Archive of Our Own

“You look terrible,” Seokjin says when he wakes up.

“You look worse,” Yoongi counters, and he’s right. They’re both rough around the edges, hair unkempt and barely awake, but the bags under Seokjin’s eyes are bruises. He looks like he’s been beat up, bruises down his arms and legs, and scattered on his torso. Even his fingers are adorned with purple rings around the joints, leftover trauma from the doctors cutting off his jewelry.

Yoongi runs his thumb over the blemishes, but doesn’t look away from Seokjin’s face.

He’s got a lump next to his left ear the size of an avocado, a breathing tube in his nostrils that’s probably rough on his throat, and a bloodshot stain on his left eye that seems to bother him, if the excessive blinking is any indication.

Then again, he’s been asleep for 77 hours, so it must have been hard to pry his eyes open.

Seokjin squints. “This is a hospital,” he rasps.

It’s the most beautiful sound that Yoongi has ever heard. “You’re so observant.”

“I’m very smart. My head hurts.”

“From your huge brain?”

“Feels swollen, actually.”

The thought of it makes Yoongi wince, too close to the truth, or at least it was the day before yesterday. Now it’s mostly back to average size and doesn’t seem to be causing Seokjin too much pain. Still: “Can you stay awake long enough for me to call the doctor?”

Dumbly, Seokjin nods. “I think so? Am I that sleepy?”

“You tell me. You’re the one with the head injury.”

“I’ve never been injured in my life.”

“You broke your index finger a few years ago.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” Yoongi chuckles, and groans when he gets up off the plastic chair he’s been more or less glued to for three days. He catches Seokjin’s smirk at the sound, not even bothering to call him an old man. (He’s the old one, anyway.) He presses a careful kiss to Seokjin’s forehead. “Just one second.”

He opens the door to the hallway, where a nurse is bounding down toward another room like she’s been called there urgently. He still waves at her, and she doesn’t stop walking to ask, “He awake?”

“For a couple minutes now.”

“Wait another five,” she calls over her shoulder, but she seems pleased, and Yoongi’s spent enough time with the staff to know she won’t leave them hanging.

He leaves the door ajar before pacing back to Seokjin lying useless on his gurney, staring at the ceiling.

“Falling asleep?” Yoongi checks. He did the first few times without saying a word, just blinking around and sighing before slipping back into what Yoongi hopes were pleasant dreams.

Thankfully, he’s lucid now, and still seems to have a working knowledge of the Korean language.

“Of course I do, I got top marks in public speaking,” he complains, and Yoongi didn’t realize he’d said all that out loud.

Maybe he’s the one who needs to sleep.

Legs somehow tired despite sitting for so long, he leans his hip against Seokjin’s bedside. He runs his fingers gently through Seokjin’s bangs, watching his eyes flutter for a second before going wide. He’s staring at Yoongi like he’s just noticing him there, which Yoongi supposes is possible, with the head injury and all.

“You’re old,” he notes, and Yoongi laughs out loud. Maybe his sense of humour needs a little more time to wake up.

He doesn’t admonish Seokjin with a comeback, just strokes knuckles across Seokjin’s cheek, adjusts the neckline of his hospital gown so it doesn’t strangle him.

Seokjin pulls his elbows under him, tries to lean up, get closer.

“Woah, woah,” Yoongi calms, palming the back of Seokjin’s head to hold it up. “It’s okay, just rest, the doctor will be here in a minute—”

“You’re old,” Seokjin marvels, and Yoongi shushes him some more, and finally he does lean back. “You kissed me.” He looks half-crazed.

There’s a tugging at the back of Yoongi’s mind, maybe a memory. Déjà vu of some movie he’s seen, or something he read in a book. He tries to ignore it. “I did,” he agrees. “Is that okay?”

“Okay?”

They blink at each other.

Doctor Lim chooses that moment to interrupt, greeting them both as she saunters in. She takes out Seokjin’s breathing tube, checks his vitals and asks Yoongi all her questions about the medications Seokjin takes, whether he has a particularly physical lifestyle, and whether he wants to stay a few more days for observation or take his husband home as quickly as he can. Seokjin lets him take the lead, seems perfectly content to lie back and be talked about like he’s a child, watching Yoongi like he’s an enigma he wants to rile up once all this is over.

Yoongi offers the most disapproving look that he can muster in retribution, even though what he actually wants to do is kiss him, but Seokjin already complained about that (his skin probably too sensitive and dry from the stale hospital air). Besides, they do have company, so Yoongi should maintain some level of decency.

Doctor Lim says she’ll be back in an hour or so to finish cognitive testing, and warns them that the nurses might come in periodically to move things around or check in on them. Yoongi thanks her for everything.

“Everything,” he emphasizes, and she smiles as though it’s nothing.

It’s not until she leaves the room that Yoongi realizes the metronome he’s been hearing in his head for the last half hour is actually the sound of his own pacing. He freezes.

Seokjin laughs at him, sitting up since the doctor popped the gurney into a wide L-position. “I wondered when you’d notice,” he pokes. “You made me dizzy.”

“That’s the head injury.”

“Right,” Seokjin doesn’t nod, but his eyebrows do, furrowing. “Because of a…car accident?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone else get hurt?”

“Not really.” The other car reversed hard into him, and luckily the backseat was empty. “It’s okay if you don’t remember,” Yoongi reminds Seokjin, echoing what the doctor said when she started questioning them. “It’s probably better if you don’t. The trauma, and all that.”

“Trauma is bad.”

Biting his lip to keep a smirk on, Yoongi flirts, “There’s that big brain again.”

No one laughs. Seokjin rotates through a few different facial expressions before landing on a pensive one. “You sure know a lot about me.”

“I should. It’s only been fifteen years.”

Seokjin’s ears turn pink. “Uh-huh. Hey, I need to tell you something, and I’m wondering if now is a good time to do it.”

Swallowing, Yoongi returns to his husband’s bedside. “It’s as good a time as any.”

He reaches for Seokjin’s hand, and there’s a second before Seokjin lets him take it.

“Don’t freak out,” he says.

“I won’t,” Yoongi promises.

Seokjin takes his time to speak again. He’s careful with his words sometimes, but he’s usually better at improvising, vamping when he doesn’t know exactly what to say. It unbalances Yoongi, who seldom sees his spouse so worried. He gets anxious, sure, they both do. But here Seokjin looks scared.

“I think you know more about me than I do.”

That’s probably true, Yoongi thinks, but says, “Okay?”

“I mean… I know what happened, and I’m probably just… discombobulated.”

Any other day, Yoongi would interject with a, “Big word!” but he doesn’t want to wreck Seokjin’s already warbled train of thought.

He keeps warbling. “I feel like I don’t know anything. Don’t remember anything.”

It’s selfish, probably so selfish, that Yoongi can’t stop himself from asking, “Do you remember me?”

There’s a pause. A long one, so long that Yoongi wonders if he’s going to fall back asleep. Long enough that he finds his heartbeat racing, panicking, because what is he supposed to do if Seokjin says no?

Seokjin doesn’t say no. He smirks. “Yoongichi,” he greets.

“That’s not my name,” Yoongi answers out of reflex.

The sound of his hyung’s laugh is the most comforting sound in the universe.

“You really thought I’d forget my eternal roommate?”

“Sorry, you scared me.” It’s not a fair thing to say. Seokjin’s the one on the hospital bed, needles poking his arm and his heartrate beeping on a computer screen. But Yoongi was scared, for a moment, that Seokjin wouldn’t know who he was, and… well, shit, that’s really scary. Scary to imagine a world without his hyung to drive him crazy, to join in on his worst jokes, to cook with him and hold his hand and call him baby.

Although it’s not as scary as forgetting Seokjin, Yoongi thinks. That would be like losing a piece of himself. A limb, or worse.

It’s not important. Seokjin is alive, and he’s here, and he knows Yoongi, and he’s going to be okay.

“I’m okay,” Seokjin echoes, reading Yoongi’s mind now, their constant telepathy. Yoongi wants to ask if he could hear him talking while he was in the induced coma, or if he dreamt of entering Yoongi’s head and overheard his worries.

Instead, he nods. “You’re okay.”

“I don’t remember marrying you, though. So that’s not great.”

Oh. Um. “What… do you remember?”

He’s not panicking. Min Yoongi is not going to panic, not in this perfectly well-run hospital in front of his perfectly alive husband who has plenty of perfectly good reasons why his memory might not be batting a thousand after slamming his skull against a steering wheel.

Seokjin doesn’t look like he’s panicking either. “I remember being twenty years old in university, and pulling an all-nighter playing Maple Story, and you and I are roommates who have never once made googly eyes at one another. You?”

“Same, give or take the next thirteen years.” And Yoongi shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t draw back from the earnestness of this moment. Still, Seokjin is right here in front of him, telling him they’re in the pilot episode of a corny drama, so how is he supposed to restrain himself from adding: “And you definitely made googly eyes at me when you were twenty.”

“I do not!” Seokjin squawks.

Woah. He really doesn’t remember.

Yoongi puffs out a long breath, wipes his trousers, stands. “I’ll go get the doctor.” He goes back to the hallway to catch another nurse's attention and ask for a return visit from the doctor. “It’s not an emergency,” he tells her, which probably isn’t true, but it’s not like Seokjin is dying.

(Not again.)

*

“So,” Yoongi penses the next morning after Doctor Lim checks in on them. She hadn’t seemed too alarmed at the revelation last night, telling them how common it is for patients with head injuries to lose some amount of memory.

(“It’s often temporary,” she said, practiced smile masking any doubts she might have.

“How long does it take to come back?” Seokjin asked her eagerly.

She shrugged. “Assuming it does come back, there’s no rate of return on memories. It probably won’t be linear, or all at once. It’s different for everyone.”

“That’s comforting,” Seokjin muttered, and that sort of thing is usually for Yoongi’s ears only, but Seokjin’s exhausting was clearly hitting him. “Sorry,” he said anyway, because he’s always been polite.

Doctor Lim didn’t seem fazed in the slightest, and left them alone to rest.)

Yoongi sits back in his uncomfortable chair, next to his amnesiac husband. “How are you feeling about all… this?”

Seokjin has managed to pull his legs under himself in a cross-legged position that an injured man should not be able to achieve. But he stubbornly insisted he’s more comfortable that way, and his legs made it out pretty unscathed in the accident. Small mercies. “What are you, my therapist?”

“I’m a songwriter. And your husband, remember?”

“As established: no.”

It’s taking everything in Yoongi not to burst out laughing. Not just because of how cute Seokjin is when he’s petulant, but because this situation is so ridiculous that he thinks it might be a dream. “Just answer the question.”

“You’re so demanding.” Yoongi nods. “Well, it feels… weird, obviously. How old am I, again?

“Thirty-three.”

“Practically dead.”

“Too soon.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Seokjin does, to his credit, look genuinely remorseful.

I’ll let you get away with it this time. “I meant, you know, the other thing.”

It takes a moment for Seokjin to work out what he means. “The husband thing?” Yoongi nods. “Oh. That’s fine, I guess.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, you can’t have it all. You’re a nice guy, though. I could do a lot worse.”

“Aw, you already remember your vows.”

That actually makes Seokjin laugh, and Yoongi revels in the lightness of it. This must be so weird for Seokjin. Yoongi’s never been a big fan of amnesia-related media (though Taehyung once forced him to read a K-Pop fanfiction about some idol forgetting his own bandmates that he claimed was going to be “adapted into a Thai BL drama”), but he imagines it’s not as simple as your memory cutting out after a specific day. It’s not like Seokjin thinks he has a paper due tomorrow, or remembers all the clothes in his dorm closet. He just forgets the days where he got older, the people that he got to know. Or does he?

Yoongi doesn’t know how to ask.

But it can’t hurt to test it.

*

“Yoongi-yah!” Seokjin cries when Yoongi opens the door to Kim Namjoon. “Who’s this sexy guy you brought to see me?”

“You met Namjoon the same day you met me, hyung.”

“No, I met a string bean and his feline companion. Not this tall glass of water. Overgrown String Bean, come sit next to me.”

Obediently, Namjoon takes the seat next to the hospital bed. “It’s great to see you awake, Jin-hyung. What are you two talking about?” he asks, handing Yoongi a bag of takeout to unpack, since they all know Namjoon’s too clumsy.

(They’ve all been taking turns babysitting Yoongi, making sure he eats, making sure he doesn’t eat himself alive with worry. They don’t seem to realize that Yoongi is fine, that he’s relieved, that Seokjin is alive and awake and still knows him, and that’s the most important thing. Seokjin is right. Here.)

“Haven’t you heard?” Seokjin tempts, more cheery since he woke up from a nap (of which he needs many). “I’ve lost my mind!”

Namjoon furrows his brow and turns to Yoongi for an explanation, and Yoongi feels bad for not warning him. His message to the group chat was only a nonchalant he’s okay that had Hoseok texting the world’s most excited collection of emojis.

Speaking of Hoseok:

“Jjjjiiiiiiiaaaannnnnnn!” Hoseok blares upon entering, deafening all other sound in the room, including Seokjin’s scandalized scream. He manages to cross the whole room in a single stride and pull Seokjin into a hug without disturbing any of the takeout on his TV tray.

Seokjin lets it happen, and Yoongi half-expects him to snap out of the whole memory loss thing, to announce that he knows Hoseok too, despite meeting him a year after university.

He doesn’t. “I’m sorry, I… well, like I was saying, I’m not really in my right mind.”

“What does that mean?” Namjoon asks, as much to Seokjin as to Yoongi.

Seeing his husband’s vacant expression, Yoongi takes responsibility. “He’s lost a lot of his memory. He doesn’t really remember anything after 2013.”

Hoseok frowns. “But we met…”

“Later, I think,” Seokjin finishes. “Sorry. You seem very nice, though!” he adds at Hoseok’s forlorn expression. “And so handsome! Trust me, I would know.” Hoseok cracks a smile. “Are you dating Namjoonie?”

(He should be, Yoongi thinks, knows Seokjin feels the same. Or did, before…everything.)

Hoseok next face is horrified, but at least it’s a distraction from his disappointment. “God, no. I just drove him here.”

“You still can’t drive?”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “A traumatic brain injury, and that’s what you remember.”

“Hey, we never said it was a brain injury. Maybe I blocked out the last 13 years because of how terrible they were.” Everyone in the room groans, a typical response to Seokjin’s antics. “Now, both of you tell me: how did Yoongi propose to me? Were you there? Was there a flash mob?”

Groaning even louder this time, Hoseok answers his question. “I’m pretty sure the wedding was your idea. We were in Vegas.”

“I’ve been to Vegas!?”

“You were the designated driver, and Jimin demanded French fries, and you drove into a chapel. Nobody even had to leave the car. Oh no, Jimin…”

Hoseok turns to Namjoon, who says, “I’ll call him,” and walks into the hallway.

Which Seokjin doesn’t even notice, because he’s already agonizing. “We had a drive-thru wedding?!” he accosts Yoongi, who can’t deny it, so he pats Seokjin’s shoulder.

“And then French fries after,” he offers.

Seokjin looks genuinely worried. “You just went along with it? How drunk were you?”

“Not at all. Though I was pretty hungover from the night before.”

“I’m surrounded by monsters,” Seokjin bleats and folds his arms. His glower surveys the room until it lands on Hoseok, who giggles. Seokjin narrows his eyes.

“What?” Hoseok questions.

“I dislike you especially,” he decides, and Hoseok just laughs louder.

*

“What are these?” Seokjin asks upon the arrival of Jimin and Taehyung, pleading with his eyes for freedom since they’re basically on top of him.

Jimin slaps his arm (gently, so gently). “What are we? What the hell are you?!” Then he slaps Yoongi’s arm (hard). “Yoongi-hyung, what does he mean?”

“What does who mean?” Jimin glares at him. Yoongi puts on a blank expression. “Oh, him?” Yoongi clarifies, gesturing to Seokjin. “You mean my hot young husband?”

It’s Seokjin’s turn to glare.

Yoongi winks. “He’s twenty.”

Without skipping a beat, Taehyung takes Seokjin’s face in his hands. Seokjin glances at Yoongi for confirmation that the younger man is not, in fact, going to eat his face. Yoongi shrugs back at him, not entirely sure how to explain… Tae.

“I didn’t know you back then,” Taehyung starts, “But you do look just like the pictures of Younger You.”

“What do you–? Yoongi-yah, does he think I’m a time traveler?”

“Probably.”

“Are you a time traveler?” Jimin asks once Seokjin has successfully flapped them away. He holds his hand, though, and Yoongi has to bite back a brief ping of jealousy. “I’m kidding, obviously you’re not.” Taehyung gasps in offence. “Namjoon-hyung said you might not remember us.”

That was this morning, and Seokjin needed a long nap after Namjoon and Hoseok’s visit. He wouldn’t admit it, but Yoongi knows when Seokjin feels bad, and while he tried to mask his guilt through interrogation, he feels awful for not even recognizing Hoseok. He clearly doesn’t remember Jimin or Taehyung either.

He’s masking well now, too. “And you didn’t elect to share that information with your… colleague?” he questions Jimin.

“I’m his soulmate,” Taehyung clarifies, “and Jiminie was probably hoping you’d recognize us right away so he could save me the devastation of you not knowing me. Isn’t that right, Minnie?”

“You know me so well,” Jimin flirts.

“Is this the one Joon is dating?” Seokjin asks Yoongi, who’s been shrugging a lot recently. He takes it in stride. “That makes you Jimin,” he confirms, squeezing his hand. “What do I call your little pet here?”

“I’m Tae,” Taehyung answers, unaffronted, and then launches into a line of questioning about Seokjin’s amnesia that leaves even Yoongi’s head spinning. But it also has Seokjin cackling like he hasn’t in days, so delighted by the terrible twins harassing him.

They tend to have that effect on people, Jimin and Tae. And they’ve always had that effect on Seokjin.

It’s a full hour before he demands more beauty sleep.

“Yoongi-hyung, if he thinks he’s twenty, does that make you a MILF?” Taehyung ponders as they leave.

“I need you to think about the words you say, for one second of your life,” Yoongi begs, and slams the door in both their faces. (Jimin gives him two middle fingers through the glass.)

Behind him, Seokjin is wheezing.

“We have nice friends,” he says after Yoongi collapses his hospital bed, hands clasped over his stomach. Yoongi wants to hold them, holds back. “I wish I knew them.”

“You will,” Yoongi promises, because he can, because they wouldn’t let Seokjin forget them again. “They love you; there’s no rush.”

Seokjin offers a small smile in return, lips closed. They’re still chapped, but they’re healing. Then, he unclasps his hands and lays one right next to where Yoongi is still clinging to the safety bar. This time, Yoongi can’t help himself, takes it.

“That Tae guy was totally prepared to accept me being a time traveler, wasn’t he?”

“One-hundred percent.”

“He’s crazy,” Seokjin mumbles fondly, and closes his eyes to sleep.

*

The third morning after Seokjin wakes, he demands a shower, and while Yoongi is sure none of the nurses would be hard-pressed to administer a sponge bath for him, Seokjin insists that he can stand up long enough to bathe himself.

Yoongi helps him hobble into the small wet room they paid a premium for and unties the strings on his hospital gown. Surprisingly, Seokjin seems to lack any inhibitions in front of Yoongi, shrugging it off completely and handing it over. “You’ve seen me naked before,” he reasons, amused when Yoongi averts his gaze.

Which was true when they were in university, and admittedly, a lot more true in the years thereafter. But Yoongi still isn’t sure how Seokjin sees him, or if he wants to think about the more intimate parts of their relationship when he doesn’t remember any of them.

(Not to mention, as much as Yoongi would love to ogle his naked husband, he’s too distracted by the bruising on his chest, purple bursts along his ribcage, a long cut over his shoulder from a flying shard of glass.)

(It could have been worse, Yoongi chants in his head. It could have been so much worse.)

Yoongi takes Seokjin’s comment as permission to ask, “Do you want help?”

Seokjin doesn’t answer, having found his reflection in the small mirror above the wet room’s sink. It must be scary, seeing your face much older than you remember it being, none of the unnoticeable changes of gradual aging. Seokjin ponders his face seriously, touching his cheeks, measuring his hairline, and running careful fingers over the scars there.

“Damn,” he monotones, “I’m really sexy.”

Yoongi bursts out laughing, covering his mouth so it doesn’t echo so loudly in the small room.

“Yah, don’t you think I’m sexy? You wouldn’t have married an ugly guy! What am I, a model or something?”

“You own a restaurant.”

“I cook, too?!” Seokjin blows out a low trill. “You’re a really lucky guy, Yoongichi.”

“Still not my name.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin turns around and leans back against the sink, seemingly unaware that he is completely naked, or at least he doesn’t care. His eyes shake when he checks out the detachable showerhead across the room with nothing but a safety bar next to it. There’s a stool he can sit on, but the dial would be too high up to reach. He looks down at his toes and clenches them a few times, and doesn’t make eye contact when he asks, “Will you help me?”

In a perfect world, he’d already know that Yoongi won’t deny him. “I’ll need to take my clothes off, too.”

“Good, you stink.” A rude joke, but not untrue. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Yoongi answers instantly, and strips down only to his underwear, leaving his clothes and Seokjin’s hospital gown balled up on the closed toilet lid (along with his wedding band, set carefully atop the stack). Perhaps thankfully, Seokjin doesn’t seem at all alarmed by the sight of him, not even all that curious. He’s still embarrassed, Yoongi thinks, to have asked for help over something that should be a simple shower. Which is silly, but it’s Seokjin, whose greatest fear is burdening others.

Yoongi supports him to the stool and plucks the showerhead off the wall, waiting for the water to warm up in his hand before running it over Seokjin’s exposed back. He’s glad he started behind Seokjin, whose wide back was safely pressed against the driver’s seat during the accident, unmarred. He helps Seokjin lift his muscular but heavy arms to clean his pits, and it’s only when he brings the hose to Seokjin’s hair that he has to be more careful, using the special soap a nurse brought them instead of shampoo to clean small dried chunks of blood out.

“I can do my front,” Seokjin insists, able at least to hold the showerhead, to wipe down his chest and private parts, and most of his legs.

He still needs Yoongi’s help to wash his feet, blushing when Yoongi has to crouch down in front of him (going as quickly as possible, at least, for Seokjin’s comfort). When he’s done, Yoongi stands and steals the opportunity to rinse himself off, skipping his hair because it’s too long these days and takes forever to dry. He uses the last bit of soap to wash his face, and he feels a little more alive. He hopes Seokjin feels the same.

There’s only one scratchy robe, which Yoongi claims so that he can go back into the private room and grab the change of clothes Hoseok brought them yesterday. He dries Seokjin off with a too-small towel and helps him dress in comfy purple sweats and rubber slippers, none of which he seems to recognize from his own closet. “Does Hoseok like purple?”

“These are yours.”

“Great, I love purple.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.”

Yoongi gets dressed, too, shucking off his soaked underwear to change it while Seokjin stares very intently at his own hands. “Thanks,” he murmurs when Yoongi helps him stand again, leaning heavily against him without protest.

“What are husbands for?” Yoongi purrs, and Seokjin snorts, and soon he’s back in his hospital bed, all too ready for another nap.

*

“Are we in love?” Seokjin asks when Yoongi helps him across the threshold to their condo, crossing his arms when Yoongi crouches down to help him with his sneakers. It’s weirdly quiet without Holly’s excited barking (she’s at Jeongguk’s place, bossing around his Doberman), but at least Tang is there to scream at them (for letting Jimin feed her–and probably accost her with kisses–for a week). Seokjin lets her sniff his hand before he pets her, but he does it just the way she likes, muscle memory.

“We’re married,” he says in answer, then helps Seokjin with his jacket, takes his hat off, and finger combs his hair. Seokjin just lets him do it, has let Yoongi take care of him this whole time without flinching. Almost like he enjoys Yoongi doting on him.

(Which he does, but he probably can’t remember that yet.)

“Sure, but is it a tax break thing or a soulmate thing?”

“Are you asking me if our marriage is a bit?”

“Maybe. Am I even gay?”

Yoongi snorts. “I’m pretty sure you knew the answer to that when you were twenty.”

“What if I’m stupid now? Or, was stupid. Do you think I’m wiser now even though I only have my first twenty years of memories?”

Seokjin lets himself be guided to the couch in the living room, braces himself against the arm rest and pulls his legs under him before sitting. He’s just like he was the day before the accident, and Yoongi keeps getting jarred by it, even though the doctor explained it’s just his memory not keeping up with the rest of him.

(“He is himself, but his brain is still healing,” she told Yoongi while Seokjin was asleep. “He knows who you are, too, he just doesn’t know your whole story.”)

Yoongi eases into the couch cushion next to him, doesn’t curl up too closely or lean on him like he usually would. Seokjin is still injured, after all. “You’re gay,” he confirms.

“I knew it!” Seokjin gleams like he just won something. “I never even wanted to kiss my prom date, and she was so much cooler than me.”

“Byulyi’s also gay. She never wanted to kiss you, either.”

Seokjin seems less pleased with that revelation. “How do you know Byulyi?”

“You reconnected on a Chuseok visit in your hometown. She lives in Seoul now with her girlfriend. We all hang out sometimes.”

“It’s weird that I didn’t know that.” Seokjin frowns. “Amnesia is weird.”

He looks young right now, but in the way that Seokjin always looks when he’s sad. Like the kid he was mixed with the man he is now. Yoongi feels comforted by the familiarity, even if he wants Seokjin to be anything but sad.

“I know it’s scary. I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

“You’re going through it too.”

And that’s—that’s Seokjin now, all grown up, all the wisdom they joke that he managed to evade.

Memory can take a lot, but it can’t take someone’s goodness. Seokjin is so good. Tang seems to think so, too, because she hops up on the couch and flops next to him.

Yoongi watches jealously as Seokjin pets her. “It’s not as bad for me as it is for you.”

But Seokjin shakes his head. “It’s not bad for me,” he says. “It’s weird, but it’s not bad. It’s not like I married a serial killer or something.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I don’t, do I? Well, at least you haven’t been caught. It would be so embarrassing to marry an irresponsible serial killer.” He grins at Yoongi. “I guess I’m the lucky one.”

Yoongi swallows around his heart. “You really are. Are you hungry?”

Seokjin thinks about it. He checks out apartment, finds the kitchen over his shoulder, doesn’t seem too alarmed by the impressive size of it. It’s the kitchen that really picked the apartment, with its gorgeous black tile and stainless-steel appliances. A chef’s kitchen. It’s dark, but it’s cozy, with wood accents that match the modern furniture of the living room. They can see the Seoul Tower through their wall-to-ceiling windows.

Yoongi still gets thrown off by their financial success, sometimes.

“No,” Seokjin decides. “My stomach feels weird. And I think I forget how to cook anything good. But you should eat on hyung’s behalf.”

“I’m not hungry either,” Yoongi admits, ignoring the thinly veiled attempt at guilting him. “I’m kinda exhausted, actually.”

“Because I’m exhausting?”

“Because you’re exhausting.”

A sigh. Seokjin pats Tang’s head softly. Pat, pat. “At least some things never change.”

“I can sleep in the other room,” Yoongi offers after tucking Seokjin into bed.

(He commented on the dark blue comforter, complimenting all his own design choices without realizing it. He even complained about the tasteful chandelier that Yoongi still insists pulls the room together. It’s so familiar, familiar, familiar…)

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Wow, Yoongi-yah. You tell me I’m married to this cute guy, and he doesn’t even want to cuddle with me. Rude.”

It’s so embarrassing to blush for your own husband. “I just don’t want to overwhelm you,” he admits, quiet against the city sounds 15-floors beneath them.

Seokjin pulls back the covers and gestures to the empty spot to his right. “I’m already overwhelmed. Don’t make me be alone, too.”

It’s an offer Yoongi can’t refuse.

“Your aunt, I’d kiss her,” Seokjin declares the next morning when they wake up.

(Well, when he wakes up. Yoongi’s been watching him sleep for half an hour. Watching him inhale, exhale peacefully.)

“Which aunt?”

“The pretty one!”

Yoongi blinks. “The one who looks like me in a wig?”

“You look like you in a wig.”

“Hm. I do need a haircut.”

It’s comforting, sort of, knowing that Seokjin didn’t meet Aunt Yeji until after they were dating. They already knew Seokjin’s memory loss wasn’t that linear, that his brain wasn’t just sliced between 2013 and 2014 (which is a horrible image that Yoongi tries to stop picturing immediately). He has all these other nuggets of memory, too, like knowing about the snap at the end of Infinity War, or how to navigate his phone.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Yoongi says. “You go back to sleep.”

*

“Brat, why are you just now coming to see your hyung!”

Jeongguk is still clutching Holly’s leash, keeping her from tackling Seokjin to the ground. (Which she probably couldn’t, at her size, but Seokjin still sways when he stands up, and no one wants to risk it.) He picks her up instead, letting her lick her injured father’s face. Seokjin takes it like a champ, as always.

“Are you talking to me or the dog?” Jeongguk questions, well-aware of the…situation.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Both. You didn’t even visit me in the hospital!”

“I was busy babysitting your dog! And I visited before you woke up. Pretty rude of you not to say hello then.”

They glare at each other. Seokjin breaks first, laughs. “Ahhh, my Jeonggukkie, give me a hug!”

Jeongguk puts Holly down and unleashes her, and Yoongi has half a mind to call her over to him instead of letting her continue her attack on Seokjin. He leads her down the hall tricks her into the bedroom, closing the door to lock her in. When he comes back, he finds Jeongguk carrying Seokjin bridal style back to the couch. They’re still giggling.

“You remember Jeongguk?” Yoongi questions, sitting in the armchair across from them. “But…you only met him a few years ago?”

Pulling Jeongguk down to sit next to him, Seokjin doesn’t offer a hint of surprise. “How could I forget my best friend?”

“I’m your best friend!”

“No, you’re my husband who never plays Fortnite with me. Jeongguk-ah, have you been playing without me?”

Smug like he knew there was no chance of his hyung forgetting him, Jeongguk shakes his head. “I would never betray you like that.”

This is a good thing, Yoongi reminds himself, though the jealousy is creeping out of his skin. It’s good that Seokjin remembers a friend, remembers his hobbies, even if it doesn’t make perfect sense. Then, of course he’d remember Jeongguk, whom Taehyung adopted from some club in Itaewon and forced the rest of the group to accept custody. (Yes, he’s an adult man. Who cares?)

Yoongi watches them chat, lets Jeongguk make fun of the gaps in Seokjin’s memory because Seokjin loves to be pestered, always pesters back. He doesn’t seem to recall exactly how he met Jeongguk, but he does know little things about him, like how he makes pretty good money from streaming and spent half of it on IU tickets, or how he’s madly in love with some guy who paints weird portraits of him (the guy is Taehyung, obviously, but Seokjin hasn’t made that connection yet).

He watches them talk, chuckle, playfight, and he’s so happy, but he’s pouting.

Seokjin notices. “Yah, Yoongi-yah, don’t be jealous of our baby.”

“‘M not a baby!” Jeongguk smacks him, no heat behind it.

“You are. I raised you on my back.”

“I’m twenty-eight years old!” Changing the subject, Jeongguk turns his leer on Yoongi. “Are you jealous of me, Yoongi-hyung?”

“Nope,” Yoongi blatantly lies. “I just feel bad for him. He clearly doesn’t remember how much money he’s lost on feeding you these last few years. You’re quite the financial burden.”

(He’s not, and they all know he’s not. Yoongi and Seokjin make more than enough to spoil all their friends. Besides, they really do love to baby him.)

Seokjin throws a pillow across the room, missing Yoongi by a long shot. “That’s a mean thing to tell our kid. Jeongguk-ah, why’d you let me marry this guy, huh?”

“We were already married,” Yoongi reminds him, not that Seokjin cares.

“See?!” he hits Jeongguk this time. You weren’t here for me when I needed you. No one cares about me.” He’s pretending to sulk, but he’s happy, Yoongi knows he is. He’s probably relieved to find some normalcy within all the weirdness.

Watching Seokjin and Jeongguk bicker, Yoongi is too.

*

A week passes without much change. Yoongi gives Seokjin a tour of the apartment, shows him photos of their friends and vacations (and life together). He doesn’t let Seokjin cook no matter how badly he wants to because his hands are still shaky and nobody wants to die in a fire.

(And maybe a little bit because Yoongi likes cooking for him, likes the sweet, soft smile he offers Yoongi when he likes something.)

They watch movies that Seokjin loves but forgets, and call a different member of his family every day to see if they can jog his memory. They don’t, but Seokjin loves his family, so the calls are pleasant nonetheless.

Yoongi tries to convince Seokjin that Epik High is his favourite artist, and Seokjin listens to three of their albums and lies through his teeth about how much he likes them. Later that night, Yoongi catches him going through his own Spotify history, chuckling to himself at Yoongi’s pranking and no doubt planning his revenge.

Perhaps as a sort of unconscious revenge, Seokjin takes to kicking Yoongi in his sleep. Yoongi knows it’s because he’s used to sleeping closer to him, to holding or being held by him, at least while they drift off. They often sleep back-to-back, too, but there’s always a point of contact, someone’s toes poking at the other’s ankles, or hands held over the covers. It’s maybe a bit humiliating, how much they still like to snuggle in their over a decade-long relationship, but Yoongi thinks it’s sweet.

It’s just embarrassing how much he misses it.

“Hold him, then,” Taehyung suggests when Yoongi confides in him. He brought Jeongguk over for another playdate, and all three of them were screaming bloody murder over Mario Kart before Taehyung decided to sneak away into Yoongi’s office. “He lets you touch him.”

He does. Seokjin often takes Yoongi’s hand when they’re moving around the apartment, even though he doesn’t really need the physical support anymore. His arms and parts of his face are still bandaged, but aside from some hip pain, he’s able to be somewhat active. He even leaned his head against Yoongi’s shoulder while they rewatched the latest Mission Impossible movie, oohing and awing over how handsome Tom Cruise still is.

(You’re jealous again, he goaded.

Whatever, Yoongi grumbled back.)

“I don’t want to scare him off,” Yoongi tells Taehyung. His eyes hurt from staring at a computer screen for an hour, pretending to work on a song that doesn’t even have a due date since the Idol he’s working with is on hiatus. “What if he thinks I’m…coming onto him, or something?”

“He’s your husband. You’re allowed to flirt with him.”

Yoongi sighs. “I’m not sure if he sees me like that. He remembers me as his roommate. He thinks of me as a friend.”

It’s impossible to lie to Taehyung, who has known them both for almost a decade and has a sixth sense for bullshit. “I wasn’t at University with you, but I don’t believe Jin-hyung ever saw you as just friends.” He leans over Yoongi’s shoulders from behind, almost like a hug if it didn’t strangle him. The touch is welcome, if aggressive. “Besides, just because he can’t remember doesn’t mean he can’t remember.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Yoongi croaks.

“Trust me. Jin-hyung still like-likes you. I can tell.”

If Yoongi could breathe with the octopus against his back, he’d probably admonish Taehyung for talking like a kid. Instead, he gasps for enough oxygen to survive, and gratefully pats his friend’s hands.

It doesn’t exactly prove Taehyung right, but at least Seokjin shows no signs of distress when Yoongi settles an arm around his waist atop the covers that night. If anything, he inches closer, so close that Yoongi is almost able to press his chest against Seokjin’s back.

For now, he settles for the clean scent of Seokjin’s shampoo, and for the tiny motion of his ribs while he breathes. For the hand that finds Yoongi’s before they wake the next morning.

*

“Yah! I told you to slice the carrots longways, not like shallots!”

Yoongi looks down at the small pile of chopped carrots on the cutting board. “I’m pretty sure you did, hyung. Must be the memory loss talking.”

He’s playing a dangerous game. Seokjin is perched on the island counter, swinging his legs from what would be a very easy kicking distance. And his kicks, Yoongi knows, are getting stronger. “Nope! I am not letting you play the amnesia card. I know the right way to make morkovcha.”

“Is that what it’s called? You just said you wanted ‘carrot salad’ earlier.”

“I’m not at my peak! Now just get the slicer, please, you’ve already wasted half a carrot.”

Yoongi sweeps the already chopped carrots into Holly’s food bowl. Then, pretending to be very hard-done by Seokjin’s demands, he takes the vegetable slicer from the drawer and just stands there smiling innocently, awaiting further instruction.

Seokjin throws his palms up in disbelief. “Which one of us has memory loss issues again?”

“I defer to your expertise.”

“That’s it!” Seokjin eases himself off the counter using the short stepping stool that Yoongi absolutely does not need in order to reach the highest cupboard. He’s walking fine now, physically improving more every day, even though he still gets tired early. He’s even strong enough to grab Yoongi’s shoulders and jerk him around to face the counter. From there, Yoongi can feel Seokjin’s chest pressing against his shoulders as he reaches around to steal his hands. “Pay attention,” he huffs in Yoongi’s ear.

Slowly, he controls Yoongi’s movements, sliding the slicer down the side of each carrot to sweep off perfect ribbons. It’s nothing that Yoongi couldn’t manage on his own (hell, even Namjoon could make this easy fucking carrot salad), but Yoongi can already tell from the controlled pace of Seokjin’s breathing that this has nothing to do with cooking lessons.

Sometimes, Seokjin pretends to forget how to play the guitar, and Yoongi will wrap arms around him, gently press his fingers down on the strings to form a chord. Kiss his neck while he plays something pretty. Bite his shoulder when he forgets the next tab–

“–There,” Seokjin declares when the first carrot is eviscerated, withdrawing from Yoongi’s back and leaning up against the counter next to him. He picks up another carrot and shoves it in Yoongi’s face. “You’re smart, you can do the next one.”

His ears are so bright and red that Yoongi could find them in the dark.

He accepts the proffered carrot. “Thanks, Chef.”

Ignoring the slight trembling of his hands, Yoongi tries to think of something funny he can say while he finishes slicing the carrots. He wishes that Seokjin would start listing the other ingredients they need, wouldn’t even scold him for joining in. Cooking together is a safehouse for both of them, usually. Honestly, he wishes Seokjin would stop staring at him, would stop toeing closer until Yoongi has finished slicing all the carrots and they’re a breath away from each other and Seokjin hasn’t offered a single new instruction.

He wants to tell Seokjin that what he’s doing now is dangerous because Yoongi wants to jump him. And that feels taboo in a way Yoongi isn’t sure he could articulate, except that Seokjin is still healing, body and mind, so they need to take their relationship slow again.

(As if it was ever slow for them.)

“What do you want?” he quizzes when it’s crystal clear what Seokjin wants from him.

“Yoongi-yahhh,” Seokjin whines, playful, “did we lose our spark?”

Spark. Fire. Is Seokjin talking about… no, you don’t cook morkovcha. Unless he’s talking about the meat dish, which they haven’t decided on yet, didn’t even talk about because Seokjin just had a craving and begged Yoongi to make it for him. Were they about to eat a full lunch? Or just a midday snack before their friends come over?

Seokjin does look hungry.

“What spark?” Yoongi pleads.

“The spark people have when they like each other a whole lot.”

“Oh. That spark.” Eyes meet eyes, dip down to lips, tongues poke out to wet them, and Yoongi wants to kiss Seokjin more than he wants anything, can’t think of any good reason why they shouldn’t kiss, and yet…

He puts the slicer in the sink on his other side, turning his face away. “It’s, you know, a bit one-sided at the moment,” he claims, and immediately regrets his decision.

Footsteps. A drawer opens, and then the fridge, and Seokjin returns with sesame oil and garlic and pepper flakes and starts cooking, confident like he should be, comfortable in his kitchen the way Yoongi didn’t think he remembered how to be.

“You’re allergic to garlic,” he lectures just to say something, just to prove that words are still capable of leaving his stupid, misguided mouth. He doesn’t get a response.

He watches, for a couple of minutes, while Seokjin goes through the practiced motion of making his favourite side dish, humming some song that doesn’t exist under his breath. He asks Yoongi to pass a few ingredients and even mimics Salt Bae once he’s done tossing them together. “Bowls,” he snaps, so Yoongi gets those too, and utensils.

Instead of dividing the meals, Seokjin plucks a set of chopsticks from Yoongi’s hand. He picks up a bite-sized chunk of salad and holds it in front of Yoongi’s mouth. “Something else you need, Chef?”

“Taste.”

Yoongi does. “It’s perfect.”

Seokjin takes a bite. “It’s not. It’s missing something.”

The next thing Yoongi swallows is air. “More garlic?”

“No.” Seokjin stabs the chopsticks into the mixing bowl and gestures for Yoongi to bowl everything. “It has way too much garlic.”

*

“I can’t believe it. Your husband is flirting with you,” Hoseok gags when Yoongi recounts their tryst that evening. He’s never been a fan of cheesy romance (in real life, at least).

Over his shoulder, Jeongguk is arguing with Jimin over whether a single person has one or two buttocks, and Namjoon is begging his boyfriend not to provide an example despite Tae’s suggestion. Seokjin is tucked into the armchair, goading them on.

Yoongi spins his wedding band around his ring finger, one rotation, two…

“He wasn’t flirting,” he asserts, and Hoseok blows a raspberry at him.

But he’s also Yoongi’s best friend, so he asks, “Are you happy?”

“Yes.” Seokjin still likes him enough to cuddle him, to stay in this apartment with him, to even try and kiss him. “I want him to like me.”

“Of course he likes you. He loves you. But…” Hoseok pauses, so careful with Yoongi’s feelings. “He can’t remember your life together.”

“He never remembers anything.” That’s not strictly true: Seokjin is smart and savvy, and reads more than anyone Yoongi’s ever met. He loves to lie–twist history to make a friend smile–but he still knows who he is and where he’s been.

(Usually.)

Seokjin never worried much about the past. He lives life on a day-to-day basis, revels in the privilege of never looking back. He’d rather face a new day than suffer a bland one. And their last few days have been good ones, so, “What difference does it make?”

*

Their friends leave them with a stack of dirty dishes and empty chip bags that Yoongi won’t let Seokjin clean. “I’m feeling very superfluous in this apartment,” he notes while Yoongi loads the dishwasher, but he’s also watching Yoongi’s hands. Which he’s always had a thing for, so… so what if Yoongi showboats a bit while pressing the buttons?

“Not at all,” he flatters. “You improve the room tremendously.”

“Am I just a pretty face to you?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

Seokjin sneers at him. “I’m going to take a shower. We’ll see if I come to bed tonight, since that’s how much you appreciate me.”

“I look forward to the potential of your company.”

“You forgot a chopstick,” Seokjin fibs before strutting out down the hallway, and Yoongi watches him go before wrapping up the nightly chores.

Yoongi is already curled up in blankets with his eyes closed when he feels the bed dip on Seokjin’s side. “Got lonely?” he mumbles into his pillow.

“Our guest room is horribly uninviting,” Seokjin exasperates, and with a click, the back of Yoongi’s eyelids are plunged into darkness. “Even Tangie wouldn’t sleep in there, and I saw him pass out on a dirty sock yesterday.”

He worms his way closer to Yoongi, mattresses creaking with each wiggle. Yoongi’s grateful Seokjin turned out the lights, because he’d never let him live down the beaming face he’s making. He presses his smile deeper into the pillow. Maybe he can suffocate himself to sleep before Seokjin gets any cuter.

“We have lots more socks if you want to sleep somewhere else.”

“Shut up. Hey, Yoongi-yah!” Seokjin may be whispering, but the way he pokes Yoongi’s nose is proof that he doesn’t respect his husband’s lethargy. “Yoongi-yah, I need to tell you something!”

It’s hard to groan with ninety percent of your face hidden in a pillow. “Wha-aat?”

“I tried to kiss this really cute guy today.”

Yoongi’s neck warms. “Who? Joon?”

“Nope. Namjoon is hot, not cute.”

Rescuing himself from suffocation, Yoongi blinks enough that he can make out his husband’s outline against the moonlit window. “Hm. Taehyungie?”

“Too young for me. Anyway,” Seokjin weasels his way even closer to Yoongi, grabby hands finding his waist underneath the blankets. “This other guy–the one with the lips–he doesn’t seem all that into me. Why do you think that is?”

It’s a question Yoongi could answer. Protecting Seokjin is his job, and even though the accident was neither of their faults, he already feels like a failure at it. And Seokjin has been nothing but receptive to the idea of their marriage, but parts of it are still foreign to him, so what if jumping right back into love hurts him?

Yoongi answers: “Maybe it’s ‘cause he’s sleepy and you’re loud.”

“I’m whispering!” Seokjin hisses, but goes quiet for too long after. Even in the dark, Yoongi can tell he’s still awake. “You said it was one-sided,” he breathes eventually. “But you didn’t say which side.”

“Oh.” Yoongi assumed it was obvious. “One-sided for me,” he clarifies, because Seokjin deserves that. It’s not like it’s hard to admit. Yoongi would profess his love every morning if that’s what Seokjin wanted from him.

But he doesn’t ask for that. “You wanna know what the salad was missing, Yoongi-yah?” he coaxes.

Yoongi really hopes Seokjin can’t see him. “What?”

“Our spark. I’m craving it.” And he must be illuminated enough for Seokjin to find his lips, because he murmurs right against them, “Gimme a taste of that spark.”

This time, Yoongi can’t deny him. Right away, it’s like they’ve been doing this the whole, like they never stopped even for a couple of days, let alone the almost two weeks since Seokjin’s accident. Seokjin’s lips are plush, as soft as they should be with the amount of chapstick he wears. He tastes a little like the strawberry candies Taehyung brought over.

“Forgot to brush your teeth,” Yoongi complains between kisses.

“Couldn’t wait.”

Yoongi brings his palm up to Seokjin’s face, brushing hair behind his ears before gently cupping his jaw. That seems to invite tongues into the mix, and then a knee over Yoongi’s hip, and this is where they really need to back off or Yoongi will lose his sanity along with Seokjin’s recently restored innocence.

He pulls back first. “Namjoonie’s actually really cute these days. You’ll see.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who’s into him,” Seokjin notes, making no move to leave space between them. “We should have been a throuple. Was that ever on the table?”

“Never. And I think Jimin would murder us if we tried.”

“I could take Jimin.”

“Hyung. Hyung. I know your memory is all gone, but don’t even try crossing Park Jimin. He’ll eat you alive if you so much as look the wrong way at Joon.” Seokjin can’t stop laughing. Yoongi grips his neck, forcing him to listen. “I feel like you’re not absorbing this. Please trust me. Your life is on the line.”

Seokjin finally concedes, settling his cheek on Yoongi’s arm and closing his eyes. “Fine. Hyung will be careful around Jimin.”

“Thank you.” Yoongi wraps his upper arm around Seokjin’s waist. He’s not losing him again.

*

“You haven’t lost him now. He’s inside your apartment with Taehyungie,” the very scary Jimin reminds Yoongi after kidnapping him to a non-consensual shopping date, saying he was allowed to have one (1) sad day but he wasn’t allowed to take it out on their soulmates. Probably because Taehyung texted him that Yoongi was being a bummer, barely laughing at any of their jokes and turning down the controller every time they started a new round of Mario Kart. He’s sure that even Seokjin noticed, deflating when Yoongi turned down attempts to hold his hand, even turned down an early morning kiss when they woke up.

He’s not even sure why he’s sad. Seokjin has been so cheerful all week, cooking most of their meals and kissing Yoongi at bedtime and inviting all their friends over to hang out. He even remembered Yongsun when Byulyi came to visit, which is a huge win considering they only met a few years ago. Yoongi should be over the moon with joy, but instead, he just feels lethargic. Exhausted.

“Sounds like relief,” Jimin suggests when Yoongi shares that with him in the food court (which of course he does, because nobody coaxes complex feelings out of Yoongi the way Park Jimin does). “You spent so much time on edge that now being able to relax is overwhelming. Like a stress hangover.”

“Maybe,” Yoongi agrees half-heartedly. He’s not sure that’s all of it, but he’s lost on what the other part could be. Unless… “Maybe I don’t like what I’m feeling.”

Jimin snorts, and slurps down a bite of noodles. “Nobody likes feeling bad.”

Yoongi twirls his own noodles around his chopsticks, poking at his meal like a toddler. “It’s more… I think I feel like a bad husband? Does that make sense?”

“You? A bad husband? Come on, now. What the hell do you mean?”

It’s hard to explain, but Jimin might slap him if he doesn’t at least try. Yoongi puts down his food but keeps rolling the chopsticks between his fingers. “I wanted hyung to wake up so bad, and he did, and I’m so happy. But I feel like… like I’m too happy about it? He’s lost so many memories, and it must be so weird for him. He’s stuck with some guy he barely knows.”

“His husband. His husband, whom he loves,” Jimin emphasizes.

“Maybe.” Everything is still up in the air right now. “Anyway, I’m just grateful he’s alive, and he’s here, but shouldn’t I want all his memories to come back? For his sake? Aren’t I just being selfish?”

“Do you not want his memories to come back?”

“I do,” Yoongi says, because he does. He wants Seokjin to remember everything, to remember their life together, to remember all the funny and stupid and romantic moments they’ve had together. But… “I don’t think it matters enough to me. He’s still Seokjin, and he still cares about me and loves all the people he loves. That’s enough for me, but I should want more for him, right?”

The thing about Jimin is that he’s evil, but he’s also the most accepting person Yoongi’s ever met. And the one thing he won’t stand for is self-loathing. “You realize, you’re one of the people he loves, right? As a matter of fact, you’re the person he loves the most.”

“I was. But it’s okay if that’s not true anymore.”

“Yoongi-hyung, you’re so stupid,” Jimin tells him, an insult he hears too often for his offended gasp to be legitimate. “You obviously do want more for him, you just want it for his sake instead of your own. That’s, like, the least selfish thing I’ve ever heard. Besides, you don’t even know what he wants.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Jimin absorbing his meal while Yoongi manages a few small bites. Then: “What do you mean, what he wants?” Yoongi blinks. “He wants his memories back.”

“Did he say that?” Jimin asks.

“He…” Yoongi tenses. “No. Not necessarily. But he must, right?”

Jimin swings his legs over the bench seat and collects their mess onto one tray. “You know Jin-hyung,” he says, motioning for Yoongi to follow him to a trash bin. “He just goes with the flow, but he also doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

Yoongi pushes open the trash flap for Jimin to clear the tray, leaving it on top of the bin. “That was before the accident. He thinks he’s in university, he was a lot more impressionable back then.” He was a total people-pleaser, and still is in some ways, even if he never lets it demean him anymore. He’s balanced.

“Despite Tae’s imagination, hyung’s not actually a time traveler,” Jimin points out. “He’s not in university, and he knows he isn’t in university. And just because he doesn’t remember all the stuff that happened after doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, or that it didn’t change him. He’s still the person he was right before the accident, and he’s still changing now, and guess what?”

The pause lasts long enough for Yoongi to realize Jimin actually wants him to respond. “What?” he concedes.

Jimin smirks, satisfied. “He’s still with you. He could have very easily gone to stay with his parents or his brother, but he chose to stay with you, in your apartment, living the life the two of you built together. Why would he choose that?”

Again, Jimin probably wants to be prompted for the answer. “Why?” Yoongi sighs, gesturing to the imaginary stage between them.

This time, Jimin shrugs. “Oh, beats me. I was actually asking why anyone would want to hang around with you. I still haven’t figured it out.”

Jimin is already strutting out of the food court when Yoongi is finished rolling his eyes. “I hate you,” he lies, catching up with him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimin brushes off. “Now come on, I need to get my roots touched up, and you need a new look. You’re starting to look like Cousin It.”

“Your hair is longer than mine.”

“Exactly, it’s my thing now. Get your own.”

God, Jimin is the worst. Yoongi hopes he never changes.

*

“Did you have a nice day with Taehyung?” Yoongi asks Seokjin once they’re alone on the couch. It took some arguing to get Jimin and Taehyung to leave, Seokjin promising to give them a cooking lesson next time they’re both over, and Yoongi makes a mental note to not be in the apartment when that happens.

“He’s a good babysitter,” Seokjin jokes, and Yoongi winces. It’s a fair assessment, considering how unwilling any of them are to leave him alone.

Yoongi was originally supposed to go back to the office after the weekend, but he keeps pushing it off, insisting he can work just fine from home. They’re being flexible with him, more than he deserves, but he can’t keep this up forever. Eventually, he’ll have to leave Seokjin with the pets. Eventually, Seokjin will want to go back to the restaurant.

“Sorry. I’m not trying to coddle you.”

Seokjin offers a soft smile, not upset. “I’m joking, I like Taehyung. I think he gets me really well.”

That sounds like Taehyung. Yoongi wants to dig, to ask exactly what it was about Seokjin that Taehyung got, but he knows some heart-to-hearts need to stay private. Seokjin deserves that. “We’re pretty sure he’s psychic. But no one is sure if it’s on purpose or he just thinks angels are telling him our secrets.”

“Spooky.”

“Very.”

It gets quiet very fast. Seokjin is… well, he’s looking at Yoongi. Has been looking at him ever since he walked through the door. Yoongi knows exactly what Seokjin’s looking means, but he’s not sure he’s allowed to acknowledge it.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, then winces again when Seokjin snickers. “There’s still janchi guksu from this morning,” he reminds him. Seokjin made it, floating around the kitchen like it was second nature to him. It is.

“It tasted funny,” Seokjin says. “Like it was missing something.”

Our spark? Yoongi wants to ask, wants to flirt, wants to echo Seokjin’s boldness from a few nights ago. “You usually add kimchi with sesame oil,” he says instead.

“That does sound delicious.” Looking, looking, looking. “Hey,” Seokjin beckons.

“Hm?”

“I really like your hair.”

Yoongi is pale, but he doesn’t blush the way Seokjin does when they’re… doing this. Whatever this is. Instead, the hair on his arms seems to stand up, shivers rolling through his extremities. He busies at least one of his hands to touch his freshly chopped locks. “It’s not too short?” he checks.

Seokjin shakes his head. “I can see your face more. You look very round.”

“Jimin said the same thing.”

“I don’t want to talk about Jimin.”

It’s amazing how Seokjin is the most easily embarrassed person on the planet, but he’s so good at riling Yoongi up, seems to have a PhD in flirting with him specifically. He’s not even doing anything, just eyeing him curiously, grinning when he fidgets. Does he even know what he’s doing, or does this just come to Seokjin naturally? Maybe Yoongi is just too easy for him, could get himself turned on just from Seokjin’s smile, or his incessant tomfoolery.

Yoongi wonders if Seokjin remembers just how easy he is for Yoongi, too.

He stands, but doesn’t give Seokjin time to deflate before moving in front of him, waiting for him to uncross his legs so Yoongi can settle in his lap. He’s strong enough for this now, Yoongi thinks, and he’s keeping most of his weight on the couch, anyway.

Seokjin leans in to kiss him, but Yoongi pulls back, taking his hands (which had already found Yoongi’s waist over his t-shirt) and bringing them to his head, forcing Seokjin to touch his hair. “Still like it?” he asks, letting Seokjin play around a little.

“Mm-hm,” he answered, wordless.

Bravely, Yoongi lets his own hands wander upward, fingers tangling in Seokjin’s now longer hair. “You know, my mom likes me better with long hair,” he teases.

“Sorry, Eomma-nim,” Seokjin whispers, but he’s barely paying attention, neck blushing the more Yoongi strokes him.

He makes sure to clear the hair around his ears first, can feel the heat emanating off them like tiny radiators. He could bite them, he knows, and set Seokjin off like a firework. He wants to.

“Please,” Seokjin begs as though Yoongi offered, but he knows the only thing coming out of his mouth right now is his tongue, licking his own lips. Fuck, they’ve barely done anything and Seokjin looks so good, so red and hot and desperate for him. Once again, he looks young, but not in a bad or scary way. This is just something that’s never changed, not since the first time they took the leap from friends to something new. Seokjin wants him, and Yoongi wants Seokjin, and that’s…

“What do you want for dinner?” Yoongi asks, testing his listening skills again.

“Huh?”

“We could order in. There’s a Blue Dragon a few blocks out that we like sometimes. It has the best dumplings.”

“Okay. Dumplings, okay.”

Yoongi rewards him for the response by closing his fingers, gently tugging his hair to pull his head back. He goes, pliant, so Yoongi kisses his neck. Just soft, just once.

“Fuck.” One of Seokjin’s legs twitches, and Yoongi knows he’s being mean, but he also knows how much his husband loves this. He’s so strong, bigger than Yoongi, but his self-control is endearing when he could so easily take over. He’s so good at being good.

If he checked, Yoongi knows Seokjin is probably getting hard, but he’s not sure if that’s where this was supposed to go, so he keeps his hips a healthy distance back. He kisses Seokjin’s neck again, though, and again, suckling as he presses up to his chin, then meets his waiting lips.

That finally sets Seokjin off, pulling Yoongi in by the back of his neck and wrapping one arm back around his waist, balling up his shirt in a fist. He drags Yoongi forward, shoving his tongue down his throat and licking his teeth, and now Yoongi really can feel how hard he’s getting, can also feel how hard he’s holding back, legs shaking with the effort of keeping his hips still. They could keep going. Fuck, Yoongi wants to keep going, wants to roll into him until they’re both gasping, hips jumping, and come in their pants like that one time after Yoongi came home from a bad date and crawled into his hyung’s bed and–

“Wait.” Yoongi pulls back, evading Seokjin’s next attempt to catch his lips. “Have we done this before?”

“What the fuck?” Seokjin wheezes, the flush of his chest visible above the neckline of his t-shirt. Yoongi shoves his face into Seokjin’s shoulder, laughing at himself more than Seokjin’s desperate face. “I don’t fucking know, you tell me!”

Yoongi feels insane, cackling as Seokjin keeps complaining, pulling on his short strands of hair to try and drag his lips back into make out territory. He does sit up, but pushes himself back a bit, creating a safe distance. “I meant, do you remember having sex?”

“With you?”

“With anyone,” Yoongi prompts, even though he’ll be jealous if Seokjin’s injured brain doesn’t prioritize the memory of their particular rendezvous.

Eyes glazing while he ponders, Seokjin does seem to calm a bit, his grip on Yoongi loosening to a more comfortable hold. “I… I don’t think so. Have I slept with other people?”

“A few.” Seokjin had one major boyfriend before Yoongi and a very proud (though prudent) Slut Phase in between. “But I was first, you know?”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm. Ruined you for everyone else, despite your best efforts.”

“As if I didn’t ruin you, too.”

He did. All it took was one mediocre hand job from Seokjin (and an admittedly much better blowjob from Yoongi) and Yoongi didn’t so much as kiss another person for the rest of his days. All his subsequent first dates only led him back into Seokjin’s bed, the only place he wanted to be. “Married you, didn’t I?”

“Allegedly.” Seokjin frowns. “Were you really my first?”

Oh. It’s that face again, the one Yoongi recognizes as guilt, because he truly doesn’t know. “I was,” he answers, because Seokjin deserves honesty. But he doesn’t deserve to feel bad. He shouldn’t feel bad ever again. “I guess that means…” Yoongi mews, leaning in just enough that Seokjin shivers, grips him a little bit tighter, “I could be your first… again.”

Seokjin swallows. “Like, right now?” he asks, and it’s more of a request, but…

Yoongi isn’t going to give in that easily. “Right here? Where the kids can see us?”

“We don’t have kids,” Seokjin bleats. “At least none you’ve mentioned. And Holly’s in his crate.”

“I saw Tangie in here earlier. What a shame.” Yoongi slides backwards until he can get his feet on the floor. “I guess it’ll have to wait.”

Seokjin spreads his palms, dumbfounded. “We have a whole bedroom! A bed, with plenty of space for activities!” He’s so flustered that he stands, chasing Yoongi into the kitchen where he’s pulling leftovers out of the fridge. “We can do it in front of the window for all I care!”

Yoongi’s feigns offense. “Memory loss has turned you into a harlot! We can put a pin in this until you settle down.” He pours leftover soup into a pot and begins heating it on the stovetop.

“You’re a menace,” Seokjin accuses, and Yoongi can feel him glaring before arms wrap around his waist, and teeth press into his neck, not really biting. “Got me all riled up just to satisfy your virgin kink.”

“I do not have a virgin kink,” Yoongi rebuts, though he’s not sure that’s strictly true, or if it’s just something he never really considered before. He remembers taking pride in being Seokjin’s first all those years ago, but he didn’t really have the language to consider it a kink back then. Now, on the other hand… “It will be a pleasure to blow your mind again someday.”

“Blow it now,” Seokjin suggests. “Actually, aren’t you the guy that was always going on about his tongue technology? Blow me now!”

“Not even if you beg.”

Yoongi lets Seokjin cling onto him while he stirs the soup, escaping only when it’s time to get the bowls and set the dining table.

They sit down next to each other, facing the window, and Yoongi catches Seokjin’s reflection, watches him take the first bite. “I never said you can’t try begging.”

Seokjin chokes, coughs through it. “Were you always this cocky?” his reflection asks.

“Oh no, I got much worse.” Yoongi chews his own food for a minute, swallows, rests a hand on Seokjin’s thigh underneath the table. “I’ll show you sometime.”

Watching them eat together amongst the city lights, Yoongi has never been so happy with a new haircut.

*

“You’re taking this better than I expected,” Namjoon points out when they’re in his studio together, Yoongi finally making his grand return to the office.

“Seokjin’s an adult,” Yoongi states, more for his own sake than Namjoon’s. “He can be alone for a few hours. Besides, Jeongguk’s gaming with him. I just hope he doesn’t forget to feed himself.”

Even if he does, Yoongi still plans to buy takeout on the way home, unwilling to admit that he’s too emotionally exhausted from leaving Seokjin alone to cook. Besides, he said last night he’s craving sweet and sour pork, and Seokjin is the only chef who even comes close to matching the Chinese place near their apartment.

Namjoon hums. “He is a growing boy.”

“Shut up, he’s not a child.” Or a time traveler, or a glitch in the Matrix. He’s just Seokjin, lost memories and all.

“I was just kidding,” Namjoon testifies. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Besides, you two seem… good.”

They have been good. Seokjin still keeps trying to seduce Yoongi, but it’s playful, and it’s nice being able to kiss him again. To treat him like a husband, even if Yoongi still feels the urge to hold back, to keep him at arm’s length when it comes to… extracurriculars. “Hyung is happy lately.”

“But he still doesn’t have it all back? His memory?”

“Half and half.” Now and then, Seokjin brings up an old travel story, or an argument they had years ago, or something funny Tang did when he was a kitten. “He remembers more about other people than he does about me.”

“About the two of you, you mean,” Namjoon clarifies, because he never beats around the bush as much as Yoongi. “He knows you just fine, I think.”

“I guess I haven’t changed much since University.”

Namjoon makes a sound that Yoongi isn’t sure he’s heard from him before. “Yoongi-hyung, you’ve like, evolved since then. Multiple times.”

“I’m not a Pokémon.”

“You’d be a Wooper.”

“So you’ve mentioned.” Yoongi purses his lips.

“Hyung.” Turning in his chair so he can face Yoongi directly (it took them years to be this comfortable with each other, their friends sitting them down and forcing them to look each other in the eye for an entire conversation like it was exposure therapy), Namjoon tells him, “You’re not a different person now or anything, but you used to be so miserable sometimes.”

“Thanks, Joon.”

Namjoon huffs. “I’m just saying, you couldn’t let yourself be happy before. Didn’t trust people to stick around, didn’t think opportunities would realistically lead to anything.”

“So what? Now I just trust the universe?”

“Kind of. And you’re a lot more okay when it doesn’t work out. You’re easy-going.”

“I got that from hyung,” Yoongi reminds him. “During all that time he can’t remember.”

Namjoon sighs, tilts his head back in exasperation. “But all that time still happened, you know? It passed, and hyung was there. He doesn’t need to see the changing to know what’s changed.”

(Like seeing his face for the first time, so many years older. But still so, so beautiful.)

At Yoongi’s insistence, they take a break from their heart-to-heart to look at the song Namjoon called him in for, making changes to the BPM and adding a traditional instrument Yoongi suggested. He can tell that Namjoon wants to pick up where they left off, but it’s always harder to talk to Namjoon. Not because he isn’t a great sounding board, but because he’s too good, seeing through Yoongi in all the ways he prefers to ignore. All his friends seem to have the telepathic ability to read his mind, but it’s worse with Namjoon because he can relate to it. All that anxiety and and ambition and self-doubt live inside him too, and they’ve both overcome so much of it, but the battle never really stops. Yoongi’s not even sure they’d want it to at this point, and the thought used to scare him. It doesn’t anymore.

Namjoon’s right: he’s changed, and he thinks it’s for the better.

“Jin-hyung said you won’t touch him,” Namjoon says suddenly, and Yoongi nearly jumps at the sound of his voice.

“I touch him!” he retorts. “Why would he tell you that?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell me,” Namjoon clarifies. “He told Taehyung.” Who told Jimin, who told Namjoon, who’s probably told Hoseok by now because of his big, fat crush on him (Yoongi’s not sure why Jimin keeps waiting for Namjoon to suggest a polyamorous relationship when he could very easily orchestrate a threesome, but he keeps using the phrase ‘horny guilt’ when he brags about torturing his boyfriend, and Yoongi refuses to ask follow up questions). “So, you do touch him?”

“We’ve been…” Dating isn’t exactly the right word, and flirting feels childish. “We touch plenty. We even kiss, sometimes.” A lot, whenever Seokjin wants to, which is multiple times a day.

He almost always initiates.

“I should hope you kiss him, you married him,” Namjoon jests. “And he clearly wants you to.”

“But why?” Yoongi knows from experience that Seokjin is attracted to him. Was attracted to him in university and still is now, for whatever reason. He knows that Seokjin fell in love with him because he liked him, liked their banter, liked the way Yoongi made him feel back then. “Why would he want me at all? Like you said, I’m different now. Lightning doesn’t just strike twice in the same place.”

“Lighting very often strikes twice in the same place, actually,” Namjoon says, and he’s probably right, but Yoongi still huffs at him. “That’s like a big thing with lightning, mostly based on environmental factors. And elevation, though that’s obviously not going to help you.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. Namjoon returns it. Jerk.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, “that you may have changed a lot, but you’re still you. You suited him then, and that’s why you fell together. And then you changed together. It makes sense that you’d still fit.”

Folding his arms petulantly, Yoongi says, “It’s not fair to expect a guy to fall for me just because he did it once before.”

“It’s also not fair to assume he ever stopped loving you in the first place. He lost his memories, not his heart.”

And that is the most Namjoon thing to say, romantic and a little naive and a lot poetic.

And also… not wrong. Probably. Namjoon usually isn’t.

What a guy.

“Namjoon-ah?” Yoongi calls when he’s nose deep back in his computer screen.

“Yes?”

“Just wondering, would you have ever considered being in a relationship with hyung and me? Like, all three of us dat—”

“—I need you not even to finish that thought!” Namjoon explodes out of his chair and starts pacing around the studio, papers blowing off the desk as he agonizes. “Jesus, now I have to call Jimin and tell him you tried to tempt me, and he’s gonna kill you for sure, but then he’s gonna kill me, and he’ll probably go after Jin-hyung just to sweeten the pot. What the fuck have you done? Hyung, stop laughing! Yoongi-hyung!”

*

Seokjin is still yelling into his headphones when Yoongi gets in, but he wraps up his virtual game with Jeongguk quickly, getting up to meet Yoongi at the door. “Missed you today,” he says, leaning down to kiss him.

Yoongi accepts the greeting, and bends down to pet a joyful Holly as well. Then, he lifts the paper takeout bag between them. “I brought the meat you requested.”

“This is not the meat I requested,” Seokjin complains, but takes the bag anyway and brings it to the table to unpack, this time seating them so they can look at each other. They’re no strangers to eating takeout on the couch, but eating dinner at the table is a habit they formed years ago, mostly because their work schedules make eating together at all a rare commodity. If anything, Seokjin’s accident has allowed them the most consecutive time they’ve had together in years, and Yoongi is upset at himself for only just realizing that, for taking it for granted.

He’s not willing to take Seokjin for granted.

Seokjin destroys the pork while Yoongi talks about his workday, bragging about how many other producers asked him for input on their songs, and how many idols know his name.

“My own husband, saving the entire K-Pop industry.”

“Namjoonie should get some credit too.”

“Well, I missed you, not him,” Seokjin says. “Tangie has been a ghost all day, and Holly’s been restless. And playing with Jeongguk is fun, but…”

“Playing with me is even better?”

Eyebrows waggling, Seokjin affirms, “You said it, not me.”

He’s doing it again, the thing Yoongi is sure he doesn’t even recognize. The thing where he clearly wants Yoongi, wants to provoke him, wants to sully his self-control.

And maybe it’s because of what Namjoon said, or what they’ve all been telling him, or just what Yoongi’s realized in the last few weeks of Seokjin coming home, but Yoongi doesn’t want to deny him any longer.

Kim Seokjin is sitting at their dinner table. He’s eating sweet and sour pork even though he’d rather be eating Yoongi. And he looks absolutely delicious doing it.

Yoongi pushes his chair back and stands, walking around the table until he can wrap a hand around Seokjin’s arm, coaxing him up too.

“Come on,” he says, dragging his palm down to Seokjin’s hand, and leads him into the hallway.

“Where are you taking me?” Seokjin asks, and Yoongi doesn’t bother answering, instead guiding him into their bedroom and pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed.

He has to leave Seokjin for a moment to close the door (Holly is going to have a field day when he realizes they left food on the table), but he makes quick strides back to where his husband is waiting for him, eyes saucers in silent disbelief that this is actually happening.

Yoongi bends down for a kiss, coaxing Seokjin’s jaw up to meet him. They make out like that for a couple minutes, no learning curve because Seokjin’s body already knows him, and Yoongi could never forget his kisses. He makes a high-pitched sound when Yoongi licks his ear, and his breathing becomes erratic when Yoongi sucks. When he pulls away, Seokjin grabs him by the beltloops, but he doesn’t need to worry, because Yoongi just wanted to pull his t-shirt over his head, reveal his fire-red torso.

Seokjin’s body looks so much better now than it did after the accident. A few permanent scars already faded to white, and the bruising is almost forgotten. Yoongi takes a moment to admire him with his eyes, then touches him, brushing well-practiced hands over his pecs and his (softened but still toned) stomach.

He’s surprised when Seokjin starts undoing his buttons, opening his shirt with crooked fingers and frowning at the white tank top underneath. “Too many clothes,” he says.

“I can fix that,” Yoongi promises, and slides the button-down off his arms before taking off the tank top.

It’s always unbelievable to him, that while Yoongi doesn’t think his body is anything to write home about–especially in juxtaposition with Seokjin’s immaculate one–that he can be so enamored by the sight of him. There isn’t even a breath between Yoongi stripping and Seokjin touching him, pulling him in by the waist and kissing him there, pressing a cheek against his stomach. “Fuck,” he grunts.

“If you want,” Yoongi coos, tries to keeps things playful even though he’s not unaffected by Seokjin’s touch, by his eagerness. God, blood is already rushing to his dick just from the heat of Seokjin’s breath, by the colour burning down the back of his neck.

“I want…” Seokjin starts, and can’t seem to articulate the thought, but his hands find Yoongi’s belt. “Can I?”

There’s a very annoying, familiar voice in Yoongi’s head that says they should slow down, talk about this, worry about whether or not this is going to overwhelm Seokjin or hurt him. But Seokjin’s given countless blowjobs in his life, and most of them to Yoongi, and he’s never seemed hard-done by it. And if his pleading look at Yoongi is anything to go by, then turning him down would be even more offensive than proceeding.

“You can,” Yoongi tells him, and his belt is undone in half a second, and his pants around his ankles right after.

He finds himself already hard, cock stretching against black briefs, which would be humiliating if the last month wasn’t the longest he’s ever gone without an orgasm. Sure, he could have touched himself in the shower, but with all the stress of Seokjin’s accident, his recovery, and Yoongi’s general anxiety, it didn’t even occur to him. He wonders if it occurred to Seokjin, but a quick glance at his lap proves it doesn’t even matter if he’s been touching himself all this time: he’s as desperate for this as Yoongi is.

Seokjin lets his hand brush across Yoongi’s hip until he’s touching him through the briefs, fingers getting used to the shape of him. Yoongi isn’t especially big, but he is thick, and Seokjin licks his lips when he cups him.

“You need to take it out first,” Yoongi suggests, just to make him scoff.

“Backseat driver,” he admonishes, and leans in.

He runs his tongue over Yoongi through his underwear, soaking it with all the spit that must have been watering in his mouth since they started. It’s nowhere near enough, but it feels so good that Yoongi moans, grips Seokjin’s hair gently just to hold him there for a second.

There must be a sort of muscle memory for this too, because Seokjin finds his tip even through the fabric, wraps lips around it and tongues at the crease and hums. If anything, the fabric makes it more tantalizing, so much promise of what Yoongi will have in just a minute, if he keeps letting Seokjin have his fun.

Satisfied at whatever humiliating sounds Yoongi is making, Seokjin pulls back and grins at him. “How am I doing so far?”

Yoongi wields all his strength into a disapproving look. “Technically, my dick is underneath all that.”

“Well, it’s my first time,” Seokjin shrugs, and Yoongi knows he’s just saying that to make him as insane as possible, but he is curious about how it feels on the other side. Does Seokjin realize he’s doing a lot better now than he did the actual first time this happened? Or is he genuinely learning on the fly, trusting his (well-earned) instincts?

As his underwear slips down to meet his jeans and Seokjin licks his cock for real, Yoongi realizes he doesn’t give a shit either way.

It’s a perfect blow job, Yoongi thinks as Seokjin kisses his shaft and suckles his balls and wraps thick lips around his head to ruin him. And that’s nowhere near true, considering it’s way too fast and a bit erratic and Yoongi has to hold himself because Seokjin isn’t using his hands, but other than that it’s the best blowjob anyone on the planet has ever gotten. Because it’s Seokjin, who wants this, who is so into Yoongi that he keeps shifting his own hips, searching for friction in his soft purple sweatpants, tented from his own excitement.

It’s so good that Yoongi almost forgets that he doesn’t want to come like this, wants to touch Seokjin first, take him apart while he still has the wherewithal to do it properly. So, begrudgingly, he commands Seokjin to, “Stop.”

“Was it bad?” is the first thing out of Seokjin’s pretty, wet mouth. He already looks wrecked, lips blown out and cheeks pink and eyes watering from taking Yoongi so deep so fast.

Yoongi kisses him, hard, tastes himself upon his husband’s lips. “It was amazing,” he swears, because it was, and Seokjin isn’t allowed to doubt that. “I want a turn.”

“Oh. Oh my god.” Seokjin’s mouth falls open as he realizes what Yoongi is saying. “Are you going to top me?”

After making another sound he’ll probably deny later, Yoongi is shocked into a laugh. “I mean, I can, if you’re asking.”

“Fuck, yes? Please? I mean, I don’t know how we usually do it, and your ass is amazing, but I’m pretty sure you’ve fucked me before and I’d really like to be reminded of that as soon as possible if that’s okay?”

It’s unfair that Seokjin is so hot right now, but Yoongi is too distracted by endearment to fully appreciate it. He’s so adorable, mouth running wild exactly the way it did when they were in university, both so young and overeager and unsure how to properly express the things they wanted.

After years together, sex never got boring, but it did become comfortable. Easy to take things, to try things, to laugh at things. And that was better, Yoongi thinks, not just because of their improved skillsets, but because of the intimacy a decade with the same person builds.

Then, it was always intimate. Is intimate now.

It’s just also… really, stupidly sexy watching Seokjin beg.

Damn, maybe Yoongi does have a virgin kink.

“We do it however we want,” Yoongi tells Seokjin, cupping his blushing cheek. “We do it whenever we want.”

“Can we do it now?”

“Sure,” Yoongi breathes, and leans down for another kiss, this time letting Seokjin drag him onto the bed and straddle him. Yoongi shoves his hands under Seokjin’s waistband and guides him closer, closer, grinding together while they kiss.

It’s a wonder to be kissed so eagerly, touched so desperately as he tastes Seokjin’s panting, feel him shake when Yoongi presses a finger experimentally between his cheeks. “Hard to do this with your pants on,” he chuckles, and Seokjin is naked in record time, no underwear to be found beneath the sweats.

He kneels in front of Yoongi, hard and flushed and waiting. Waiting.

“Come here,” Yoongi beckons, because he wants Seokjin’s comforting weight back (especially after those few days when he thought he’d lost this forever).

Seokjin presses into him, still letting himself be guided, but surer of himself now that they’ve been at this for a while. Like this, Yoongi could pretend things are normal, that the accident never happened, that this is just Seokjin as usual. Which…

He is, really. He’s Yoongi’s husband, his best friend, his lover. All at once. Memories be damned.

He has no idea what he’s in for.

“One second,” Yoongi pauses, reaching for the bedside table as Seokjin dips down to suck his jaw. But the drawer there is already opened, the lube waiting in Seokjin’s palm. “You remembered?” he asks.

“Really? You think I’m too stupid to figure out the lube is in the sex drawer?”

“It is not a sex drawer.”

“All bedside tables are sex drawers. I know the law.”

Seokjin goes back to busying himself with Yoongi’s neck, sucking a hickey there while rubbing off on Yoongi’s thigh. “Fuck,” he hoarses, along with a few other swear words that only wrench out during sex. “You’re so fucking…”

“What? I’m fucking what?” Yoongi palms at his lower back, rewarded by the shift of Seokjin’s muscles as he humps him.

“Hot. Pretty. Legs. Feel good…”

“Where’s my public speaker now, hm?”

“I’m more into–ah, ah–pubic speaking these days.”

God, he’s ridiculous, but Yoongi laughs anyway, because laughter and sex go hand in hand with the two of them. It’s comforting, that ostensibly this is Seokjin’s first time in memory, but his body is experienced enough not to panic. Maybe it’s his body that recognizes Yoongi, that finds shelter in doing this with him. Muscle memory of all the sordid things the two of them like to get up to together.

He’s not sure if it’s sexy or just sweet. Maybe it’s both.

Maybe Yoongi’s heart is just as horny as the rest of him.

“I thought you wanted to do this the other way?” Yoongi questions once Seokjin has successfully marked him up, worked himself up enough to leak all over their hips.

Seokjin, to his credit, slows to a pause and leans up, looking horribly ravished and not at all embarrassed by Yoongi’s light admonishment. Lips parted, he just looks eager to keep going, to wait for Yoongi’s next instruction and reap the benefits of obeying.

He still gets like this, sometimes, easy and suggestible, or else just too lazy to take charge in the bedroom. But he knows that Yoongi likes it, that as much as he loves to be thrown around and railed into next Tuesday, he also loves the care it takes to let his partner rest. He might even like it more, especially when Seokjin gets this particular look on his face. Desperate. Brazen.

(So fucking horny he could die from it.)

(Okay. Still too soon.)

Yoongi guides Seokjin onto his back, perches between his legs and takes a moment to appreciate the view: blushing body, twitching cock, hands fisted into the sheets. It’ll be a miracle if Yoongi survives the next few seconds, let alone what he plans to do with his husband, but he must persist, so he claws one hand under Seokjin’s knee and guides his calf over his shoulder.

“Still got it,” Seokjin, who has always been surprisingly bendy, boasts.

“I try to keep you limber. For health reasons.”

“Nurse Min at my service.”

Spread out like this, Yoongi has a perfect view of Seokjin’s hole, dark pink and waiting for him. There’s a dusting of hair that’s usually shaved, a preference they both share for their own pleasure, but couldn’t care less about on each other. Yoongi licks the back of his teeth, wishing he could run his tongue across the puckered hole, but that would end things almost immediately, and Seokjin’s stamina isn’t a match for when he was actually twenty.

Instead, Yoongi kisses Seokjin’s knee and carefully lubes up his fingers, showing off his hands. Then, gripping Seokjin’s thigh for balance, he brings just his middle finger to Seokjin’s hole. “Ready?” he checks.

He isn’t sure Seokjin will answer, too fevered from arousal to do anything but nod, until he answers, “Please.”

Yoongi’s cock is the one that twitches when he slides inside Seokjin, painfully slow and searching, opening his tight walls for the first time in weeks. He goes in deep though, the benefit of having large hands, and Seokjin seems comfortable with the intrusion, eyes blinking up at Yoongi like he’s waiting for more.

“Remember this feeling?” he wonders aloud, intoxicated himself from Seokjin’s heat.

Seokjin’s hips shift, searching for more. “I barely feel anything.”

“Size queen.”

“Am I?”

No, not really. “More of a pillow princess.”

When Seokjin gasps, cock jumping, Yoongi remembers how much he loves that nickname, always comes so hard when he uses it close to climax. It’s funny, how Seokjin is the one with memory loss, but Yoongi’s already gotten so used to the dip in their sex life that he barely remembered how to rile his husband up.

“Did you like that? You like being my princess?”

“Holy shit.”

Yoongi smirks. “Nothing holy about it, darling.” He starts moving his finger in and out, agonizingly slowly–at least if Seokjin’s attempts to get him deeper are any indication.

“You’re a demon. A–oh–succubus.”

“You know, somebody told me I’m quite the tempter of men today.”

“I could take ‘em. You’re my sex demon. Mine.”

“Yours,” Yoongi agrees, and pulls his finger out just enough to add more lube, going back in with his index finger alongside his middle one, spreading them minimally to get Seokjin used to the sensation. He seems open to the–well, opening–so Yoongi spreads him even wider.

His own erection hasn’t so much as flagged since Seokjin blew him, but he tries not to touch himself. A challenge, with his view of Seokjin’s creased forehead, the bulging veins in his neck, the reeling gasps that seem endless. He can’t wait to do more than this, to finally be inside him the way he hasn’t had for weeks, craves more often than is probably healthy.

A third finger joins the first two, and Seokjin makes an uncomfortable, “Ooh!” noise, followed by a, “It’s okay, I’m fine, please don’t stop!” when Yoongi starts to retrieve his hand.

He goes back to stroking Seokjin’s rim, just circling it. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” he says instinctually.

Seokjin’s cackle is borderline maniacal. “I’ve been ready!”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you asking for your benefit or mine?”

Never marry a man who can read your mind. “Both, I think.”

Reaching his hand out as far as he can from his position, Seokjin waits for Yoongi to take it. Once they’re connected, he squeezes, strokes a thumb over Yoongi’s knuckles, and doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to, because he’s gazing at Yoongi with enough affection and enough trust to reassure him that this is okay. Seokjin wants him, and knows him, and he’s not taking advantage of his lack of memory. Sex is another part of who they are together and how they love each other, and they’re allowed to share it even without the overabundance of memories.

Love doesn’t happen in memories. Or it does, but it thrives in day to day. Breathes in the now.

Yoongi’s lips twitch in a half-smile. “Yeah, okay.” He wants this, too.

Seokjin beams back at him, squeezing his hand again. Then:

“Is this the hand that was inside my ass?”

“It is the hand that was inside your ass.”

“Ew.” Seokjin lets go, sprawls back out and arches his back. “You’d better make this worth my while, then.”

Sighing (because his husband is intolerable), Yoongi quotes: “Your wish is my command.”

He fingers Seokjin for a couple more minutes just to make him desperate for it, and when he finally gets a groan of, “Hurry, please,” he knees forward to replace his lubed fingers with his (waiting, impatient) dick.

They haven’t used condoms in years, and Yoongi isn’t sure he even remembers where they keep them, but he still asks Seokjin if he can “do it raw” to watch his ears light up like beacons.

“Fucking… uh-huh,” Seokjin answers, tongue stupid with arousal.

Yoongi can’t wait to make him even dumber.

He presses in, knows Seokjin’s limits and when to take breaks, let him get used to having something–someone–inside of him. Which he’s had before, probably hundreds of times, but he doesn’t remember all those times, so the bewilderment on his face as Yoongi drags his cock back and presses in even further is off the Richter scale scorching fucking hot.

Yoongi fucks him as slowly as he can. “Tell me how it feels.”

“I had no idea…” Seokjin shivers, one hand stroking his chest while the other brushes against Yoongi’s stomach, finding him. “How is it so good?”

“Practice makes perfect,” Yoongi smirks despite barely surviving.

“You feel so good, baby.”

Shit. Yoongi’s face must crumble, because Seokjin gulps, worrying. But Yoongi can’t reassure him, too busy trying to stave off the orgasm that nearly barreled through him at the mere whisper of that endearment. “Baby?” Seokjin prompts.

“Shut up, please.” His stomach is burning. He’s going to give himself scratch marks from clutching his own thigh.

“Oh. Oh,” Seokjin recovers, lips quirking. “I’m not the only one who likes pet names.”

He’s a demon. Hell spawn. Sent to torment. “I will pull out.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Punctuating the threat, Seokjin squeezes around his cock (Yoongi would slap his in return, but they haven’t rehashed kinks yet), grinning. “Not when we’re having so much fun.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, steels himself until he’s no longer on edge. He adjusts Seokjin’s leg on his shoulder and bends down, hands planting on either side of Seokjin’s (gorgeous, handsome) face. “I’ll show you fun.”

He’s never had the abdominal strength to rail someone like in pornos (and even if he did, the size different between him and Seokjin would still prove that a feat), but Yoongi knows the exact way to roll his hips to make his partner scream. Push up, in, roll forward, repeat… he lets himself lay on Seokjin’s hips a bit, just enough to brush his cock, give him the extra friction.

It does look fun for Seokjin, who writhes at every roll, convulsing every time Yoongi hits that spot inside him that he’s come to know so well. His own hands find his nipples, squeeze, and his tongue licks around his mouth, empty until Yoongi sticks two fingers in to hook his cheeks, not letting him properly suck.

“‘M close,” he manages to warble around the intrusion, and Yoongi could go easy on him, stroke him off in time with his thrusts. But he wants to stretch Seokjin’s orgasm out as much as possible, so he only leans heavier into him, trapping his cock between their bellies.

“There, there,” he soothes when Seokjin whimpers, grabbing at any part of Yoongi he can reach for purchase as he throws his head from side to side. He takes his fingers out of Seokjin’s mouth and replaces them with his tongue, swallowing his moans.

His own thrusts are becoming more erratic, so it’s a relief when Seokjin pulls back and cries, cock spurting between them for a long time, long enough that it’s still shooting when Yoongi sits back on his knees to watch. He doesn’t give Seokjin a break though, trusts himself to know what his husband likes, what he loves, and latches onto his hips to haul them even closer. Then, he lets go, fucking into Seokjin with abandon, hearing him whine and beg and croak while the world goes foggy, his balls retreat, and he barely manages to pull out before tumbling over.

He jerks himself through endless shockwaves, bucking his cock into his fist and coming all over his spent husband. Their combined load pools in the crease of Seokjin’s hip and drools down to his ruined hole, red like the rest of him.

Yoongi can’t help himself. He splints his cock in his hand so he can shove it back inside, still wet with lube and precome. It drips when he pulls out again, then back in, then out, until he’s too soft to hold inside, and his cock spills out with mere trickles of seed. That earns him one last, tiny moan.

Only then does he keel, boneless against Seokjin’s chest, and lets himself be held. Seokjin pets his shoulders, his back, his ass (squeezing). When he lifts his head, he’s met with bliss.

“Hey,” Seokjin breathes, warm.

Yoongi pecks his shining lips. “Told you that you made googly eyes at me when you were twenty,” he taunts.

Seokjin hums in assent. “And twenty-one, and twenty-two, and twenty-three–”

He’s shut up with another kiss.

*

The weeks that follow are carefree. Yoongi keeps going in to work and Seokjin always has dinner ready for him when he gets home, eventually expressing interest in visiting his restaurant a few times a week, actually managing it.

“Do you even remember what it’s called?” Yoongi quips, fairly sure that Seokjin doesn’t.

“Who cares? I’m renaming it anyway.”

“To what?”

“The Amnesiac: a meal so good you’ll forget your first name.”

It beats Permission to Dine, at least.

Visits from their friends become less frequent, but their normal is still unyielding, so silence never creeps in.

“Namjoon-ah!” Seokjin gasps one night when they’re all congregated in their living room, Oldboy long forgotten because Hoseok hates how gross it is.

“What is it?” Namjoon startles, crawling across the room so he can face him.

“I…” Seokjin places a hand on Namjoon’s cheek. “I remember…”

The others fall into a pile of bated breaths. Yoongi folds his arms, taps his foot against the tiled floor of the kitchen where he’s preparing a new collection of snacks. “What do you remember, darling?”

“Jagi-yah,” Seokjin gapes, “Our torrid love affair! Surely we came clean at some point?”

Which makes it Namjoon’s turn to choke, to grovel in front of Yoongi and insist it never happened, that they would never betray him or Jimin. “I don’t even see hyung that way, he’s not even that hot to me, seriously!”

Seokjin blows him a dramatic kiss, as big a brat as ever.

Flirting is more than half of their communication, and the other half is pleasant bickering. Seokjin says that’s also flirting. Yoongi disagrees on purpose.

Jeongguk joins them on a dog walk, but he’s the one who chases Seokjin around the park, play-fighting him. Yoongi leans back on a bench with Holly perched beside him, happy to let Jeongguk and Bam tire his husband out.

“At least you have some decorum,” he pats. Holly licks him, agreeing.

Then, Jeongguk calls, “Holly!” and the brown poodle forgets he exists immediately.

Thankfully, Yoongi isn’t alone for long.

“I remember when you gave birth to him,” Seokjin groans as he collapses on the bench.

“Well, people do look like their pets.”

“I meant Jeonggukie.”

“We should talk to your doctor about these hallucinations.”

Seokjin laughs, turns back to the park, laughs at Jeongguk (who is trying to remind Bam that Holly is a lot nicer to him when he doesn’t use him as a trampoline) on top of it.

Yoongi closes his eyes and just. Listens.

“You’re remembering a lot more lately,” he notes after they’ve had round two in the shower and tucked themselves into bed.

Seokjin caresses his stomach under the sheets. They are definitely too old for a round three, but it’s still nice. Intimate. “I’m collecting all the most important moments.”

“Such as?”

“You coming home drunk one night in your third year and trying to confess to me. Or both of us trying to rent a campervan in New Zealand and ending up with a limousine despite you speaking perfectly good English. Or that time you held my hand through all the scary parts in Weapons.”

“That was two nights ago. And it wasn’t even that scary.”

“Well, it’s a great memory.”

It’s almost invisible in the dark, but Yoongi can tell that Seokjin’s eyes are open, watching him. Waiting for him to say something ridiculous, start a bit. And he will, probably in the morning when he’s rested and can better keep track of their absurd conversations. He wishes he could fall asleep right now so they can get there sooner, or maybe he wishes that humans didn’t need sleep so he could just keep lying here, gazing back.

He has everything he wants right here: his life, his love, his pets, his very comfortable bed.

He’s pretty sure Seokjin wants the same things.

“What if they don’t all come back? What do you want to do then?”

Seokjin stares at him like he’s the dumbest person in the world. “Make new ones? Duh.” His searching hands pull Yoongi closer. “I married an idiot. Love you.”

Yoongi doesn’t say it back. He’s sure Seokjin remembers.

FIN.