Archive of Our Own

Yoongi swirls his Ardbeg, falling back on a coping mechanism older than the bar itself. Two weeks without his ghost boyfriend is apparently two weeks too long. He has outlived kingdoms and wars, but Hoseok‘s absence is testing even his vampiric patience. At least the statue is getting more company than he is. Leave it to some ancient stone figure to cock-block him from the afterlife.

None of this would be a problem if he hadn‘t been so busy with work. After a celebrity came to his vinyl record store, Yoongi had been managing the rush of fans—half of them probably never interested in vinyl in the first place—flooding his shop. It ate up all his usual idle time with Hoseok. They could have chosen a better date spot, somewhere safe and familiar, but since Yoongi had been so swamped, Hoseok wanted their first free weekend in weeks to be special. That‘s why they had driven to the outskirts of Seoul, up to the hilltop, for a date.

“Let‘s go stargazing, hyung!” Hoseok had said over and over again, even when Yoongi showed apprehension about the wind and cold weather. But of course, after the fifth time Hoseok repeated his request, complete with rambling about how romantic it would be and an attempt at aegyo that never worked on him (it worked a few times, but his pride would never admit it in anyone‘s presence), Yoongi said yes.

He‘d rambled about the constellations they could see, an old interest he‘d picked up after what twenty-first-century people call a ‘situationship‘ with an astronomer in the early 1800s. Hoseok ‘ooh-ed‘ and ‘ahh-ed‘ at his explanations while they lay on the back of Yoongi‘s truck, holding hands on top of the blanket covering only Yoongi specifically. Because lucky Hoseok wasn‘t affected by temperature as a ghost.

The stars aren‘t visible tonight, which only makes his mood even more sour. What‘s the point of coming to a rooftop bar when the sky isn‘t pretty? People could argue the cityscape and lights are the main attraction, but the mood would be elevated by the sight of the moon and blinking stars above it. Well, he‘s centuries old, so he‘s allowed to be picky.

After taking another sip of his drink, cheers erupt from the other side of the bar where a group of people sit around a dick-shaped cake. A woman no older than probably twenty-five wears a mini veil and clutches a bouquet of flowers while biting into it.

The sight of those petals makes him even more frustrated. Because a damn flower is the cause of why Hoseok is stuck on a hill in the first place.

“I‘ve never seen that flower before. A bit suspicious that it‘s the only one growing around here and near an ominous statue. I don‘t need the flower, Seok.”

But the words fell on deaf ears while Hoseok continued to crouch down, examine the flower, and talk about how even more special it was and how he wanted Yoongi to have it more than ever. Sweet summer child, Hoseok, who died in the fifties, certainly hadn‘t experienced how powerful cursed objects could be.

“Ah, shit.” Hoseok‘s voice had cracked with realization.

“I fucking told you.”

It was almost like there was a wall stopping even his ‘passing through everything‘ ghost power from letting him walk away from the statue. Something or someone didn‘t want that flower picked, and Hoseok paid the price for it. The date night ended with Yoongi frantically calling his wizard friend Namjoon, asking if he could help. Good thing Namjoon was powerful and kind and willing to look into it the next day.

He couldn‘t even be fully mad at Hoseok because he was being sweet, wanting to pick a random flower for him. And Hoseok had laughed at himself for being so stupid and excited that he was experiencing his first curse, which was ridiculous, but Hoseok was known to be a positive person.

“Beautiful and lively night, right?” The bartender suddenly speaks up while wiping down a glass, probably bored to hell with all customers already served for the moment.

Another person who could rival Hoseok‘s relentless positivity.

“Certainly,” Yoongi responds promptly before declining when the bartender asks if he wants some snacks to pair his whiskey with.

He isn‘t hungry anyway, and the only snack he‘s craving now is a ghost cock that his friend Namjoon still can‘t unbind from the curse even after two weeks. Now he‘s sad, lonely, and horny, nursing his third Ardbeg while thinking about how the date should have ended with him fucked senseless by his boyfriend in his truck before driving back home.

Another hour goes by and more people are filtering in. Seats around him are filled and the once idle bartender is busy making drinks. Yoongi is in his fourth glass of whiskey, finally giving in to the snacks the bartender offered earlier, chewing on dried fruits and nuts when he notices someone is looking at him from across the bar.

Yoongi notices the look before the person even commits to it. He drops his gaze to the rim of his glass. Eye contact has never been his thing, least of all with strangers. It makes his skin crawl, and tonight he has no patience for conversation.

This is why he chooses to go to a human bar. Not the ones where vampires trade gossip over glasses filled with gin, blood, and whatever else makes eternity tolerable. Too many familiar faces there and too many people who would want a word. Here, he can pass for just another guy drinking alone.

People think he‘s unapproachable anyway, and maybe he is. But that never mattered to Hoseok. He barreled straight through whatever warning signs Yoongi thought he was giving off. Their first meeting was proof enough of that.

He had appeared on a random Tuesday back in the 50‘s, humming something upbeat and entirely unsuitable for the solemnity of Yoongi‘s record store early in the morning. Yoongi had looked up from the newspaper he‘s reading (a mistake), caught sight of the translucent figure rifling through his disco section, and promptly decided that was not his business to mind.

Yoongi had ignored him, day after day, even when Hoseok danced between the aisles like a kid making trouble in a library. Because usually they moved on when they realized he wasn‘t going to play along.

Not Hoseok.

“I know you can see me. Your eyes twitched when I sang the wrong lyrics to that song!”

Yoongi had turned up his radio.

“Come on. I know I‘m dead, but the least you could do is acknowledge my excellent taste in music. Please?”

The ghost had started following him around the store.

“I died right before all the good stuff happened! Can you play that new Bill Haley & His Comets record that the previous customer talked about? ‘Rock Around the Clock‘?”

After a month of this, Hoseok had started rearranging his displays. Yoongi would come in to find his Jazz section mysteriously reorganized, his classical records sporting little ghost-written notes like “weepy tunes” and “makes me miss being alive.” Each morning, Yoongi would fix everything back, and each evening, he‘d lock up knowing Hoseok was probably already planning tomorrow‘s chaos.

The breaking point came when Yoongi came out from the back room to find Hoseok slow-dancing with a Doris Day record jacket, twirling it through the empty shop like the love of his afterlife. The absurdity might have been manageable if a customer hadn‘t chosen that exact moment to enter, take one look at the vinyl floating in midair, and shriek before bolting out the door.

Yoongi had tried to keep a straight face. But the sheer ridiculousness of it cracked him, and a laugh slipped out before he could stop it.

Hoseok froze mid-step, then lit up with the brightest smile Yoongi had ever seen on anyone, living or dead.

“Finally!” Hoseok cheered, like Yoongi‘s exasperation was the most beautiful sound in the world. “I was starting to think I‘d lost my touch.”

That was how it started. Not with music or meaningful glances, but with a ghost too stubborn to take no for an answer and a vampire too tired to keep pretending he meant it.

So when the stranger Yoongi had been hoping would not walk over actually began making his way toward him, drink balanced carefully in one hand and a smile already forming, Yoongi could only hope he wasn‘t half as stubborn as his ghost boyfriend.

“Alone tonight?”

“Yeah. I prefer it that way.” Yoongi leans on the bar, crossing one leg over the other, eyes sliding over the bottles behind the counter. His shoulder shifts subtly away, keeping just enough space between himself and the stranger.

Yoongi‘s mouth didn‘t move, but his jaw tightened when the stranger laughed. Too bright, too confident, like being brushed off was just foreplay. A baby, really, by his count, grinning as if Yoongi‘s disinterest was just some game of playing hard to get.

“I‘m Yijeong, by the way.” The stranger pulls out his wallet. “And you are? Let me buy you another drink. ”

Yoongi finally glances at him, unimpressed. “Yoongi. And I‘m fine.”

“Are you sure? I can get you the fanciest thing you want.” He waves at the bartender despite Yoongi‘s refusal. “What brings you to a place like this? You don‘t exactly look like the rooftop bar type.”

What does that even mean? Does Yoongi look like the underground bunker type? The sitting-in-his-apartment-drinking-alone type? (Actually, that one might be accurate, but still rude to point out.)

A scoff pricks at Yoongi‘s throat as the man lays his card on the bar. Yoongi lets his gaze fall to it, then away at his feet. He‘s seen kingdoms bought and sold, fortunes rise and collapse. He learned a long time ago that currency, whether gold or paper or plastic, is a promise humans endlessly worship. It is laughable to wield it as a charm, a reminder of how capitalism can be flattened into a game that values surface-level displays over real substance.

“I‘ve had enough drinks tonight.” Yoongi taps the glass gently, sending a small ripple across the surface. “This will be my last drink.”

“Hey, ice-cold water for this pretty gentleman here.” Yijeong barks orders at the bartender, completely ignoring Yoongi‘s yet another refusal.

Yoongi presses the heel of his palm to his temple. He‘s used to managing persistence. Hoseok knew exactly when to push and when to pull back, and Yoongi had always found that tantalizing, especially in bed. This stranger, however, is relentless, brazen, and utterly oblivious. The tension coiling in his skull makes him grind his teeth.

The bartender slides the water across the counter. Yoongi wraps his fingers around the glass, shivering slightly at the chill. It presses into his skin like a memory—Hoseok, impossibly cold in his arms. Yoongi holds it for a moment, letting the sharp cold remind him of what he‘s been missing.

“This place gets pretty busy on weekends,” Yijeong observes, glancing around at the other patrons. “I like that it‘s not too windy tonight.”

Like clockwork, a sharp gust sweeps across the terrace, slipping under Yoongi‘s blazer like a thief‘s hand and running cold fingers along his spine. The fabric flutters against him, useless as a shield as he shivers, his heart doing this stupid little jump because for a second, it feels familiar. That particular kind of cold that cuts through everything else, that makes his dead heart remember what it was like to beat properly.

But it‘s just the autumn night air, nothing more. Nothing special about it.

“Yeah, I guess.” Yoongi gathers the blazer tighter, hiding the motion behind a shrug.

Then something invisible and impossibly cold touches the back of Yoongi‘s neck, fingers massaging the tense muscles there, working at the knots of stress, the places where he holds all his tension like he‘s collecting it for some kind of fucked-up hobby.

HIs grip tightens on the water glass so hard he‘s surprised it doesn‘t crack.

Yoongi recognizes this.

This is Hoseok‘s move. His signature way of getting Yoongi‘s attention when his thoughts start spiraling into those dark corners where even vampires fear to tread, or when his attention is poured into nothing but work.

Please. Please let it be him and not some random ghost with boundary issues looking for attention.

For the last couple of years, Seoul has been crawling with spirits, most of them with the social skills of drunk college students, and the last thing Yoongi needs right now is to be groped by some dead stranger who thinks invisible hands give them license to do whatever they want.

Yoongi forces himself to act nonchalant, though every instinct screams otherwise. Hoseok, of course, will choose to be invisible to the stranger‘s eyes. He can control who sees him, something about focusing his energy, choosing where to direct his presence. When he wants to be seen by everyone, he spreads himself thin, becomes visible but untouchable. When he concentrates on just one person, he can choose to remain invisible to everyone else while becoming solid enough to touch his target.

It‘s how they‘ve been managing their relationship in public spaces for years now, Hoseok‘s ghostly advantages letting them be intimate without curious eyes and invasive questions. It‘s convenient, except for moments like these when Yoongi can‘t tell if it‘s his boyfriend or just the general population of handsy spirits.

“You seem tense.” Yijeong continues talking, completely oblivious to the way Yoongi‘s shoulders have gone rigid under ghostly touches. “Long day?”

The cold touch trails down to Yoongi‘s shoulder blade, thumb pressing circles into the muscle there. Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting, his breathing carefully controlled like he‘s in some kind of meditation class (though he doubts he could sit through it without his ADHD meds).

“Something like that,” he manages, voice steady despite the way his pulse is racing.

The touch moves to his lower back, and that‘s when Yoongi hears it. Soft, barely audible over the bar‘s ambient noise. A familiar giggle, warm with mischief and affection, a sound that drives him crazy (in the best way) during those long afternoons in his record store.

“I missed you.” The whispered voice in his ear, breath that isn‘t there sending shivers down Yoongi‘s spine like electricity through a broken wire.

It‘s definitely Hoseok. Relief floods through him so intensely he has to grip the bar to keep steady, his knuckles white against the dark wood. Two weeks of worry, not knowing if Namjoon could actually break the curse, wondering if he‘d lost his boyfriend to some ancient magic, imagining worst-case scenarios that involved eternal imprisonment and him spending the rest of his very long existence drinking alone in various bars while slowly going insane from loneliness.

All of it dissolves in an instant, like sugar in hot coffee.

“...and I thought maybe we could check out that new club downtown after this.” Yijeong is saying, but his words fade into background noise.

“Did two weeks really make you feel so bored you‘d come here and hope a human would entertain you, hyung?”

That teasing tone, weightless as if even death couldn‘t tether it, stirs up an aching reminder of how badly he‘s missed it.

Yoongi gives the subtlest shake of his head, hoping Hoseok can see it. The last thing he wants is for his newly freed ghost boyfriend to think he was actually interested in this stranger‘s advances. Because he wasn‘t. Isn‘t. Will never be, especially not when the alternative is sitting right here invisible and perfect and finally, finally free.

“No, thanks. I‘ll be going home after this.”

“Home? You‘re no fun. Let him talk more, hyung.” Hoseok‘s voice purrs with amusement, that tone that usually means Yoongi is about to be in some kind of delicious trouble. ”I‘d love to see how you keep a straight face while I have fun with you by myself.”

Cold fingers slide along Yoongi‘s ribs, mapping the familiar territory of his body through his shirt like Hoseok is reacquainting himself with the geography of someone he‘s been away from for too long. Yoongi‘s jaw clenches as he fights to keep his expression neutral, even as his skin breaks out in goosebumps that have nothing to do with the autumn air.

“Hyung, I was so bored without you. I missed you like crazy.”

He leans in without hesitation, brushing a kiss against Yoongi‘s cheek, then another at the corner of his mouth. Cold fingers sneak under Yoongi‘s shirt, sliding across his ribs as if he‘s relearning the shape of him, tracing each ridge with care.

Yoongi can‘t help but smile, completely forgetting about the human sitting next to him.

“You look so good,” Hoseok murmurs, softer this time, a little awed. His thumb strokes idle circles at Yoongi‘s hip.

"You‘re not much of a talker, are you?" Yijeong laughs, leaning closer. His cologne is expensive but generic. "That‘s fine. I like the mysterious type."

Yoongi doesn‘t answer, but Hoseok does. Quietly and possessively, shown by firm touch, thumb pressing harder into Yoongi‘s side. He disguises it all behind tender gestures, lips ghosting over temple before words spill dark and low.

“Be good for me, hyung. Don‘t give anything away.” Hoseok whispers, voice dropping to that tone that always makes Yoongi weak in the knees and stupid in the head.

He stays silent, acutely aware of Hoseok‘s hand settling at his waist, fingers splaying across the curve like he‘s trying to span the entire width. Yoongi knows this fixation well. The way Hoseok‘s hands always gravitate here, like he can‘t believe how perfectly Yoongi fits in his hold.

"So what do you do for work?" Yijeong asks, apparently interpreting Yoongi‘s silence as mysterious and alluring rather than what it actually is. A complete system failure brought on by Hoseok‘s touch and his own traitorous body‘s response to it.

"Answer him," Hoseok‘s ghostly lips brush against Yoongi‘s earlobe. He can hear the smile in his boyfriend‘s voice. The bastard is enjoying this way too much, Yoongi thought to himself.

Yoongi grits his teeth, trying to keep his face neutral. "I own a record store." He finally manages, voice only slightly strained.

That‘s when Hoseok suddenly materializes under the bar‘s overhang, crouching between Yoongi‘s legs with a smug smile like someone who has never once in his afterlife considered the concept of shame. He‘s wearing the jacket he died in, cracked black leather with a shine that still looks like it should squeak if anyone touched it.

Yoongi swallows down a sigh. Of course he shows up like this. Of course he looks like sin and nostalgia had a child. And of course no one else can see him, which means Yoongi gets the honor of being the only one tormented by it.

Hoseok taps Yoongi‘s knee gently, making sure he has his attention, then winks before vanishing again.

Yoongi nearly chokes on his own saliva.

"A record store? That‘s so cool!" Yijeong‘s eyes light up as he props his elbow on the bar, completely unaware that there‘s a ghost currently planning to do unspeakable things to his conversation partner. "Vinyl‘s really making a comeback, isn‘t it? Do you get a lot of collectors?"

Yoongi feels Hoseok snickering against his thigh and if his boyfriend were touchable, he‘d have whacked the back of his head without a second thought.

“Yeah, some.” Yoongi‘s voice comes out flat and polite. He sucks in air through his teeth as invisible lips press against his inner thigh, right where that mole is, the one Hoseok never forgets.

Of course the bastard remembers. Hoseok always remembers. Every spot that makes Yoongi twitch, every place that can unravel him without effort.

Yoongi‘s grip tightens around his glass as invisible touches trail upward, tracing along the inside seam of his trousers. The hand lingers at the edge of his crotch, thumb brushing just close enough to make his cock twitch with interest. To Yijeong, it probably just looks like Yoongi‘s bored of the conversation. Which, technically, he is, just not for the reason the man thinks.

“That must be fascinating, all that music history.” Yijeong signals the bartender for another drink, settling in for what he apparently thinks is going to be a long, successful conversation. “I bet you have some rare finds.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it again when Hoseok palms him fully through the fabric. The cold shock makes him jerk in his seat, blazer pulling awkwardly at his shoulders. Hoseok gives a slow, deliberate squeeze, and Yoongi feels himself stiffening fast against his boyfriend‘s grip.

“Answer him, hyung.” Hoseok‘s thumb strokes across the outline of Yoongi‘s cock. “Act normal.”

"A few," Yoongi forces out. His throat feels raw with the effort, like the words are being dragged out of him. “Mostly jazz and blues. Some rock.”

Hoseok hums in approval, giving another squeeze and Yoongi has to brace his free hand against the edge of the bar, knuckles white. His thighs clamp down instinctively, but it only makes Hoseok press firmer.

His boyfriend is enjoying this far too much, and Yoongi, already hard in his seat with no way out, hates how much he is too.

"I love jazz," Yijeong says, which is probably a lie but Yoongi is in no position to call him out on it right now. "Miles Davis, John Coltrane, you know."

“You‘re leaking already,” Hoseok teases, gleeful. His thumb drags across the head again, smearing precome down Yoongi‘s cock. "Two weeks really was too long, wasn‘t it? You must‘ve really missed me.”

He grips the bar harder. If anyone deserves sainthood, it‘s me. Patron saint of ghost-induced blue balls.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says flatly, finally answering, hoping the monotone masks the crack in his voice. “Classics.”

“Do you collect any particular era?” Yijeong asks, still oblivious that Yoongi is barely listening to a word he‘s saying. “I imagine the fifties and sixties stuff must be pretty valuable.”

“The fifties, mostly,” Yoongi responds, voice scraped thin. He shifts in his seat, putting his hand on top of his crotch, trying to disguise the way Hoseok‘s hand is working him steadily and possessively.

Hoseok hums in mock agreement. “Mmm. Fifties. My favorite too. Want me to show you why?”

Yoongi swallows down a groan and takes a sip of water instead, the glass rattling faintly against his teeth.

“I know you‘re horny.” Hoseok‘s voice drops into that low, coaxing register that always makes Yoongi‘s spine shiver. “Can you sit there and act like nothing‘s happening?”

Yoongi‘s throat goes dry. Of course, he‘d say it like that. Like it‘s a challenge. Like Yoongi has ever been good at telling him no.

There‘s a pause, then Hoseok laughs quietly against his ear, sweet and wicked. “If you want me to take care of you right here, take off your blazer and drape it over your lap, hyung. Nice and casual.”

It‘s insane and reckless. Exactly the kind of thing that should make Yoongi stand up and walk away, let Hoseok trail him into the nearest private space before they both (well, just Yoongi, if Hoseok insists on staying invisible) get caught. But instead, Yoongi does exactly what Hoseok tells him to.

“Getting warm in here,” he says, slipping out of the blazer and laying it across his thighs like nothing‘s out of the ordinary.

Yijeong nods sympathetically, sipping his drink. “Seoul autumn weather is unpredictable. One minute you‘re freezing, next you‘re overheating.”

If only you knew, Yoongi thinks, adjusting the fabric so it covers just enough. The blazer feels like flimsy armor, hardly enough to hide what Hoseok clearly has planned next.

Then there‘s the faint scrape of teeth on metal, almost too soft to register. Yoongi‘s pulse spikes, realizing Hoseok is teasing at his zipper, tugging it down one notch at a time, daring him to flinch.

A second later, there‘s the unmistakable tug of cold fingers slipping beneath his waistband, adjusting his underwear until the fabric shifts. And suddenly, Yoongi is exposed under the blazer, cock straining free against cool air he has no business feeling in a crowded bar.

“There we go,” Hoseok whispers, smug as ever. He leans down and presses a kiss to the head. “Much better.”

Yoongi forces his shoulders loose while inside, every nerve in his body is strung tight. He swallows hard, praying his voice will work when Yijeong speaks again.

"So what got you into vinyl in the first place?" Yijeong asks

Yoongi opens his mouth to answer, but Hoseok skips right past subtlety and mouths at him properly, lips sealing over the tip like he‘s been starving. The blazer hides the movement, but Yoongi feels every cold drag of tongue along his length.

“Hmm, good question,” Hoseok says around his cock, words muffled. The sound rumbles against sensitive flesh, and Yoongi has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep his breath from stuttering audibly.

His thighs clamp tight under the bar, knees threatening to knock against the wood. Muscles in his abdomen draw tight, screaming at him to rut forward, to do anything but sit still, to give in to the cold-wet pressure swallowing him whole. Instead he stays locked in place, pretending at composure while Hoseok makes a meal of him in public.

"Family business," Yoongi lies smoothly, because the truth, that he‘s been collecting records since before Yijeong‘s great-grandparents were born, isn‘t exactly going to be comprehensible for a human brain.

Hoseok hums around him, the vibration so sharp Yoongi almost gasps. He‘s enjoying this way too much, and Yoongi, shaking hands gripping the edge of the bar, cock twitching helplessly against phantom lips, hates how much he is too.

"That‘s so cool that it‘s been in your family," Yijeong says, and Yoongi nods because he doesn‘t trust his voice right now. Not when Hoseok is pulling that stunt with his tongue, the one that scrapes every last coherent thought out of Yoongi‘s head.

Hoseok takes him deeper, invisible lips stretching around Yoongi‘s length while his hands settle on Yoongi‘s thighs to keep him still.

"Do you..." Yijeong starts to ask another question, but Yoongi‘s brain short-circuits as Hoseok hollows his cheeks, the sensation so intense that Yoongi has to disguise a groan as a cough.

"Sorry," he croaks out, reaching for his water again with a shaking hand.

Hoseok‘s shoulders shake with silent laughter, vibrations rolling through his mouth until Yoongi‘s toes curl inside his shoes. Of course his boyfriend gets off on watching him try to hold a conversation while coming apart at the seams.

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his water, willing himself not to shiver. His whole body is tuned tight like piano wire while Hoseok bobs his head in a slow rhythm. He‘s unhurried like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows Yoongi won‘t stop him.

And he‘s right, Yoongi thinks grimly, setting the glass down before he spills it.

“So what about imports?”

“Some,” Yoongi grits out while Hoseok twists his wrist in time with each bob, like he‘s trying to dismantle him twice as fast.

Out of nowhere, Hoseok swallows him to the hilt, and Yoongi‘s knee jerks in a reflex he can‘t control. A strangled moan claws up his throat as Hoseok gags, blazer threatening to slip from his lap.

“You okay?” Yijeong‘s, brows furrowing in mild concern.

 “Loose string.” Yoongi cuts in fast, dry as sandpaper. “I thought it was a bug.”

Yijeong chuckles, apparently satisfied with that nonsense excuse, and takes another sip of his drink. Hoseok chuckles too, lower, pressed right against him. Yoongi grits his teeth.

Of course Hoseok thinks this is hilarious. He‘ll probably tease Yoongi about ‘bugs in my pants‘ for the next decade.

“Right,” Yijeong says cheerfully, clearly warming to his own monologue. “So… Do vinyls actually appreciate in value over time? Like, are they a good investment?”

“Some,” Yoongi grinds out when Yijeong asks another question, barely catching what it was.

“You look a little flushed.” Yijeong peers at him curiously. 

Flushed. If only. Yoongi‘s entire undead nervous system feels like a live wire. He forces his jaw to unclench. “Ah, yeah, I get a little flushed when I drink alcohol, it‘s fine. I had a long day so I needed it.”

Long century, more like.

Suddenly Hoseok pulls back, and the loss nearly drags a whine out of Yoongi‘s throat. His thighs twitch, desperate for the pressure to return. He risks a glance down, but Hoseok stays invisible.

It drives Yoongi crazy. Is his boyfriend’s lips stretched-out and wet right now? Does he still have that infuriating grin, lashes low like he’s the one being ruined? The thought alone makes Yoongi's cock twitch.

“Beautiful,” Hoseok murmurs against his stomach, kissing just above his crotch. “I love you.” Cold fingers skate down Yoongi‘s thighs in a slow caress, tender, completely at odds with everything he‘d just been doing. “You‘re perfect, hyung.”

Yoongi’s shoulders hunch forward, teeth gritted around a sound he refuses to make. He glares down at his blazer like the fabric is personally responsible for this torture.

Yijeong, oblivious, barrels on to a new topic. “You know, I‘ve always dreamed of opening a jazz bar. Live music every night… A proper lounge.”

Then Hoseok dives back in. Both hands bracket the base of Yoongi's cock while his tongue flicks light against the head. Like he’s tasting samples on a tray instead of actually finishing the damn job.

Yoongi‘s nails bite into the bar. It‘s not enough.. He wants to shove Hoseok down until he can‘t breathe, fuck his mouth until there‘s no smugness left. The urge scrapes through him raw.

“Ah,” Yoongi‘s noise of acknowledgement for Yijeong warps into a moan when Hoseok switches it up again, hand working him rougher now. It‘s not slick, just Hoseok‘s spit and that biting cold ghostly touch of his, but it‘s him, and Yoongi‘s body doesn‘t care about the details.

“I mean,” Yoongi tries again, voice wobbling. “Yeah. We don‘t have many jazz bars around here.”

The fact that he can still string a sentence together shocks him.

“Hyung,” Hoseok mumbles between messy kisses to the tip, each word punctuated by the brush of his mouth. “You‘re close, aren‘t you?”

“I always thought the atmosphere of a jazz bar should be intimate,” Yijeong rambles on. “Dim lighting, people close together, you know?”

Yoongi‘s composure is circling the drain. His blazer tenting suspiciously with every shallow pump of Hoseok‘s fist. He‘s seconds away from breaking.

“Mmhm, it‘s—hah—yeah, amazing.” Yoongi breathes it out between clenched teeth. The words are meant for Hoseok, but they slip out smooth enough that they work as an answer to Yijeong too.

Hoseok snickers against him. “Do you think you come without getting caught?” Both of Hoseok‘s hands stroke him now, faster, crueler, twisting and sliding while his mouth seals hot around the tip.

Yoongi moans, low in his throat, but angles it into something that could pass for a satisfied hum. He rolls his shoulders back, pretending it‘s just the whiskey warming him when really he‘s two seconds from climaxing in front of a crowd.

Yijeong blinks at him, bemused, then chuckles and keeps rambling about live saxophonists like Yoongi isn‘t seconds away from disaster.

A sudden commotion bursts at the far end of the bar. There‘s raised voices and a sharp crash of glass shattering on tile. Yoongi flinches, but Yijeong is already twisting in his seat to look.

Some drunk asshole is groping one of the women from the bachelorette party. She shoves him hard, yelling, and the next second, security is there, muscling through the crowd to drag him off. The entire bar‘s attention pulls toward the scene.

Perfect cover.

Hoseok seals his lips around him and swallows him deep. Yoongi flinches as his cock slips past his boyfriend's teeth and down his throat. Hoseok holds him there, throat pulsing slowly, letting the gag reflex and squeeze rise until it aches deliciously.

When he finally pulls back, it‘s not for mercy, but so he can spit, slicking Yoongi‘s cock messily before diving down again. Hoseok‘s obscene slurps are swallowed by the chaos of the drunks.

That‘s the breaking point. Yoongi jerks forward, every nerve shuddering tight as he spills down Hoseok‘s throat. His blazer doing a poor job of hiding the way his thighs tremble against the stool. He swallows his moan, teeth digging into his lip until copper floods his tongue.

Hoseok swallows too, greedy, licking him clean like this is a five-star meal.

Yoongi exhales shakily, shoulders folding in as his body slumps against the bar, utterly wrecked. His cock still throbs under the flimsy cover of his blazer, an insistent ache that mocks him with every heartbeat. He‘s still hard, still desperate, and all he can think is how badly he needs Hoseok to stop playing games and actually fuck him. Right here, right now, crowded rooftop or not. He doesn‘t care anymore. He just needs to be ruined.

“I should...” His voice scrapes raw as he clears his throat, praying it sounds halfway normal. “Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom.”

He doesn‘t wait for Yijeong‘s reply, doesn‘t even risk a glance at him. He‘s already pushing off the stool, blazer clutched in white-knuckled fingers like a pathetic shield, stalking toward the restroom like a man escaping a crime scene.

“Yoongi!” Yijeong calls after him, but the sound blurs into background static. Yoongi only walks faster, shoes striking the floor in sharp beats that feel far too loud in his ears.

Behind him, Hoseok‘s laughter trails like smoke, smug and triumphant, before cold arms circle Yoongi‘s torso, weightless yet familiar, the press of a chest that could only ever be Hoseok‘s against his back.

👻

The restroom is packed. Too many men lined up at the urinals, a couple of drunk guys elbowing each other by the stalls, and Yoongi wants to snarl because of course the universe won‘t give him peace, not even for five minutes.

He plants himself at the sink, blazer clutched tight even though he‘s already zipped his pants back on, but he‘s still hard and personally doesn‘t want other people to see even though most wouldn‘t care. It‘s a bar, after all, no matter how fancy it is.

He ducks his head just enough to discourage conversation. Thankfully, Yijeong hasn‘t followed. Maybe the kid finally got the hint, or maybe Hoseok scared him off without Yoongi noticing. Either way, good.

Yoongi stares at his reflection. He looks like hell. His cheeks flushed, lips bitten raw, eyes watery. His shirt untucked at the waistband. He tries to adjust it a little, but there‘s no fixing the debauchery stamped all over his face.

Then his gaze falls on his boyfriend in the mirror.

Hoseok leans against the sink beside him, half-smiling like a devil with all the time in the world. Jacket gleaming, hair a little wild. He‘s visible only in reflection, invisible to everyone else milling around.

Yoongi clenches the sink edge. “Don‘t.” His voice is low enough to only be heard by Hoseok. Though he knows it‘s useless.

“Hyung, you look wrecked,” Hoseok whispers, eyes raking over him in the mirror, tone dripping satisfaction. “I love it.”

Cold fingers ghost over his hip, then lower. Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek hard. He can‘t move. He can‘t react. He can‘t do anything but stand there while his ghost boyfriend slides an icy hand under his shirt, then lower still, teasing at the waistband of his slacks.

Someone staggers out of a stall, bumping into Yoongi on his way to the sink. Yoongi doesn‘t even spare them a glance. He‘s too scared to even breathe. He feels Hoseok‘s grin more than he sees it. Cold mouth pressing kisses at his shoulder blades.

Then Hoseok‘s hand slips lower, giving Yoongi‘s ass a firm squeeze.

“You‘ll be quiet for me, won‘t you?” Hoseok murmurs, only visible in the glass, kneeling at Yoongi‘s side.

Two cold fingers press between his cheeks, sliding over his rim. Yoongi jerks, nearly knocks into the guy beside him, but catches himself at the last second. His whimpers, nearly audible, covered only by the hand dryer turning on across the room.

“Hoseok,” he whispers, pitched too low for anyone else to hear. “Not here. Please.”

“You‘re already clenching,” Hoseok teases, circling his fingers around the sensitive muscle. “Don‘t tell me you don‘t want it.”

Yoongi jerks when Hoseok pushes in just the tip of a finger. He swallows hard, eyes locked on his reflection, watching the way his face pulls taut with the effort of not reacting.

“Shit,” Yoongi hisses, face unreadable to anyone who might look his way.

“Easy,” Hoseok soothes in the mirror, his smile gone softer now, coaxing. He waits, letting Yoongi‘s breathing steady before easing forward again. Yoongi‘s grip on the porcelain tightens until his fingers throb.

A burst of laughter echoes from the stalls, bouncing off the tiled walls, and Hoseok seizes the cover. He slides deeper until he‘s knuckle-deep. The stretch burns cold and raw, slicked only with his spit, but Yoongi likes the sting.

Yoongi twists the faucet on. The rush of water masks the strangled noise that claws its way up his throat as he splashes cold water over his face, praying he looks like just another drunk sobering up at the sink.

“Hyung.” Hoseok‘s mouth traces low along his spine. “I don‘t want to hurt you. But you need to be quiet for me for just a little longer. I‘ll take care of you properly later.”

And then his mouth is there, tongue lapping at the rim, circling before slipping inside. He fucks his tongue into Yoongi, cold and messy, groaning like like Yoongi‘s something he‘s been starving for.

“God,” Yoongi‘s whisper is swallowed by the water still running. Yoongi burns and chills at once, every drag of Hoseok‘s tongue sending him spiraling. He tips his head forward, forehead nearly hitting the mirror, praying that anyone who sees him thinks he‘s nauseous. Anything but like he‘s about to come apart from being eaten out by a ghost in a public restroom.

And then, mercifully, the last drunk stumbles out of a stall. The door swings shut and the room falls into sudden silence.

Hoseok doesn‘t waste a heartbeat. His form solidifies mid-motion, skin appearing where there used to be air. His hands are everywhere as he grips Yoongi‘s waist and drives him into the stall

The lock snaps shut behind them.

Their lips crash into a messy and desperate kiss, teeth knocking until Yoongi hisses but doesn‘t push him away. If anything, he drags Hoseok closer, one hand fisting in the back of his boyfriend‘s jacket as proof that he‘s there.

“Two weeks,” Hoseok breathes against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip before diving back in. “Do you know how boring it is without you? Nobody to annoy, nobody to talk to… Do you realize how awful it is to haunt a statue?”

Yoongi lets out a muffled sound that might be a laugh if Hoseok isn‘t kissing him. He slides his palms over the familiar lines of Hoseok‘s back, up his neck, into his hair. Cold, cold, cold, but it‘s home.

“You deserve it. I told you not to touch that flower.”

“Worth it.” Hoseok‘s grin barely lasts before he crashes back in, biting at Yoongi‘s bottom lip hard enough to make him gasp. “But we really should reward Namjoon,” Hoseok whispers, his tongue brushing the words against Yoongi‘s mouth. “Without him, I‘d still be stuck there.”

“Reward him?” Yoongi snorts, tugging at Hoseok‘s collar. “I‘ll buy him whiskey. That‘s it. No way I‘m telling him how risky your stunt at the bar was—”

“Risky, sure,” Hoseok huffs, smirking as his hand slides down to palm Yoongi‘s cock through his pants. “But you still came, hyung. And you‘re still hard now.”

“Shut up.”

“Never.” Hoseok‘s lips trace the line of Yoongi‘s jaw before biting down on his neck, sucking until color blooms beneath his mouth. “Gonna leave you marked up again,” he says. "Missed you."

“Then hurry the fuck up. Fuck me already.” Yoongi snaps.

Hoseok chuckles against his skin, the sound vibrating through his chest as his tongue flicks over a nipple, leaving a wet trail. Yoongi bites his fist to stifle a sound.

“You think I‘d just shove in without making you ready?” Hoseok teases, hand smoothing over Yoongi‘s stomach in lazy strokes. “Relax, hyung. I‘m not that cruel. Not with you.”

“Cruel is making me sit through your stupid little show at the bar,” Yoongi grumbles, nails digging into Hoseok‘s shoulders. “Just, ah, god, you‘re so cold. Just do it already.”

Hoseok pulls back just far enough to smirk at him, eyes glinting with mischief. “Wallet. Give me your wallet.”

“What?” Yoongi blinks, thrown off. “Why the fuck—”

“Just trust me.”

Muttering under his breath, Yoongi fishes through his blazer pocket until he finds the familiar leather case. Hoseok snatches it, flips it open in one smooth motion. The foil packet glints beneath the bathroom light, and Yoongi‘s eyes roll skyward. “You hid that there, didn‘t you?”

“You don‘t even remember you had this, huh?” Hoseok teases, shaking the packet of lube in front of Yoongi‘s face before tucking it between his teeth and tearing it open.

Yoongi glares, cheeks flushed, but doesn‘t argue. Not when Hoseok‘s already slicking his fingers, sliding them down, and pressing one against his rim again. This time, the slide is easier, exactly the way Yoongi‘s body has been begging for.

“Better.” Hoseok kisses the corner of Yoongi‘s mouth as his finger pushes in slowly, stretching him. Yoongi clenches hard around it, forehead pressed to Hoseok‘s shoulder, trying not to whimper.

“You‘re such a pain in the ass,” Yoongi complains, voice cracking halfway through.

“Literally,” he says, grinning as he slides his finger deeper, curling just right until Yoongi gasps. “But you love it. And I love you.”

Yoongi shudders, clutching him closer, thighs spreading instinctively as he braces himself for more.

“Relax, hyung.”

Yoongi drags in a shaky breath, trying to obey. His muscles barely loosen but enough for Hoseok to start moving again. The pace builds, slick and steady until Yoongi‘s spine arches hard against the stall door. He buries his moan in Hoseok‘s shoulder.

“I can‘t believe we‘re actually doing this here,” Hoseok says, each word chased by a slow thrust of his finger. “Fuck, you‘re so pretty like this.”

Yoongi wants to say something back, but all that comes out is a ragged, helpless sound that sounds like a plea.

Then the second finger slides in beside the first. The stretch burns even through the lube, and Yoongi curses under his breath, forehead thunking against the cold metal.

“Fuck, Hoseok.”

“Shh.” Hoseok nips at his collarbone, tongue tracing over the sting. “I don‘t want to hurt you. Just a little more. You can take it, hyung.”

Yoongi hates how easily he gives in to that voice.

By the time Hoseok scissors his fingers, pushing them apart inside him, Yoongi‘s legs are trembling so hard he almost buckles. Hoseok steadies him, helps him down onto the closed toilet lid.

“Still with me?” Hoseok asks.

“Still fucking hard,” Yoongi snaps back, but the complaint dies on a moan when Hoseok continues opening him up, finally finding his prostate.

“That‘s my hyung,” Hoseok says sweetly, leaning down to kiss him. “Always so impatient.”

“Three,” Yoongi barks, tilting his hips forward. “Now. Don‘t make me—”

“Bossy,” Hoseok says, but he obliges, slicking his fingers again before sliding in a third. “God, you‘re so tight. You have no idea how crazy that drives me.”

“If you don‘t fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I swear to God.” Yoongi buries his hand in Hoseok‘s hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss.

“I know. I know. But I‘m not rushing this. You‘ve been mine for centuries, hyung, what‘s thirty more seconds?”

Yoongi‘s only answer is another desperate whine, his thighs spreading wider, body betraying him as he rocks helplessly onto Hoseok‘s hand.

“Now,” Yoongi bites out. His nails rake down Hoseok‘s back as though he could pin him into being obedient. “Hoseok. Now. I don‘t care how, you‘re going to fuck me.”

Hoseok only laughs and kisses him once. “As you wish, hyung.”

And just like that, he fades.

Cold hands steady him by the hips, but the sight of Hoseok is gone, like he‘s dissolved into thin air. Yoongi grips the toilet lid under him, teeth sinking into his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. It doesn‘t matter how many years they‘ve been together, this always feels obscene. Being touched, spread, or lifted, with nothing but empty space in front of him.

The packet bobbed, held by nothing. Yoongi heard the soft crinkle and the slick smear as Hoseok drew lube down his cock, then felt the cool, wet head press and circle at his rim.

“Stop teasing, you fucker.”

The rest of Yoongi‘s threat collapses into a strangled moan the moment Hoseok thrusts in. He keeps the rhythm slow at first, one hand easing his thighs further apart, yet the space ahead is empty. There‘s only the phantom touch at his waist. 

The strangeness of it, being manhandled by a ghost, is something that Yoongi always finds really hot. He feels his hole close around air and almost hates how turned on that makes him.

“Fuck.”

“Ugh, you‘re so good like this,” Hoseok grunts. “Always so good for me, hyung.”

Invisible hands tighten at his waist as Hoseok picks up the pace and snaps his hips forward harder. Yoongi‘s eyes roll back at just how far Hoseok goes. A harder thrust drives through him and his body jolts, nearly pitching off the lid. The slap of skin is muffled against the stall wall, but neither of them fools themselves that they are private. Yoongi‘s heart hammers against his ribs at the risk of being heard, and that risk only makes everything hotter.

Then the stall door rattles. Footsteps pause and someone stops at the sink. Hoseok freezes mid thrust and Yoongi doesn‘t have a choice but to clamp down hard on his lips to hold back a whine.

It takes all Yoongi‘s might to control his breathing while Hoseok, the bastard, starts fucking him again.

“Hoseok,” he warns. “Someone‘s out there.”

“Then be quiet for me,” Hoseok croons, uncaring of the panic in Yoongi‘s eyes. Yoongi flushes with humiliation, cursing the fact that he can‘t see his boyfriend who probably has a ridiculous, teasing grin on his face.

The faucet squeaks and water runs. A man hums a tune under his breath. Yoongi slaps a hand over his mouth, muffling the moan that nearly rips out of him when Hoseok angles just right and slams into his prostate. He almost sobs into his palm.

“My hyung. Falling apart and no one can even tell. So pretty like this.” Hoseok chuckles, closes his hand around the base of Yoongi‘s cock and rakes his thumb across the crown in a quick, rough swipe that has Yoongi rocking forward and gasping.

The faucet clicks off and footsteps shuffle closer until someone stops by their stall. “You okay in there, man?” a voice calls.

Yoongi slams his heel against the tile and forces out a cough. “Too much whiskey,” he rasps, loud enough for the stranger to hear. “I‘ll be fine.”

“Rough night, huh, man?” the stranger says, before the door swings open and the place is empty again.

The second the lock clicks behind them, Hoseok slams back into him, unrelenting, pounding like he‘s making up for every second of restraint

“Am I making you feel good, hyung?” Hoseok groans, driving his hips harder and faster. “Because you make me crazy.”

Yoongi leans back on the closed lid, weight balanced on his hands braced against the rim, hips tipped and his knees splay wide. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, yeah, like that, Hoseok-ah,” he pants, breath ragged.

When Hoseok slips an arm under his thighs to lift his legs higher, Yoongi‘s calves fly up and for a second he pictures some poor stranger, Maybe Yijeong, opening the door to find him like this, legs flying in the air and holes gaping around nothing.

“Of course, hyung,” Hoseok murmurs, stealing a quick kiss. “No living thing makes you come harder than me. Not even that guy at the bar who thought he was impressing you.” He growls, sucking a new mark into Yoongi‘s exposed skin, his possessiveness showing. It‘s almost like he can read Yoongi‘s mind, and he hates that another man pops into his boyfriend‘s head while he‘s buried inside him.

Yoongi tries to think of a witty comeback but all he can think about is Hoseok and his thick dick. The lid rattles under them with every thrust and he worries that it will give. The toilet lid rattles beneath them and fear flares that it might break. Instead of stopping, he presses the panic into a plea.

“Please, harder,” he begs. “I am so close.”

Hoseok doesn‘t pause. Unseen hands grip Yoongi‘s hips and tug him down to meet every thrust. The impact knocks him backward and Yoongi has to hook an arm over the tank, fingers clawing at the cool porcelain above his head.

“Oh god, I‘m gonna come.” Yoongi jerks himself off frantically, chasing his own release.

“Fuck, this is so hot. You are so hot, hyung. I am going to fill you up so good,” Hoseok growls.

“I‘m coming,” Yoongi rasps. “Ah, fuck.”

Yoongi comes hard around Hoseok‘s cock. His vision flames white at the edges as he spills over his fist, jerking through each convulsion until his hand goes slick and numb. Hoseok keeps going, not slowing for an instant. Then Hoseok‘s hips stutter and Yoongi knows the next beat will tip him over.

“Fuck, you feel so good, I—” The words cut off as Hoseok‘s whole body goes tight. His fingers dig into Yoongi‘s hips and he comes, hips jerking forward one last time.

After a long, ragged minute Hoseok blinks back into visibility, fully solid again. He‘s breathing hard, looking as fucked out as Yoongi feels. He pulls out carefully, hissing at the sensitivity, then keeps one hand at the small of Yoongi‘s back to steady him while helping him shift his weight on the closed lid.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok cups Yoongi‘s face and kisses him softly.

“Mhm,” is all Yoongi can manage. His brain has turned to complete mush.

The door swings open and voices quickly fill the room—four, maybe five people, laughing about something. Yoongi keeps his eyes closed, barely registering the noise as Hoseok carefully cleans him up with toilet paper.

“You‘re so cold,” Yoongi whispers when the paper drags along his inner thigh.

“Well, yeah.” Hoseok‘s voice is barely audible. “I‘m a ghost.”

“You‘re my ghost.” Yoongi cracks one eye open, smirking. “Still a menace though.”

“I‘m flattered.”

“Come on, menace.” Yoongi nudges him with his knee. “Help me up before someone realizes this stall has been occupied for like… thirty minutes.”

Hoseok grins and pulls him to his feet, steadying him when his legs wobble.

They wait until everyone leaves before slipping out of the stall. Yoongi catches his reflection in the mirror; cheeks flushed, disheveled, lips red and swollen. He looks like he just got railed, which he did. Good thing looking drunk covers a multitude of sins.

👻

Yoongi steps out of the stall on unsteady legs, smoothing down his shirt one last time before heading to the sink. The restroom feels too bright and somehow makes his post-orgasm haze feel even more exposed.

And of course, Yijeong is there, washing his hands. Awful coincidence.

“Hey!” Yijeong’s face lights up when he spots Yoongi in the mirror. “There you are. I was starting to get worried. You’ve been gone for like half an hour.”

Yoongi’s brain scrambles for something to say that isn’t ‘I was getting fucked by my ghost boyfriend, thanks for asking.’ So he settles for; “Yeah. Uh… Stomach thing.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Yijeong dries his hands, concern creasing his forehead. “You look a little... flushed. And your shirt’s untucked.”

Yoongi glances down. Shit. He yanks his shirt back into place. “I’m fine. I think it’s time for me to head home.”

“Well, if you’re not feeling great…” Yijeong steps closer. “My place is actually pretty close. Like a ten-minute walk. You could rest there for a bit and sober up before heading home.”

Yoongi’s about to politely decline when he feels it, a cold hand gripping his ass. Hard and possessive. It’s enough to make him jolt forward slightly, catching himself on the edge of the sink.

Jung fucking Hoseok.

“I’m good,” Yoongi says quickly. “Really. I should just head home.”

But Yijeong doesn’t seem to notice the panic in his tone. “Come on, it’s no trouble. I’ve got water, snacks, a comfortable couch—”

The hand squeezes again, fingers digging in like a warning.

👻

Hoseok watches the guy or Yijeong, whatever, lean in closer to his boyfriend. Like he’s some kind of savior. Like Yoongi needs saving from anyone but himself.

Absolutely not.

Hoseok materializes just behind Yoongi, still invisible to Yijeong’s eyes. He slides both hands around Yoongi's waist, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Tell him no,” Hoseok whispers in Yoongi's ear, voice pitched low so only his boyfriend can hear. “Tell him you’re going home. With me.”

Yoongi’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t push Hoseok away.

“No, that’s okay,” Yoongi says to Yijeong. “But I really should go.”

“At least let me walk you out,” Yijeong insists, still not taking the hint. “Make sure you get on the taxi.”

Hoseok grits his teeth. This guy is persistent. And while Hoseok usually finds persistence charming, since it’s how he won Yoongi over in the first place, right now it’s just annoying. Yoongi is his. He has been for decades. And this human needs to back off.

An idea sparks in Hoseok’s mind.

It’s petty. Perhaps, a little childish. But Hoseok’s never claimed to be mature, and jealousy makes him reckless.

He waits until Yoongi turns slightly, adjusting his blazer, attention momentarily diverted. Then Hoseok leans in and presses a sweet, tender kiss to Yoongi's cheek—deliberately visible to Yijeong.

Just for a second, he lets his form solidify fully, black leather jacket gleaming under the restroom lights, hair still mussed from sex, a smirk curling his lips as he meets Yijeong’s eyes directly.

Then he vanishes again.

Yijeong's face drains of color. He stumbles backward, hand flying to his mouth. “What the fuck? Did you see that? Yoongi, there was—someone just—"

“See what?” Yoongi asks, feigning confusion even as his eyes widen slightly in Hoseok’s direction. He knows exactly what just happened.

“A guy,” Yijeong stammers, pointing at the empty space beside Yoongi. “He just kissed you! And then he… he disappeared. Holy shit, Yoongi, I think I just saw a ghost. Are you haunted? Are you okay? Maybe that’s why you were sick!”

Yoongi presses his lips together, clearly fighting back a laugh. “I’m fine. You’re just drunk.”

“I’m not!” Yijeong’s voice pitches higher. “Yoongi, I swear to god, there was someone there. He looked right at me.”

“Walk faster,” Hoseok says, grinning ear to ear. “Let’s go before he has a full meltdown.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. He sidesteps Yijeong, heading for the door. “I really need to go. Don't drink anymore, Yijeong.”

“Wait! Yoongi!” Yijeong calls after him, but Yoongi’s already pushing through the restroom door and into the hallway.

Hoseok trails behind, feeling proud of his little mischief. “That was fun.”

“You’re an asshole,” Yoongi hisses under his breath, weaving through the crowd toward the elevator.

“You love me.”

“I tolerate you.” Yoongi corrects.

“I don’t believe that. You literally love me so much, hyung.”

“I do love you, Hoseok-ah.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “...Unfortunately.”

The elevator ride down feels endless. Hoseok stays invisible, watching Yoongi try to act nonchalant with unsteady legs. He wants to reach out, but there are two other people in the elevator and Yoongi would probably kill him for the risk.

Finally, the doors slide open at ground level and they step out into the night air together.

The wind is gentler here than it was on the rooftop, just a soft breeze instead of that biting cold. Yoongi exhales shakily and leans against the building’s exterior wall, catching his breath.

“Can you walk normally?” Hoseok materializes beside him. His hand comes up to cup Yoongi’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“I wish I could walk normally,” Yoongi grumbles, shooting him a look. “But excuse you, my ass hurts.”

“I’ll massage you when we get home.”

“You better.”

“Promise.” Hoseok leans in, pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s temple. “Also that guy had no chance anyway. You’re stuck with me, hyung. Forever.”

Yoongi sighs, but his lips twitch into a small smile. “Lucky me.”

“The luckiest,” Hoseok agrees, sliding an arm around Yoongi’s waist as they start walking toward the parking lot. “Now let’s go home before you collapse on me.”

“If I collapse, you’re carrying me.”

“Deal.”

Yoongi starts walking, then pauses. “Also, I fucking hate that you can’t drive me back home.”

“I can,” Hoseok points out, falling into step beside him. “But I don’t think the police would appreciate seeing a car with no driver.”

Yoongi snorts. “Fair point.”

They disappear into the night, Yoongi limping slightly and Hoseok humming that same upbeat tune from decades ago. The same tune that started everything.