only partly due do the amount of caffeine he’s consumed. “Namjoon?”
“Hyung!” Namjoon says again, breathless. He skids to a stop in front of Yoongi and Yijeong, chest heaving. “Can we talk?”
The words send a chill down Yoongi’s spine.
“It’s not bad!” Namjoon hastens to assure him. Urgent enough that Namjoon decided that he had to bike over at top speed. Important enough that Namjoon wouldn’t put it in a text. Yoongi doesn’t feel very reassured. “Not bad, I promise, I just— I needed—”
“I’ll go, then?” Yijeong says.
Namjoon jumps as if stung, apparently so focused on Yoongi that he didn’t notice that Yijeong was there. “Oh. Um. Hi, Yijeong-ssi, sorry, I—”
“I’ll go,” Yijeong says, inclining his head at them both and shooting an extra catch me up later? look in Yoongi’s direction. Yoongi shrugs one shoulder in acknowledgement, but not agreement. Whatever Namjoon has to say might be none of Yijeong’s business.
With Yijeong gone Yoongi can devote his full attention to Namjoon, and he does not like what he sees. Namjoon’s expression has gone from urgent but determined to urgent and distressed.
“Yeah, we can talk,” Yoongi says, before Namjoon’s distress can manifest in him running away from the conversation without a backwards glance. Namjoon has a bad tendency to stew in his thoughts if left unattended, and Yoongi doesn’t think he’d have the energy to chase him down. “Do you want to come back to my place? I know basketball isn’t really your thing, but—”
No, no, now Namjoon looks like he hopes something will smite him where he stands.
“Dinner?” Yoongi suggests, acutely aware of the grime on his skin, and how nice a shower would be. “Hyung’s treat, there’s—”
Except now Namjoon looks stricken. Yoongi hopes that this is one of those third time’s the charm cases, because he’s rapidly running out of ideas.
“There’s that little park around the corner?”
Namjoon doesn’t immediately recoil from the suggestion, or devolve further into terror. Yoongi will take what he can get.
“Park it is,” he says, nodding once and hiking his bag’s strap higher on his shoulder. “Follow me.”
They don’t get very far. As soon as they pass the collection of tall, fancy, potted shrubbery set between the building where Yoongi works and its neighbour Namjoon snags the strap of Yoongi’s bag and pulls him back into the relative privacy. Yoongi can’t quite suppress a yelp of surprise, and then a wince when he sees Namjoon flinch.
The combination of shrubbery, dusk, and streetlights cast strange shadows around them. In spite of the warmth of the night Yoongi shivers as Namjoon rounds on him, eyes wide, brow furrowed, phone unlocked and clutched tightly in his hand.
“Did you mean it?”
Yoongi blinks at Namjoon, then looks down to see— a video of himself? The sound isn’t on, and Namjoon’s hand is shaking so much that Yoongi can’t read the tiny subtitles, not even when he squints. He glances at Namjoon for permission before taking the phone from Namjoon’s grip so he can get a closer look.
The video is a clip from the stream he just finished, the tiny Yoongi on the screen dressed in the same grey-blue cardigan and t-shirt, and the dark grey slacks, although they aren’t visible in the clip, that Yoongi is still wearing. Yoongi watches himself read out the letter a fan had written in, about going out for drinks with a recently-single long-term friend who confessed that he used to like her, her subsequent realization that she wants to date her friend, and her confusion about what to do next. Yoongi watches himself enthusiastically and without hesitation say you should ask him out.
Yoongi is very confused. Why wouldn’t he have meant it?
“Yes?” he says, glancing up at Namjoon. “I mean, the situation is pretty straightforward, and you know how I feel about communication…”
Namjoon is staring at him with an intensity that Yoongi finds unnerving. “So if I…?”
Yoongi waits, but Namjoon doesn’t finish the sentence. He just keeps looking at Yoongi, expectant, verging on hopeful. Yoongi’s stomach starts tying itself in an uncomfortable knot. There’s something he’s missing, some context that he’s sure would make the conversation make sense. Maybe if he’d had more sleep, or less work, or hadn’t just finished a stream, he’d be able to figure out what Namjoon is trying to ask, the way he usually can. Unfortunately they don’t live in that world. Yoongi’s head is filled with static, or maybe cotton. Shaking it briskly does not help.
“If you what?” he asks, admitting defeat.
He is completely unprepared for the way Namjoon’s face falls, and Yoongi might be exhausted, practically ready to keel over, but he still manages to get ahead of the nevermind, it was nothing he can see forming on Namjoon’s lips as Namjoon reaches out to snatch his phone back.
Yoongi tightens his grip, refusing to let it go. “No, Joon-ah, really, I don’t know what you’re asking, and I want to!” Namjoon isn’t continuing to yank his phone out of Yoongi’s hands, so at least he’s listening. “I’m just tired, so I’m a bit behind the conversation, and not thinking super quickly. Catch me up? Please?”
For a second Yoongi thinks Namjoon’s going to refuse. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and there’s tension singing not just through his shoulders, but his whole body. When he swallows it’s loud, even over the general buzz of the street, and he’s blinking too quickly for Yoongi’s comfort.
Then Namjoon sighs, shoulders slouching as his head tips back. He tugs on his phone again but gently, keeping up the pressure until Yoongi releases it. After a few quick taps on his screen, and a touch of scrolling, he hands it back.
Now the screen shows a conversation with Jimin, not even an hour old. Yoongi suppresses a pang of something too complicated for him to process quickly that Namjoon had been texting Jimin and not him and focuses on the words.
Namjoon: Hey so remember last week? When I went for drinks with a friend, and then had to call you and freak out
Something catches in Yoongi’s chest. His eyes flick to Namjoon’s face of their own accord. He and Namjoon had gone for drinks the week before, but if something had happened worth freaking out over at their night out Yoongi would’ve remembered it. Better yet, Namjoon would’ve mentioned it straight away. Namjoon wouldn’t’ve hid it from Yoongi, and then talked to Jimin about it. Namjoon has lots of friends. Maybe he went out with one of them, and Yoongi was busy when he needed to talk.
Namjoon scrunches his nose and makes a keep reading gesture.
Jimin: You still owe me a bottle of wine for that
Namjoon: https://twitter.com/sonderkive/status/1311109525767258118?t=NjvQhdmJCjDwWeq_5vTeRQ&s=19
Jimin: ㅋㅋㅋ Looks like the universe is giving you a sign!
Namjoon: It’s hyung’s show, not the universe’s
Jimin: Well then it looks like hyung is giving you a sign then, and you know he’s never wrong
Jimin: and like I said, what’s the worst that can happen? If your friend’s already put up with you for over a decade I can guarantee you’ve already fought and made up at least a dozen times
Namjoon has a lot of friends, but friends he’s known for over a decade… well, he does have that highschool group, still.
Jimin: I mean, look at you and hyung! You haven’t killed each other yet!
Even with his aching chest Yoongi has to grin.
Jimin: And I know you said they’re newly single—
Yoongi pauses again, the thing caught in his chest tugging. He and Minseong had finally, officially, called things off a few weeks back, after they’d realized they’d been long-distance longer than they hadn’t, and that they had no timeline for when that would change. The split had been so amicable, on the heels of so much time spent apart, that Yoongi forgets, sometimes, that he is technically newly-single too, just like Namjoon’s friend, and just like the friend in the situation he’d read out on his show.
Jimin: And I know you said they’re newly single, you wouldn’t want to be a rebound, but a) what even is the timeframe for “a rebound” anyway, lots of people are over their relationships long before they talk about it or break up and b) who knows! If you wait, you risk missing your window of opportunity
Jimin: If you think it’s something you want, you might as well try
Jimin: Hyung was pretty clear about telling her to go for it ㅋㅋㅋ He’d probably tell you the same thing ㅋㅋㅋ
Jimin: Are you sure you didn’t write in to his show under an assumed persona???
Yoongi tries to scroll down to see Namjoon’s reply, expecting laughter, or a denial, or something, but there is none. Namjoon apparently left Jimin on read, presumably in his haste to get to his bicycle.
“I know I didn’t write in,” Namjoon says, sounding pained, “But when I heard that letter— and it felt so similar to when— and so I thought that maybe— but you’re right, you’re big on communication, you wouldn’t be cryptic about it, I shouldn’t have— I’ll just—”
For the second time in as many minutes Namjoon attempts to grab his phone back. For the second time in as many minutes, Yoongi doesn’t let him. He even grabs Namjoon’s wrist with his free hand for good measure, making sure Namjoon can’t flee while he’s still thinking, still processing what he’d read on Namjoon’s phone in the context of the clip from his show, and the clip from his show in the context of what he’d read on Namjoon’s phone, and both things in the context of— well—
The lack of sleep, and the excess of work, and the post-stream exhaustion are slowing him down, but he still feels like an idiot for not having noticed the parallels sooner.
He, newly single in the eyes of the world, had invited Namjoon, his chronically overworked friend of over a decade, out for a drink to celebrate the signing of a new brand deal, even if he wasn’t allowed to talk about it yet. They’d had a great time together, as he’d known they would. Sometime after midnight their conversation turned to the subject of Namjoon’s newly engaged sister, which led to Namjoon’s latest failed blind date, which led to Namjoon lamenting that lately it seemed like lately he only get dates when other people set him up, which led to Namjoon, with his soulful brown eyes, and a pout on his lips, saying in the most world-weary voice, I dunno hyung, maybe I’m just not crush material.
Yoongi’d only just stopped himself from subjecting their table, and maybe the tables beside them, too, to the world’s largest spit-take. He’s never developed a crush as fast as the one he’d had on Namjoon when they were young, and even at his most generous he can attribute only part of that to the high-pressure, hormonal environment of their trainee days, before their dreams of debuting in a rap group dissolved along with the company’s liquidity. His crush persisted through Namjoon’s enrollment in university, Yoongi’s attempt to make an income in the indie scene, and Yoongi finally swallowing his pride and asking Namjoon for help with the university entrance exams. He’d never acted on it — everyone, including Namjoon himself, had thought Namjoon was straight at the time, and even at his most reckless Yoongi had some sense of self preservation — but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
By the time Yoongi’d graduated from university and finished his military enlistment Namjoon was out, and dating Juwon. Yoongi’d been happy that Namjoon was happy, then swore vengeance when Juwon dumped Namjoon to marry some girl his parents picked out, and never quite figured out how to act rationally when Namjoon was upset.
And Namjoon had been upset, that night they’d been drinking to celebrate the brand deal Yoongi couldn’t talk about. He’d clearly shared more of his insecurities than he’d intended. It’d made Yoongi ache to see Namjoon’s shoulders hunch up protectively around his ears, and the furtive glances he kept shooting Yoongi’s way. The only thing Yoongi could think of to do was make himself vulnerable, too.
So first he’d said of course you’re crush material, why do you think I picked all those fights with you when we were younger? and then, in the face of Namjoon’s stunned expression, he’d laughed, and added aish, Joon-ah, for someone so smart you can be pretty dumb, you know that?
It’s no wonder Namjoon had seen parallels between their conversation and the story Yoongi had read out on his stream, except… except unlike Yoongi’s write-in, Namjoon hadn’t been confused by the admission. It hadn’t stirred anything in him. There’d been an objective second that lasted for a subjective eternity, and then Namjoon had chuckled, said gotta let you feel smart some of the time, don’t I? and kept right on talking about his sister’s fiance. Yoongi’d taken a deep breath, ignored anything that felt like remotely like disappointment, and stopped worrying about whether or not he was having some kind of cardiac event.
Now, Yoongi’s worries about potential cardiac events have returned in full force. In addition to feeling lightheaded, and completely unable to catch his breath, his heart is hammering against his ribs, making it harder than ever to ignore the box where, on entering university, he’d packed a certain subset of his feelings up tight, determined to ignore them until they went away. Free of the dating ban that plagued his trainee days, and with actual free time some evenings since he was no longer spending every waking second at work, he wanted to try going out with people with the intent of forming a long-term committed relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to any potential partners is his thoughts were with someone else.
“That’s right,” he says slowly, his voice rasping out of his suddenly dry throat. “I’m big on communication. Not big on being cryptic. Namjoon, what are you really—”
“You were so kind after Juwon dumped me,” Namjoon says, the words almost a wail. “And I thought that maybe— and I mean, we were friends, but being friends doesn’t necessarily mean— even if you did like guys— and I looked, just in case, but I didn’t see anything, so I figured—”
Yoongi grips Namjoon’s wrist tighter, worried that Namjoon might bolt rather than finish any of his sentences. “Joon-ah—”
“But then last week we went for drinks,” Namjoon continues. His tone has twisted away from high-strung nervousness to something softer, more melancholy, and he wraps his free hand over Yoongi’s. “And so all week I’ve just been thinking again, even though I thought I was done with all that, and then today on your stream you said— you said—”
Yoongi waits until it becomes clear that this will stay yet another of Namjoon’s unfinished sentences. There’s a roaring in his ears. “I said that she should ask him out.”
They suck in a breath in unison, as if surprised that either of them dared speak the words aloud. The air in Yoongi’s lungs burns yet he finds himself frozen, unable to release it until Namjoon says something.
“Yeah,” Namjoon says an eternity later, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, you did.”
Now on top of worrying about cardiac events Yoongi has to wonder if it’s possible to die of suspense. “Are you?” he asks, even though he thinks he knows the answer, because he can’t quite believe it. “Asking?”
“Do you want me to?” Namjoon counters, and this is why Yoongi finds eye contact with him, specifically, so difficult. It’s overwhelming, too much and too intense and too revealing all at once. He doesn’t even have to nod — Namjoon can read the answer as easily from Yoongi’s eyes as he might from a book, or a letter, or a flashing neon sign.
“Oh,” Namjoon says, sounding a bit like someone has hit him over the head with something very heavy, like maybe a hammer, or a car. “Oh, okay, um. Do you have any dinner plans? I’m sure there’s at least one restaurant around here that’s good, I can book us a table if you’d give me back my phone?”
Yoongi relinquishes Namjoon’s phone at Namjoon’s gentle, insistent tug, flexing fingers that have gone stiff from how firmly he’d been holding on. “No dinner plans,” he confirms, positively giddy. “But maybe we can swing by my place first?”
He tries to keep his tone as light and innocent as possible, but Namjoon knows him too well. He looks up from where he’s furiously tapping at his screen to step back and take Yoongi in from the crown of his slightly greasy hair to the toes peeking out of his slides. Yoongi might be fully dressed, but he feels himself go hot under the scrutiny all the same.
“You slept in your studio again, didn’t you.” Namjoon doesn’t phrase it as a question.
“I got distracted!” Yoongi can hear how defensive he sounds. He has to fight not to cross his arms over his chest. “And then it was four in the morning, and I had a meeting at nine, and I didn’t want to lose any time by going home and coming back!”
“So you left your children to fend for themselves? Again?”
“They don’t need me! They’ve got the automatic feeder, and the water fountain, and the self-cleaning litter box.”
“I’m sure Sugar and Pepper would disagree. Should we ask them?” Namjoon wears the expression of a man disappointed beyond measure, but Yoongi can see the laughter hiding in his eyes.
Yoongi scoffs. “Those two start crying about cat abuse as soon as I stand up from the couch. They aren’t reliable sources of testimony, they’re biased.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to justify ignoring the plight of the masses.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to be a dick,” Yoongi grumbles, too tired, and too happy, to care that he’s admitting defeat in this argument.
It might be worth losing more often, the way it makes Namjoon glow.
“Sounds like I’m succeeding,” Namjoon laughs, reaching out with his phone-free hand to ruffle Yoongi’s hair. Yoongi only half-heartedly swats at it — he’d probably enjoy the feeling of Namjoon’s fingers running through his hair, even if he’s not quite ready to actually admit it — and the next thing he knows he’s starting down at their hands; palms touching, fingers slotted together, holding each other comfortably.
The sight of it shocks him, but not so much as the touch. It reverberates through Yoongi’s body, through his soul, like a deep bass line played on concert speakers. Quick on its heels is the realization that he and Namjoon are going to stop by his place, and Namjoon will play with his cats while he showers, and then they are going on a date. It’s exactly what Yoongi had dreamed of for so many years, and now that it’s here, now that it’s real, it’s terrifying.
Namjoon seems to agree — he’s staring at their joined hands too, eyes wide, his mouth working for a few torturous seconds before he says, “No, no, it won’t— No.” His expression is more determined than Yoongi has ever seen it. “We’ll be okay. If you can still be my friend after Gangneung—”
“If we can still be friends after Gangneung,” Yoongi corrects, because Namjoon wasn’t the only one who’d been petty, and passive aggressive, and who’d picked fights on that ill-fated trip. “Remember what Jimin said? It’s been over a decade! We haven’t killed each other yet! And you already know how I get when I’m working—”
“And you know that I get those moods sometimes—”
“And that I leave mugs out—
“And that I can be clumsy—” Namjoon breaks off when he catches sight of Yoongi’s scowl. Namjoon had never mentioned one of his previous partners had made him feel bad about his occasional lack of coordination, already a sore-spot for him without anyone poking at it. “You already didn’t like her much,” Namjoon says, by way of an explanation, and Yoongi can feel his expression darken. “And I thought she was right— in the past tense, hyung, I know better now!”
“It was Heeyeong, wasn’t it.” Heeyeong is Yoongi’s least favourite of Namjoon’s exes. Namjoon doesn’t have to nod for Yoongi to know he’s right. “She’s lucky she moved to Australia.”
“My point was that we’ll be okay,” Namjoon says, in a very obvious attempt to redirect the conversation, “No matter what you— I—”
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, abandoning his half-formed revenge plans against Heeyeong. If he’s going to be putting energy into anything he wants it to be toward making sure Namjoon feels appropriately appreciated. “We— yeah. No matter what.”
Namjoon’s eyes drop to his mouth, giving Yoongi enough warning to take a step back and cover it with his free hand.
“Let me brush my teeth first?”
The flash of hurt in Namjoon’s eyes turns quickly to amusement. “Hyung, don’t you have an emergency toothbrush in your studio for exactly this—”
“I was working!” There's more than a little whine in his voice, barely muffled by his hand still over his mouth. “And Yijeong said there wasn’t anything in my teeth! And I didn’t want to start the stream late, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to try and kiss me before I got home!”
Namjoon shakes his head, chuckling. “Ah, hyung, one day you’ll let me— you’ll—”
He breaks off, his jaw twitching like he’s short circuited, his eyes wide. Yoongi knows how he feels. The words one day have implications of the future written all over them, which means that Namjoon was thinking about them in the future, and the things that Yoongi will be letting him do, which gives Yoongi such a complicated knot of feelings that he decides the only safe option is shelving it to deal with later. He wants to enjoy his evening, his first date with Namjoon, and he wants Namjoon to enjoy it too. They won’t be able to if the specter of the future is haunting them at every turn.
Namjoon is still frozen, only his eyes moving as he blinks, and blinks, and blinks. The complicated knot of feelings lurking in Yoongi’s chest gets swamped by something much less complicated. He runs his thumb over Namjoon’s knuckles, and pulls his hand away from his mouth so Namjoon can see his smile. As gently as he can, he suggests, “Maybe, tonight, let’s just enjoy tonight? No getting ahead of ourselves?”
A tremor runs through Namjoon, but after a shake of his shoulders that puts Yoongi in mind of a large dog getting ready to play he says, “Yeah, alright.”
Yoongi grins, glad that it’s settled, and then gasps as Namjoon stoops to press a soft kiss to Yoongi’s cheek.
If holding Namjoon’s hand felt like an agressive baseline played through concert speakers this must be what being in a speaker would feel like, or maybe being struck by lightning.
Some of that must show on his face, because Namjoon looks very smug. “And tonight we’re starting by making sure Sugar and Pepper know you haven’t abandoned them forever, and then you can shower and brush your teeth, and then… maybe that fusion barbeque place that we’ve been meaning to check out?”
There’s so much joy, or happiness, or delight swirling through Yoongi’s chest that he’s surprised he doesn’t float away, or shake apart from the force of it. He understands the impulse that drove Namjoon to try and kiss him. He really wishes his mouth didn’t taste like something had died in it, but maybe it’s for the best. Kissing Namjoon on his very nice mouth might be the thing that makes Yoongi’s heart give up for good, and he’d rather not die before their first date. That would put a damper on his ability to enjoy it.
He can kiss Namjoon’s cheek, though, the way Namjoon had kissed his. He has to go up on his toes to manage it, bracing himself with a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder when it’s clear that his lack of sleep has affected his balance. Namjoon’s cheek has a faint scratch of stubble to it, and he smells mostly of sweat and only a little of the scent he normally wears, and Yoongi really, really wishes he had brushed his teeth when Yijeong suggested it.
It’s gratifying to see Namjoon apparently as affected by a kiss on the cheek as Yoongi was. He touches his free hand to the place Yoongi kissed when Yoongi pulls back, and then beams, his dimples a pair of deep shadow in his cheeks, as if he’s just won the lottery, or single-handedly saved all the whales, of found the cure for cancer.
Something settles in Yoongi’s core, beneath the wash of joy, behind the knot of feeling he’s determined not to examine until much much later. Like the joy, this is easy to identify: unshakeable certainty. He still wants to stay focused on their date, wants to keep them both from getting caught up in the heady mix of thrilling terror the contemplation of one day evokes, but he knows, without a doubt, that they’ll have a lifetime of one days to enjoy.