Archive of Our Own

Yoongi very obviously does not remember being three, but he somehow remembers Jung Jiwoo, the then fourteen year old daughter of his parents' close friends who’d take care of him and his brother on the weekends, when his parents would go out to have dinner. And he also remembers her house. Yoongi didn’t really know why he remembered what her room looked like, or her brother who he’d play with sometimes. 

It wasn’t until one time when Yoongi was fourteen himself that pictures came up, pictures of Yoongi and Jiwoo, his brother and Jiwoo, Yoongi and Jiwoo’s brother, the four of them, that Yoongi’s parents answered the questions he never really asked. 

“Honey, remember the first time we came to America after having the boys?” his dad had said. Turns out, when Jiwoo’s parents overheard Yoongi’s mom and dad talking about how badly they wanted to return to America, they offered to take care of him and his brother for a week. That was why Yoongi remembered her house. Because he lived there. For seven days. 

That time, 1996, his parents had gone to Texas to watch a horse race and possibly explore the state that his dad seemed to have an admiration for. But the three year old version of Yoongi, didn’t think anything of his parents leaving for a week, much less of where they were going. And even less, that they’d consider moving there. 

Yoongi blames it on that race of 1996… yeah… yeah it was definitely the race. Or at least that’s what he used to think. It wasn't till he got older that he realized the move was probably in the cards since before he was even born. 

But Yoongi doesn't mourn the life he left behind in Korea… or whatever life he could've had in the six years he spent there. Because he had his life right here, in Texas. And to Yoongi, that was perfect. 

What wasn’t always so perfect, was still being on campus fifteen hours into the day. Unfortunately for him, the only music history class that worked with his schedule was the 3:30 to 5:00 p.m. option on Tuesdays and Thursdays. What's an extra thirty minutes of traffic on top of his already hour long commute, right? … right. 

But he doesnt let it bother him so much, not when the sun is shining so bright, and campus looks so perfect, and especially not when his dad’s at home to feed his horses on time. 

That’s why instead of starting the first day of music history, upset about the fact that he couldn’t fit the 9am slot, he sits in the third row of the class, and prepares for class with an open mind. 

The room fills up slowly, and it’s not long before conversations begin to float through the space, filling the silence. Some immediately go on their phones, someone else is already making conversation with the TA ‘who needs a TA for music history?’ Yoongi thought, but he doesn't worry about that, what people struggle with is none of his business. 

He doesn't realize it when someone slides into the seat next to him. 

Yoongi glances over, he seems to be tall, brown hair and a typical asian city boy style. He gives a polite smile, which Yoongi returns out of instinct, and they both look forward again. 

Suddenly the room feels extremely quiet, despite the conversations around them that are only getting louder. And Yoongi wonders if the boy regrets sitting there as much as Yoongi almost hates that he chose to sit there, because God why was that so awkward? 

“I’m Jung Hoseok.” He says. 

Yoongi turns to him. “Min Yoongi.” 

God he wants to die. But the boy has a different reaction, and it's so subtle but Yoongi notices the change in his face. 

“You’re Korean… right?” 

“Yeah.” He nods.

“Do you speak it?” It’s hesitant, and the way he seems to basically whisper it makes Yoongi want to laugh for some reason.

He smiles instead, “Yeah, I do.”

And Yoongi doesn’t expect the full body sigh that comes out of the boy beside him, that he’s only known for possibly five minutes. 

“God, thank you.” He says, switching to Korean so fast, Yoongi almost laughs. “I’ve only been here for three weeks but I don’t think I can hold on any longer. English is so much easier in Seoul, at a slow pace. Apparently here you’re not having a conversation if you're not speaking faster than 300 words per minute.”

Yoongi smiles, “You’ve had a rough time?”

“Rough time is an understatement, I can't even begin to describe the embarrassing mistakes I've made while trying to talk to people. But wow, does it feel good to speak the words straight from my brain instead of having to translate them.” 

Yoongi hums in quiet agreement, then taps his pencil against the desk. “So you’ve been here three weeks?”

Hoseok nods. “Orientation was chaos. I missed two events because I couldn't figure out where the buildings were, and I accidentally walked into a biology lecture trying to find the dining hall.”

Yoongi snorts. “Did you stay?”

“For ten minutes. I thought maybe I’d learn something useful. I didn’t.”

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, and Hoseok smiles like he’s proud of that reaction.

“Where are you from?” Yoongi asks.

“Gwangju, originally,” Hoseok says. “But I moved to Seoul when I was a baby. Basically grew up there.”

“I was born in Daegu,” Yoongi says. “But I was raised in Seoul until we moved here.”

Hoseok tilts his head. “Moved here when?”

“When I was six.”

“Texas?”

“Yup.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen a little. “Wow. So like... you’re a real cowboy?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, playfully. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Do you have a horse?”

“I have three.”

Hoseok visibly lights up. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re seriously a cowboy.”

“You’re seriously loud,” Yoongi mutters, but he’s smiling, just slightly.

Hoseok grins. “That’s insane. I thought cowboys were, like, mythical.”

“They're definitely real,” Yoongi says dryly. “We just don’t all walk around in spurs and chew hay or whatever you’re imagining.”

Hoseok laughs, soft and genuine, and Yoongi can’t help but look at him for half a second longer than he means to.

“So,” Hoseok says, after a pause, “are you a fine arts major?”

“Yeah. Music composition.”

“No way. I’m doing performance.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “What do you play?”

“I dance.”

Yoongi blinks. “That’s a major?”

“Apparently,” Hoseok grins. “But I had to fight for it. My parents wanted me to study business.”

“Classic.”

“What about you?” Hoseok asks. “Do your parents like that you’re doing music?”

Yoongi shrugs. “My dad’s obsessed with Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. He thinks me being a composer is the most modern thing that’s ever happened to our family.”

“Willie Nelson,” Hoseok repeats, blinking. “You’re going to have to explain who that is someday.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

It’s actually… easy. No pressure. No weird silences, even if they don’t say anything for a minute.

And for someone who sat down just ten minutes ago, Hoseok fits weirdly well beside him.

**********

Yoongi doesn’t mind mornings.

In fact, he kind of loves them.

Out here, everything starts slow. The sky turns soft before it turns bright, the sun rises behind the hills in warm layers, and the only sounds are the crunch of gravel under boots and the soft rustle of animals waking up. The barn creaks when he pushes the door open, like it's stretching its arms after a long sleep.

The horses greet him with gentle huffs, ears twitching as he moves between stalls. He knows them well. Knows who gets impatient, who nudges the gate for attention, who likes their hay fluffed instead of dumped. They’re like people that way, each one with their own rhythm.

He tosses the first few flakes of hay without thinking, the motion easy, practiced. It’s muscle memory now. His dad offered to handle the morning feedings this semester, but Yoongi said no. Not because he had to, but because he likes this part of his day. The stillness. The routine. The way the early air feels a little cleaner out here, like it hasn’t been touched yet.

Tuesdays and Thursdays used to be his least favorite.

That’s when everything always got scheduled. Labs, lectures, office hours. By the end of the day he’d feel like his brain had been through a blender. But this semester? It doesn’t feel so bad.

He’s got an 11 a.m. calculus class, a 1 p.m. music theory lecture, and a full hour to kill before his last class of the day, music history. And now that he’s actually been to it once, he figures… yeah. Music history’s not a bad way to end the day.

He hums something under his breath as he brushes down Smokie, the steadiest of the three horses. Then Yoonie, who always leans into the brush a little too hard. The third one, still nameless somehow, snorts impatiently like she’s offended she doesn’t have a real name yet.

It’s not a song he knows, not yet. Just a melody. A few notes that sound like morning. They settle into the quiet like they belong there.

When he’s done with the stalls, he leans against the fence outside the barn, sipping the coffee he brought down with him. It's half cold now, but he drinks it anyway. The sky is a soft blue, the kind of color that feels like a fresh start.

He pulls out his phone, checks the time. Still early.

There’s a moment where he considers lying back on the grass and doing nothing until it’s time to shower. But instead, he opens the notes app and writes down the melody he was humming earlier. Just a few bars. Something to play with later.

It’s quiet. The good kind. The kind that makes him wonder why anyone would ever want to live in a city.

And yeah, maybe he has to drive an hour just to get to campus. Maybe people raise their eyebrows when he says he lives on a ranch. He laughs a little, remembering the way Hoseok's eyes had practically doubled in size when he said he had three horses. Like it was the most unbelievable thing he’d ever heard.

But Yoongi wouldn’t trade it. Not even a little.

He finishes his coffee, dusts off his jeans, and heads toward the house. It’s almost time to get ready for class.

His dad’s in the kitchen when he walks in, hunched over a notebook with feed invoices and bills spread out like a poker hand. “Smokie eat today?” he asks, without looking up.

“She always eats,” Yoongi says, tugging off his boots by the door.

“Good. Can you swing by town after class? The feed store called. Our order’s in.”

“Yeah, I can go.”

His dad finally looks at him and nods, satisfied. “Also, that post by the south fence is leaning again. If you’ve got daylight when you get back, we should fix it.”

“Got it.”

“Breakfast on the counter,” his dad adds, already turning back to the notebook.

“Thanks, Dad,” Yoongi says, more full this time. He means it.

Just then, his mom walks in from the side door, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her hair’s still damp from the shower, and she’s already dressed like she’s got somewhere to be.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she says, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Is your dad bugging you already?”

Yoongi smiles. “Only a little.”

She raises an eyebrow at her husband. “Let him eat first next time, will you?”

His dad waves a hand without looking up. “He’s fine.”

“Still,” she mutters, before turning back to Yoongi. “Drive safe today, okay? And if you stop at the store, get bread please. We’re out.”

“Got it,” Yoongi says again, already unwrapping the breakfast sandwich.

He takes his food and heads upstairs to shower. The house is so quiet it almost echoes, but not in a lonely way. Just big. It sits on a full acre, and even though they all live together, he rarely runs into anyone unless he wants to. There’s space to breathe, space to think. And Yoongi’s never minded living at home. Not here.

The drive into town is quiet. One long stretch of backroad turning slowly into traffic lights and storefronts the closer he gets to campus. Yoongi plays the radio low, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel in time with the melody he jotted down earlier. It's stuck in his head now, and part of him's already wondering what it would sound like on piano.

He parks in his usual spot at the far end of the lot, grabs his backpack, and starts the familiar walk across campus. It's warm out, bright without being harsh. Students cluster in little groups on the grass or move in waves between buildings. Everything feels weirdly calm.

The day unfolds in its usual rhythm.

By the time music history rolls around, it’s no surprise to Yoongi that Hoseok is already sitting in the seat beside the one Yoongi had claimed the day before. He’s leaned over his desk, notebook open, chewing the end of his pen like he’s deep in thought, or maybe just trying not to look like he’s saving a seat.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything at first. Just drops into his chair, glances sideways, and mutters, “Hey.”

Hoseok straightens immediately. “Yoongi! Hi.”

His smile is bright enough to count as a greeting all on its own.

Yoongi lets his bag drop to the floor and slides into his seat, raising an eyebrow slightly. “How was your day?”

Hoseok exhales like he’s been waiting for the question. “So much better now that I don’t have to pretend to understand Texas slang. Someone asked me if I was fixin’ to go somewhere and I almost told them my shoes weren’t broken.”

Yoongi snorts.

“I’m serious,” Hoseok insists, grinning. “Do people here just… talk like that?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m making a list,” Hoseok says, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “Words I refuse to adopt.”

Yoongi leans over slightly, pretending to read. “Let me guess. ‘Fixin’ to’ is at the top?”

“Right above ‘y’all,’” Hoseok confirms.

Yoongi gasps, mock offended. “You can’t get rid of ‘y’all.’ That’s essential. It’s the backbone of everyday vocabulary here.”

Hoseok grins. “I’ll survive.”

“You say that now.”

Hoseok smirks, then pauses, tapping his pen once against the desk. “What about you? How’s your day been?”

Yoongi shrugs, casual. “Can’t complain.”

“Your horses a hassle this morning?” Hoseok asks, grinning like he already knows the answer, like he’s teasing on purpose.

That makes Yoongi laugh, quiet and genuine. “Always.”

“Do they know you talk about them like that?”

“They’d riot if they could read,” Yoongi mutters, still smiling.

Hoseok just grins wider, clearly enjoying himself, then flips his pen between his fingers. “So how old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-one,” Yoongi replies.

“Ah,” Hoseok says, nodding like this is very important information. “I’m twenty.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “What year were you born?”

“Ninety four,” Hoseok says. “You?”

“Ninety three.”

Hoseok gasps, delighted. “That makes you my hyung!”

Yoongi groans. “Please don’t start with that.”

“I have to, hyung. I’m Korean,” Hoseok says with a grin, like he’s absolutely not going to let this go.

Yoongi opens his mouth to argue, but the classroom door creaks open, and everyone instinctively falls quiet.

The professor walks in, papers in hand, moving with the kind of certainty that says she’s not the type to waste time.

Yoongi exhales, settling back in his chair. He doesn’t actually mind it.

The word hyung hasn’t followed him in a while, not since he used to say it every day to his older brother, who he used to see more often than he saw himself in the mirror.

It slips in now, easy. Not heavy. Just a little strange in a way that doesn’t feel bad.

He taps the end of his pen once against his notebook, and when he glances to his side, Hoseok’s already smiling again.

Class passes in a quiet rhythm. The professor talks through a timeline that stretches centuries, weaving in names Yoongi half-remembers from textbooks and others he’s never heard before. He takes notes, mostly. So does Hoseok, though he doodles in the margins every few minutes and occasionally bumps his knee into Yoongi’s without seeming to notice.

When the room begins to shift, papers rustling, chairs scraping, Yoongi closes his notebook and stretches slightly in his seat.

Hoseok glances over. “So hyung,” he says, voice low and easy, “you fixin’ to do anything later?”

Yoongi shoots him a look.

Hoseok just grins. “What? I’m trying to assimilate.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Not really. Got a couple errands. My dad sent me to the feed store after class.”

“Ah,” Hoseok says, and there’s the tiniest dip in his voice, something like disappointment. “That’s too bad.”

Yoongi shrugs, stuffing his notebook back into his bag.

“People usually go out on Thursdays, you know,” Hoseok adds as they stand. “Not, uh... tend to their ranches.”

Yoongi huffs a small laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

There’s a pause as they move toward the door with the rest of the class.

“Maybe next weekend?” Hoseok says, casual, but not careless. “We could do something.”

He hesitates, then adds with a sheepish smile, “It’d be nice to hang out with someone without stuttering all the time.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. But the corner of his mouth lifts.

“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.”

**********

By Thursday morning, the week’s rhythm has already set in.

Yoongi’s up early, like always, long before the sun gets too high. The barn smells like hay and dust, like comfort. The air still has a little bite to it, the kind that only sticks around for a few hours before Texas heat kicks in full.

He moves through the routine without rushing, tossing flakes of hay, checking the water troughs, brushing down the horses one by one. Yoonie’s coat is already dusty again, even though he swore he brushed her yesterday. Smokie whinnies like she’s offended by the delay. The nameless third still glares at him like she’s waiting for an apology he never gave.

It’s the kind of quiet that usually resets him. But today, his head feels busy.

He keeps thinking about the text Hoseok sent last night. A casual, hey, my friends are going out tomorrow if you wanna come. Just a group thing. No pressure.

Yoongi never goes out on Thursdays.

But now it’s Thursday, and he already knows he’s going.

He’s halfway through Yoonie’s back leg when his dad steps into the barn, coffee in hand and eyebrows raised like he’s about to ask for a favor.

Before he can say a word, Yoongi cuts him off. “Can’t run errands today.”

His dad pauses. “You sick?”

“Nope. Just staying in the city late.”

There’s a beat of silence. Smokie snorts softly from the next stall over.

His dad sips his coffee, then leans against the barn post with a knowing look. “Got plans?”

Yoongi shrugs, keeping his attention on Yoonie’s mane. “Some friends are going out. Figured I’d go.”

It’s not a lie. He just doesn’t feel like explaining that some friends really means Hoseok, and that going out means bracing himself for a night of pretending he knows how to socialize.

“Huh.” His dad doesn’t push. Just nods like that’s answer enough. “You need gas money?”

Yoongi huffs a quiet laugh. “No, I’m good.”

“All right.” His dad straightens up, tips the coffee cup toward him. “Don’t drink anything if it comes in a bucket.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Yoongi doesn’t overthink what to wear.

He throws on a cleaner pair of Levi’s, the ones without mud caked near the cuffs, and pulls his boots from the rack by the door, the scuffed but not embarrassing pair. Same jacket as always. Same plain tee. If anyone asked, he was just getting dressed for class.

He still hasn’t decided if he’s driving home after or just staying in the city until tonight.

Depends on how the day goes. Depends on traffic. Depends on whether it feels easier to kill time in town or make the full drive back out to the ranch before turning around again.

But as he grabs his bag and heads out the door, he double checks that his charger’s packed. Just in case.

The rest of the day moves without friction.

Yoongi sits through theory, lets his mind drift a little in calculus, and keeps checking the time like that’ll help him decide whether he’s going home or not. The afternoon sun is sharp by the time music history lets out, and students spill out of the building in lazy clusters, already talking about their weekend plans even though it’s barely Thursday evening.

He’s barely zipped up his backpack when Hoseok falls into step beside him.

“So how far out do you live anyway?” Hoseok asks, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

“About an hour,” Yoongi says.

Hoseok winces. “That’s pretty far.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Not that bad once you get used to it.”

“Still,” Hoseok says, glancing over. “Are you going home now?”

“Still debating it.”

Hoseok nods slowly, like he expected that answer. Then he grins. “Well, if you want, you could just come hang out at my place before we head out tonight. Get food, chill a bit. Save yourself the drive.”

“My roommate’s out for the weekend,” he adds casually, “so you’re not interrupting anything.”

Yoongi glances toward the parking lot, already tired at the thought of the back-and-forth. “That might be smarter.”

“Exactly,” Hoseok says. “And you can even nap if you want.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but his voice is easy. “I’m not that old.”

“You’re twenty one and you live on a ranch,” Hoseok says. “You’re spiritually forty seven.”

Yoongi exhales a soft laugh and shakes his head, already following him across the lot.

They walk across campus side by side, the afternoon sun stretching long shadows beneath their feet. The breeze carries the smell of cut grass and something fried from a nearby food truck, and every now and then Hoseok nods a quiet hello at someone who passes by.

Yoongi keeps pace easily, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes flicking toward the horizon like he's still halfway thinking about the ranch.

“What do you feel like eating?” Hoseok asks as they reach the edge of the main strip. “There’s a noodle place that’s not terrible. Or we could do sandwiches, tacos, burgers, whatever.”

“Noodle place sounds fine.”

Hoseok grins. “Bold choice. Hope you’re not picky.”

“I live on a ranch,” Yoongi says. “I’ve eaten stranger things than bad noodles.”

They cross the street, sneakers and boots clicking unevenly on the concrete.

“By the way,” Hoseok says, glancing over, “the people we’re going out with tonight, so you’re not walking in blind, it’s a few friends from my dance classes. Two girls, one guy.”

Yoongi nods, listening.

“The girls are bringing their boyfriends too, but they’re cool,” Hoseok adds. “Like, they’re not gonna cling to them the whole time or make out next to us or anything.”

“Thanks for the visual,” Yoongi mutters.

Hoseok snickers. “Just setting expectations.”

They pause at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. A group of students zips by on bikes, laughter trailing behind them.

“One of the girls, Sara, she’s Korean too,” Hoseok says. “But she moved to the U.S. when she was, like, five. So we just speak English.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You sound disappointed.”

Hoseok sighs, shaking his head. “It’s just different, you know? I get excited when I think I’ll meet someone I can talk to normally.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, quieter. “I get that.”

They reach the noodle shop, a narrow storefront with fogged-up windows and red lanterns hanging above the entrance. It smells like sesame and garlic from halfway down the block.

Hoseok holds the door open without saying anything, and Yoongi steps inside.

The air conditioning hits them first, cool and sharp after the sun, and then the scent of broth, ginger, something sizzling in a pan. The place isn’t crowded, just a few tables occupied, quiet music playing overhead.

They settle into a booth near the window, the table sticky in one corner, the laminated menus already a little bent at the edges.

Hoseok flips his open and leans back like he’s been here a dozen times. Yoongi glances over his own menu, already feeling more relaxed than he expected.

Once their orders are in and the waitress walks off with their menus, Yoongi leans back in the booth, arms crossed loosely.

“I’m assuming this is your second year?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hoseok nods. “Did my freshman year at my actual uni in Seoul.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “What made you want to come all the way out here?”

Hoseok shrugs, glancing out the window like he’s still asking himself the same thing. “Exchange program. I’d always wanted to live abroad for a while, and I figured… if I don’t do it now, I might never do it. So I applied for a year abroad. Got placed here.”

“Texas was your first choice?”

Hoseok laughs. “Not even close. But the dance program here is surprisingly really good. My advisor said it’d be a good fit.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

Hoseok grins, sitting back a little. “It has its moments.”

Yoongi picks up his glass of water, thumb tracing a slow circle along the rim. “So, dance major.”

Hoseok nods, unfazed. “I’ve been dancing since I was a kid.”

“What kind?”

“A little of everything. Street styles, mostly. Hip hop, popping, some freestyle. But I’ve had to learn ballet here, which has been… humbling.”

Yoongi smirks. “Can’t picture that.”

“You and everyone else,” Hoseok says, stabbing a straw through the lid of his drink. “My professor called me ‘surprisingly disciplined,’ which I think is code for ‘I thought you’d be bad at this.’”

“Sounds like a compliment.”

“I took it that way.” Hoseok pauses, then gestures at him with his straw. “What about you, cowboy music major?”

Yoongi smiles

“Do you play anything?”

“Piano,” Yoongi says. “Since I was a kid.”

“That tracks.”

Yoongi looks up. “What does that mean?”

Hoseok grins. “You’ve got piano hands. All precise and serious. Like they’d judge me if I missed a beat.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.

There’s a lull in conversation, but not the awkward kind. Just enough time for both of them to take a few bites, the clink of chopsticks and quiet background music filling the space between.

Yoongi glances out the window, then back at Hoseok. “So… what’s Korea like?”

It’s casual, almost too casual, but Hoseok seems to catch the weight in it anyway.

He chews a little slower before answering. “Busy. Loud. Fast. There’s always something happening. Even when there’s nothing happening.”

Yoongi nods, but says nothing.

“Do you remember anything at all?” Hoseok asks, more gently now.

Yoongi tilts his head, thinking. “Not much, really. I oddly remember my babysitter.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow, amused. “Random.”

“She had a brother my age, we’d play together sometimes. They had this green rug in the living room.” Yoongi shrugs like even he’s not sure how it stuck. “No idea why I remember that.”

Hoseok laughs. “Must be common for the Korean people. We had a green rug in our house too.”

Yoongi looks at him, half-smiling. “Maybe it’s a rite of passage.”

“Green rug, kimchi fridge, and a family argument before Chuseok. That’s the starter pack.”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head as he picks at the last of his food.

“I find it strange,” he says after a beat, “how our brain just keeps details like that.”

There’s a moment of quiet between them, comfortable now, not unsure.

“My parents are still pretty close with her parents. They studied in uni together,” Yoongi adds. “But it’s obviously not the same, you know. Living here and all. Last I heard, she got married. I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow, curious. “Did you like her or something?”

“God, no,” Yoongi says immediately. “I was six the last time I saw her. She was seventeen. My brain wasn’t wired like that yet.”

That makes Hoseok laugh, really laugh, this time, loud enough to turn a head at the next table.

He leans back, still smiling. “Who knows, hyung. Maybe one day you’ll see her again. Maybe she remembers you too.”

Yoongi shakes his head, but there’s a small, quiet smile forming anyway. “Doubt it.”

But he doesn’t say it like he means it.

They pay at the counter, slipping out of the restaurant and back into the warmth of the afternoon. The sun’s dipped just a little lower now, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. It’s quiet for a while as they walk, both of them full and a little slower in their steps.

Hoseok kicks at a loose pebble on the pavement. “So, feel like you’re still debating going home?”

Yoongi glances sideways at him. “Not really.”

Hoseok grins. “Good.”

They walk another block in silence before Hoseok adds, “My apartment’s not far. Ten minutes if you walk slow. Which I do. So, ten minutes.”

Yoongi huffs a laugh. “Good to know what I’m working with.”

The closer they get to the residential streets, the more the campus noise fades. Students peel off in different directions, some heading toward their dorms, others toward the bus stop. It feels like the shift between the day and whatever comes next.

“You’re not gonna make me dance or anything, right?” Yoongi asks, just dry enough to sound serious.

“No promises,” Hoseok says. “But I’ll at least let you pick the music cowboy.”

Yoongi shakes his head, half smiling. “Terrifying.”

They turn the corner, and Hoseok nods toward a tall, modern apartment building tucked just off the main road. It’s glass and concrete, clean lines and quiet balconies, the kind of place where most people don’t bother to greet their neighbors but everything works like it’s supposed to.

“Home sweet home,” he says, leading the way across the small entry courtyard and toward the front doors.

Yoongi follows, taking it in, the automatic doors, the smooth tile lobby, a row of mailboxes against the wall. It’s definitely nicer than he expected for a student apartment.

They ride the elevator up to the sixth floor, the silence between them easy now. When the doors open, Hoseok walks ahead and pulls his keys from his jacket pocket.

“No mess, I swear,” he says, glancing back. “I actually like having floor space.”

Yoongi smirks. “Should I be impressed?”

“I mean,” Hoseok says, unlocking the door, “if you want to be.”

the door clicks open, and Hoseok steps aside to let Yoongi in first.

The apartment is… nice.

Spacious, definitely. Clean, too, not spotless in a sterile way, but thoughtfully kept. The kitchen opens directly into the living room, countertops clear except for a coffee maker and a bowl of fruit that might actually be real.

The living room itself feels lived in. A soft gray couch sits across from a low wooden coffee table, the legs of it resting on a thick woven rug. A couple of folded blankets are draped over the armrests, neatly, but not staged. There’s a standing lamp in the corner casting a warm glow that softens the clean lines of the place, and a small speaker hums quietly on the shelf beneath the TV.

Yoongi takes it all in as he toes off his boots.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says. “You actually care what this place looks like.”

Hoseok tosses his keys in a ceramic dish by the door. “Guilty. My roommate and I agreed that if we’re gonna live somewhere for a year, it might as well feel like somewhere we want to be.”

“It shows,” Yoongi says, wandering further in. “Feels like a real apartment. Not a college crash pad.”

“High praise from a man who lives among horses,” Hoseok teases, heading into the kitchen.

Yoongi just rolls his eyes and sinks into the couch, the cushions giving easily under him.

Hoseok glances back at the living room and smirks. “Let’s see if it still looks this way by tonight. We’re pre gaming here before we go out.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “So it’s gonna be one of those nights?”

“I make no promises,” Hoseok says, already opening the fridge.

Hoseok disappears into the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge.

Yoongi leans back, his arms stretching along the back of the couch, eyes roaming the room again. There are a few framed photos on the wall, not posed ones, just little moments. A blurry shot of Hoseok mid, spin in a dance studio. Another of three people crammed onto a couch, laughing too hard to look at the camera. Someone cared enough to hang them up.

He doesn’t say anything, but he notices.

“Beer okay?” Hoseok calls.

“Sure.”

A second later, a cold bottle lands in Yoongi’s hand. He catches it easily and raises it like a quiet thanks before twisting the cap off.

Hoseok drops into the other end of the couch, legs stretched out, drink in hand. He looks relaxed in a way Yoongi’s only seen glimpses of in class, more grounded here, like this is the version of him that doesn’t have to filter anything.

“Do you go out much?” Hoseok asks.

Yoongi takes a sip. “Not really.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Ranch kid, remember? Nearest bar is like forty minutes away. And if you go, you’ll probably run into someone’s uncle.”

Hoseok laughs. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

He glances over, eyes warm with amusement. “You don’t have to go out if you don’t want to, you know. I’ll still like you.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You already like me?”

“Don’t push it, hyung.”

They both take a drink at the same time, and Yoongi shakes his head, trying not to smile too obviously, bringing his attention back to the wall.

“You’re looking at the pictures,” Hoseok says, catching him in the act. He doesn’t sound embarrassed, just observant.

Yoongi glances over but doesn’t deny it.

“The dance one’s from my studio back home,” Hoseok adds, softer now. “And the rest... those are my friends from Seoul.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just waits.

“I hung them up the day I moved in,” Hoseok says. “It made the place feel less... empty, I guess.”

Yoongi nods once. He gets it more than he can explain.

The music plays low in the background, something with a steady beat and soft vocals, just enough to fill the space without asking for attention. Yoongi sinks a little deeper into the couch, the cushions comfortably sunken beneath him.

They’re quiet for a while, not in a rushed way, just letting time pass. Hoseok scrolls on his phone. Yoongi watches the sky shift colors out the window, pale orange bleeding into a softening blue.

Then, a knock.

Hoseok glances at the door and pushes himself up without urgency. “That’ll be them.”

He disappears down the hall, and a moment later, Yoongi hears the door swing open, followed by the sound of new voices slipping in, light, familiar, easy.

Laughter, greetings in English. A shuffle of shoes on tile. The sudden presence of other people settling into the space like they belong there.

Yoongi stands, brushing his hands against his jeans as footsteps make their way toward the kitchen.

When Hoseok returns, he’s followed by two girls and a guy, all casually dressed and carrying the kind of energy that says they’ve been looking forward to tonight since Tuesday. One of the girls waves at Yoongi the second she sees him.

“Hi! You must be Yoongi,” she says brightly.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“I’m Sara,” she says, stepping around the island. “This is Dani, and that’s Kai.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yoongi says, offering a quick nod as the group naturally gathers around the kitchen. Someone leans against the counter. Someone else pulls up a stool. It feels more like a small circle forming than anything formal.

As Hoseok moves behind the island, grabbing glasses and passing out drinks and snacks, Yoongi catches himself watching him speak.

His English, so natural. Effortless, even. It’s smoother than Hoseok ever made it sound in class or that first day when he acted like every sentence was a challenge. Yoongi wonders if it’s just comfort. Or if maybe Hoseok had been downplaying it from the start.

They’re still gathered around the kitchen island when the front door opens again—this time without a knock.

“Hey!” Sara calls toward the entryway. “We’re in here!”

Two guys walk in, casual and familiar. One’s balancing a six pack of beer, the other tugging off his jacket mid-laugh. Their voices carry easily through the apartment, footsteps quick and sure like they’ve been here plenty of times before.

Yoongi glances up, more out of habit than interest—until the taller one spots him and immediately does a double take.

“Min Yoongi,” he says, grinning wide. “What ever are you doing here?”

Yoongi blinks, then lets out a breath of a laugh. “Johnny?”

Johnny sets the drinks down with a dramatic flourish and strides across the kitchen like it’s a reunion. He claps Yoongi on the shoulder. “No way. Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.”

Yoongi smirks. “Could say the same about you.”

Hoseok looks between them, eyebrows raised.

Johnny turns toward the group, already in storyteller mode. “This guy, Min’s ranch is the closest one to mine. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Eight years old. We’d trade feed sometimes when one of our dads ran out, and our moms used to try and make us sing at church potlucks.”

Yoongi groans. “Don’t bring that up.”

“You were flat for an entire verse,” Johnny teases, nudging him with an elbow.

“I was eight.”

“And now you’re what, twenty one and brooding? Some things don’t change.”

Laughter ripples around the kitchen. Even Hoseok’s smiling, watching the way Yoongi rolls his eyes but doesn’t actually deny anything.

“They used to race horses down the fence line between their properties,” Johnny adds to no one in particular, now on a roll. “Yoongi would always win because his horse was built like a demon.”

“She was just fast,” Yoongi says, trying not to smile. “Smokie could outrun anything back then.”

“She probably still could.”

There’s a pause, then Sara raises a brow. “Wait, so you’re really from around here? I thought Hoseok was exaggerating.”

“Nope,” Johnny says. “Straight from the land of cows and dust. Don’t let the face fool you, Yoongi’s as Texas as it gets.”

Yoongi shakes his head, but there’s a quiet kind of ease settling into his shoulders. The kitchen feels warmer now, not just from the lights, but from the way the room has expanded to fit him in it like he belongs.

By the time they’re ready to leave, the sun’s long gone and the apartment buzzes with the soft urgency of a group heading somewhere they’ve been looking forward to all week. Someone’s changed the music to something louder, bass pulsing just enough to make the walls hum. Jackets are pulled from the backs of chairs, shoes slipped back on, and the hallway fills with laughter and light echoes of voices as they pile out the door.

Yoongi’s been sticking close to Johnny.

It wasn’t intentional, maybe, not at first, but Johnny’s easy to talk to, and their shared history gives everything a shortcut. Jagger had been introduced on the way out.

“This is Jagger,” Johnny said, slapping the guy’s shoulder lightly. “He moved down here last spring. Don’t hold it against him.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jagger offered with a grin, sticking out a hand. Yoongi took it with a small nod.

They’d been mid conversation ever since, drifting behind the group a few steps but keeping close enough to stay in the loop. Jagger had a dry sense of humor, easygoing in a way that didn’t demand much, and Johnny kept throwing in little jokes that made Yoongi laugh more than he meant to.

Hoseok stayed near the front with Kai and Dani, throwing in the occasional comment or side remark, but his eyes kept flicking back over his shoulder.

It wasn’t anything, really.

It’s not like he expected Yoongi to walk beside him all night. They weren’t… that close.

But it’s hard not to notice how Yoongi’s shoulders seem lighter around Johnny. How he’s not scanning the group anymore to see where Hoseok is. How it’s been a while since their eyes met.

Hoseok tries not to let it show, nodding along to whatever Dani’s saying about how hard it is to find a decent parking spot in the city. His laugh comes a beat late, a little too forced, and he clears his throat after like that’ll reset something.

In the elevator, Johnny and Jagger are leaning against the back wall, still talking about some band playing tonight. Yoongi’s near them, arms crossed, listening with the kind of half focus that still looks comfortable.

Hoseok ends up by the buttons, a step away from the rest of the group. When they hit the ground floor and the doors slide open, the city spills in like a wave, warm light from street lamps, a breeze cutting between buildings, someone shouting across the block.

The group filters out, energy picking back up.

Yoongi laughs at something Johnny says and doesn’t look back.

Hoseok exhales through his nose, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and lets the door close behind them.

The group spills onto the sidewalk, their voices rising to meet the buzz of the city. Cars pass in slow streaks of headlights, and laughter from another group echoes somewhere across the street. It’s Thursday night in the city, alive, but not chaotic. Just loud enough to make you feel like something might happen.

They walk in a loose pack, Johnny leading the way with that unbothered, big city stride, Jagger a half step behind him. Kai and the girls trail alongside, linking arms, and Yoongi’s somewhere in the middle, caught between familiar comfort and new territory.

Hoseok drifts behind.

Not far, just enough to feel it. The distance. He watches the way Yoongi listens when Johnny talks, nods when Jagger throws something in. He’s not doing anything wrong, not being rude. Just not… looking back.

Hoseok’s used to being the center of things. In most groups, he’s the energy source, the one who gets people talking, dancing, laughing. But tonight, he feels like the volume’s been turned down just a little. Like the spotlight landed somewhere else.

It shouldn’t bother him.

But it does.

The bar isn’t far. A narrow place tucked between a taco stand and a vintage record shop, marked only by a neon sign buzzing faintly against the stucco wall. Inside, it’s low lit and warm, the kind of place with worn in floors and booths too small for real groups but perfect for leaning in close.

They squeeze into a corner near the back, half standing, half settling wherever there’s room. Someone grabs a table. Someone else heads to the bar. Hoseok ends up beside Dani, pressed into the curve of the booth, his eyes still finding Yoongi across from him.

He’s talking to Jagger again, half turned in his seat, laughing at something under his breath.

Hoseok smiles a little, automatically, like muscle memory, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The conversation around the table grows louder, pockets of side conversations forming and shifting as drinks arrive and music picks up. Yoongi leans back in his seat, letting the noise wash over him while his eyes drift across the table.

Hoseok’s sitting a few spots down, half listening to whatever Dani’s saying, chin propped on his hand. He catches Yoongi’s glance at the same time Yoongi catches his, and Hoseok lifts an eyebrow, like what?

Yoongi tips his head, just slightly, toward the empty space beside him.

Hoseok gets the message.

He scoots out from the booth and circles around, sliding into the seat beside Yoongi without saying anything at first. His knee knocks gently into Yoongi’s, but neither of them moves.

“Making friends fast,” Hoseok says under his breath, switching back to Korean.

Yoongi shrugs. “Johnny doesn’t really give people a choice.”

Hoseok smirks. “He’s like a golden retriever in cowboy boots.”

Yoongi lets out a quiet laugh. “Accurate.”

They sit like that for a minute, shoulders brushing, watching the others fall into some debate over where they’re going next.

“You okay over there?” Yoongi asks, keeping it casual.

“Yeah,” Hoseok says, then nudges him lightly with an elbow. “Just didn’t want to fight for your attention.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch. “You’ve had it the whole time. You’re just dramatic.”

“Excuse me, I’m dramatic? You’re the one who walks around in beat up Levi’s like it’s a fashion statement.”

“They’re functional.”

“They’re dusty.”

Yoongi turns toward him slightly, mock offended. “You invited me.”

“Best decision I’ve made all week.”

Yoongi tries not to smile, but it slips through anyway.

The group’s energy has settled. They’re tucked into a corner booth at a late night taco place, the kind that always has its lights a little too bright and its tables a little too sticky. Someone’s telling a story with way too many side tangents, and everyone’s too tired to care.

Yoongi’s half listening, a drink in front of him, his other hand resting lazily on the table. Hoseok’s beside him again, this time without the shuffle of seats or the noise of introductions. Just there, like it made sense without being said.

“Do you always come out with them?” Yoongi asks, voice low enough to stay between them, although the group couldn't understand their conversation anyways.

Hoseok shakes his head. “Nah. Only sometimes.”

“Feels like you know them well.”

“Kind of,” Hoseok says. “But I’m still new enough that I don’t feel like I do.”

Yoongi hums quietly, like he gets that. Like he doesn’t need to say it.

Hoseok tears a corner off his napkin and folds it, then folds it again. “I think it’s easier when someone from home’s around. Even if you’re not actually from home.”

Yoongi glances sideways, catching his smile.

He doesn’t say anything. Just nudges Hoseok’s knee lightly under the table.

It’s late, and the noise is softer now, more yawns than laughter. Someone's checking the time, someone else is already talking about heading out. The night’s winding down.

Outside, the air has cooled just enough to feel like the end of the night. The group breaks apart slowly, scattering down sidewalks with soft goodbyes and tired laughter.

Yoongi stands near the curb, keys in hand, glancing down the road.

“Are you driving home?” Hoseok asks, appearing at his side.

“Yeah.”

Hoseok hesitates for half a second before saying, “You could crash at mine, you know. If you’re tired.”

Yoongi glances over at him, surprised, not because of the offer itself, but the quiet way it’s said. Not casual. Not heavy. Just honest.

He thinks about it.

Almost says yes.

But then he shakes his head, just once. “I should head back.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “I’ve gotta feed the horses in the morning.”

Hoseok laughs under his breath, nudging his shoulder. “Right. Cowboy duties.”

Yoongi nods, smiling faintly. “Exactly.”

“Where’d you park?”

“West lot.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

They fall into step across campus, the buzz of the city fading behind them. Everything feels quieter now, buildings silhouetted against the sky, sidewalks damp from leftover sprinkler mist. Their shoes scuff the pavement in a steady rhythm, and neither of them rushes the pace.

By the time they reach Yoongi’s truck, the campus is nearly silent. The truck’s parked under a streetlamp, its silver paint dulled by a layer of dust and the long day.

Hoseok stares at it, squinting slightly. “No way. This is actually yours?”

Yoongi glances at him, unlocking the door. “What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, something less... aggressively cowboy.”

Yoongi smirks. “It’s functional.”

“It’s a full personality trait.”

Yoongi opens the passenger door. “Get in. I’ll drop you off.”

The truck rumbles to life, engine low and even. The cab is warm, the bench seat soft from years of use, and Hoseok pulls the door shut with a quiet thud.

They don’t say much on the drive. The roads are empty, lit by yellow street lamps and the occasional neon flicker from closed storefronts. Yoongi drives like someone who knows backroads better than highways.

When they reach Hoseok’s apartment complex, Yoongi pulls up near the front steps, shifting into park.

“Thanks for walking with me,” he says.

Hoseok shrugs. “Thanks for the ride.”

He reaches for the handle, but pauses. “Text me when you get home?”

Yoongi looks over. “You’re one of those?”

“I’m one of those.” Hoseok says, smiling. 

Yoongi shakes his head, amused. “Alright.”

Hoseok opens the door, then turns back one last time. “Night, hyung.”

“Night.”

He hops out, walks up the steps, and disappears inside.

Yoongi waits until the door clicks shut behind him before he pulls away from the curb, the hum of the truck blending into the quiet night. 

The road home is quiet, the kind of stillness that makes the drive feel shorter than it is. Yoongi doesn’t rush. He lets the truck roll easy down the backroads, the headlights cutting through low hanging trees and patches of mist rising off the fields.

Bread plays low through the speakers “If” this time. The kind of song that fills the silence without trying too hard. He doesn’t sing along, but the lyrics sit with him anyway.

By the time he pulls into the long gravel driveway, the sky’s gone fully dark. The porch light glows faint against the side of the house, the outline of the barn barely visible beyond the gate.

He parks, shuts off the truck, and sits for a moment in the soft after silence, the last line of the song still hanging in his head.

Then he pulls out his phone.

No unread messages. No notifications.

He types slowly.

goodnight, seok

Simple. No punctuation. Just enough.

He watches the screen for a second, then locks it and heads inside boots quiet on the wooden steps, the porch light flicking off behind him.

**********

By midterms, the classroom doesn’t feel quite like a classroom anymore.

Not in the way it did back in the first week, when everyone sat stiff and uncertain, flipping through syllabi like they might find a personality in the margins. Now, there’s a rhythm to things. Assigned readings half finished, notes scribbled more for comfort than clarity, and inside jokes whispered behind raised folders during lectures.

Yoongi’s grown used to seeing Hoseok’s notebook open beside his, pages crowded with neat little lines of script and question marks that seem to float in the margins like they’re meant to be there. He’s also grown used to the way Hoseok always slides him a second pen without being asked, like he knows Yoongi always forgets his.

They’re friends now. Not the kind of friends that sit next to each other in class because it’s convenient, but the kind that text about what they’re eating, that fall asleep on Hoseok's couch mid movie, and Yoongi doesn’t necessarily knock anymore when he arrives at Hoseok’s apartment because at some point, it stopped being necessary.

Yoongi spends a lot of time at Hoseok’s apartment. More than he ever meant to. It’s closer to campus, for one, but it’s also warm in a way his truck isn’t, filled with soft things like rugs and secondhand lamps and leftover coffee. And Hoseok is... easy to be around. Loud in the ways Yoongi isn’t, but never in a way that feels like too much. They fall into silence just as easily as they fall into laughter.

Still, midterms hit hard.

By the time Thursday rolls around, Yoongi’s tired in a way that makes his handwriting sloppy. He’s got a music history paper due Monday, an oral presentation in theory class, and now this, an audio composition project that he and Hoseok were supposed to work on all week but hadn’t touched.

The only good part is that they’re working on it together.

They’re sitting on the steps outside the music building when it comes up, both of them staring out at the stretch of lawn like it might give them answers.

“We need to get this done,” Hoseok says, flipping his water bottle open and taking a sip. “Like... tomorrow.”

“I know,” Yoongi mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “But I have to go home right after class. My parents are out of town, and the horses aren’t gonna feed themselves.”

Hoseok leans back on his elbows, squinting up at the sky. “Can’t do it Saturday?”

“You said you had that other thing.”

“Right. The choreography project.”

They both go quiet for a moment, the wind brushing past like it’s listening in.

Yoongi thinks for a second, eyes on the ground, then says, “Why don’t you just come home with me today?”

Hoseok turns toward him, brows raised. “Wait. Really?”

“We’ll finish the project at my place. Shouldn’t take more than two hours if we actually work. I’ll drive you back after.”

It takes a second, but Hoseok’s face shifts into something like a grin, surprised, but not in a loud way. Just the kind that creeps up slow, like he wasn’t expecting the offer but he’s glad it came.

“Hyung I’ve never been to your place,” he says. “You’ve been to mine, like, what, thirty times now?”

Yoongi shrugs. “It’s a little out of the way.”

“I don’t mind.”

There’s a small beat.

“So…” Hoseok says, voice lighter, “does this mean I get to feed a horse?”

Yoongi shoots him a look. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. Just one?”

“They don’t like strangers.”

“They’ll love me.”

“They like food, not people. You’ll be lucky if you get out without getting stepped on.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Yoongi just shakes his head and starts walking. Hoseok falls in beside him like it’s nothing, hands in his pockets, his steps light even as they move through the sloped stretch of lawn toward the lot.

The breeze picks up a little, pushing at the leaves, soft and steady. Yoongi doesn’t say anything else for a while, but he doesn’t mind the silence either. Hoseok walks close, but not too close. Just enough that it feels familiar.

And when they reach the truck, Hoseok only grins wider.

“Okay,” he says, crossing his arms as he looks at it. “This already feels worth it.”

Yoongi glances over. “You say that now, wait till you see the dirt road.”

The truck door gives a low creak as Yoongi pulls it open. Hoseok climbs in on the passenger side without needing a cue, shutting the door with a solid thunk. He buckles in, settling back into the worn seat like he’s done this a hundred times, even though it’s his first time leaving campus like this with Yoongi.

Yoongi starts the engine, the familiar low rumble settling between them. They back out of the lot and turn onto the main road, the edge of campus fading slowly behind them.

It’s a bit of a drive, nearly an hour, but it doesn’t feel long. Maybe it’s the late afternoon air, or the open road, or the fact that the silence between them never feels like something to fix. They don’t talk much at first, just let the drive happen. The city slips into the rearview in slow pieces: traffic lights, storefronts, fast food signs.

After a while, even those disappear.

The highway smooths out, then narrows. Long stretches of two-lane road wind past tall grass and quiet fence lines. Hoseok watches out the window, elbow propped on the door. He doesn’t ask how much longer. Yoongi doesn’t offer.

About halfway through, Hoseok shifts in his seat and says, “You really do this drive every day?”

Yoongi nods. “Five days a week.”

“And back again.”

Yoongi glances at him, one hand loose on the wheel. “You sound surprised.”

“I guess I didn’t realize how far you lived,” Hoseok says, watching the landscape pass. “It doesn’t feel like it on campus.”

Yoongi hums. “You get used to it.”

There’s something steady in the way he says it, like the kind of routine that wears into your bones, not in a bad way. Just part of the rhythm of his life.

The farther they go, the more the scenery stretches. There’s more sky than buildings now, and the clouds have turned soft at the edges, brushed with the kind of light that always shows up right before evening.

Hoseok leans his head back for a few minutes, eyes half-closed, but doesn’t fall asleep. He just stays quiet, letting the truck hum beneath them.

The road narrows again. The pavement turns to gravel, and then they’re turning off onto a long dirt driveway lined with old wooden posts.

Yoongi slows the truck.

“There it is,” he says.

The house sits back from the road, low and wide with a wraparound porch and a roof faded slightly from the sun. There’s a fenced pasture stretching off to the side and a small barn just past the tree line. Everything looks still, but not empty, just settled. Like it’s been here a long time and doesn’t need to prove anything.

Hoseok leans forward a little, hand resting on the dash as he peers out the window. When the truck stops, he opens the door slowly and steps out, letting his eyes move over everything in front of him.

“This is where you live?” he asks, a little quiet.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, shutting off the engine.

Hoseok closes the door behind him, still taking it all in. “It’s nice.”

He says it like a throwaway comment, but then he pauses and says it again, different this time.

“Like... really nice.”

Yoongi glances over, amused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hoseok looks at him, half-grinning. “I don’t know. It’s just not what I imagined.”

Yoongi snorts. “What did you imagine? A barn?”

“Kind of. Maybe a couple of bales of hay stacked in the living room.”

“Well, you’re not completely wrong.”

Hoseok laughs, and Yoongi shakes his head as he heads toward the house, boots crunching lightly on the gravel. Hoseok follows, a few steps behind.

The porch steps groan a little under their weight, the screen door creaking softly as Yoongi pushes it open and steps inside. Hoseok follows, expecting... something simpler. But the inside of the house doesn’t match what’s outside at all.

It’s big, really big. Tall ceilings, open layout, floors that look like they’ve been refinished recently. The living room stretches out to one side, soft natural light spilling in through large windows. Everything feels modern, but not cold. Clean lines, soft rugs, furniture in warm earth tones that make the whole place feel grounded, calm. Like someone took the quiet of the land around them and brought it inside.

Hoseok doesn’t say anything, but he notices the difference. How still and spacious everything is. How different it feels from the student apartments and tight hallways he’s used to.

Yoongi slips off his boots by the door and gestures loosely. “Come on, I’ll show you to my room.”

He heads for the stairs, and Hoseok trails behind, hand briefly skimming the smooth railing as they climb. The upstairs hallway is wide, ceilings just as tall, with long shadows cast by the afternoon light stretching through the windows.

Yoongi pushes open the last door on the left.

The room is just as spacious as the rest of the house, maybe even more so with the way Yoongi’s kept the furniture minimal. A low bed with crumpled sheets, a desk pushed up against the far wall, some books stacked unevenly under the window. The walls are bare except for one set of shelves, and a soft lamp glows from the nightstand beside the bed.

It smells faintly like cedar and laundry detergent.

Hoseok steps in, eyes scanning the space. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The room already says a lot.

There’s a cowboy hat tossed on the chair by the desk, another hanging from one of the bedposts like it’s lived there for weeks. A worn denim jacket draped lazily over the back of the chair. Two guitars, one acoustic, one electric, rest upright in stands near the window, strings catching the late sunlight like fine wire.

But then there are things that don’t quite fit the image. Or maybe they do, just not the version Hoseok expected.

There’s a record player in the corner of the room. Sleek and black, with the lid propped open like it gets used often. No record is spinning now, but Hoseok walks toward it, slow, curious.

He doesn’t ask about it. He just looks.

And Yoongi, who’s busy pulling a notebook out of his bag, doesn’t say anything either.

Yoongi’s half bent over his backpack, flipping through pages of notes when he hears it,

“Daft Punk?”

He looks up.

Hoseok is crouched beside the record player now, flipping gently through the stack of vinyl leaning against the shelf.

“The Beatles?” Hoseok says next, eyebrows raised. “Wu-Tang Clan?”

Yoongi blinks. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out who you are,” Hoseok says, lips twitching. “Because this?” He holds up the Wu-Tang Forever sleeve with both hands. “This is not very cowboy of you.”

Yoongi snorts. “And what’s cowboy supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Johnny Cash. Maybe some sad harmonica.”

“I have that too.”

That seems to stump Hoseok for a second, but he recovers quickly, flipping through the rest of the stack. “Okay, hold on… Bach, Frank Sinatra, Fleetwood Mac, Frank Ocean, Nas, Otis Redding, Debussy, a… Bing Crosby Christmas album? Hyung, what is this?”

“A collection,” Yoongi says flatly, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. “You know, like a normal person.”

“This is not normal. This is... I don’t even know what this is. It’s like you stole the musical taste of five different people.”

Yoongi shrugs, unfazed. “I like a lot of things.”

Hoseok keeps flipping, now with more focus, like he’s trying to spot a pattern. But there isn’t one. There’s classical, hip hop, jazz, 70s rock, R&B, crooners, and one or two obscure pressings he clearly doesn’t recognize but can’t stop looking at.

And it makes sense, somehow. Even if Yoongi looks like he should only be into outlaw country and guitar ballads, his room, like the rest of him, is quieter, broader. Less predictable than it seems.

“Do you ever actually listen to these?” Hoseok asks, softer now.

Yoongi leans back on his palms. “All the time.”

Hoseok keeps flipping through the stack, slower now. His fingers pause on the spine of one record before he looks over his shoulder.

“Which one’s your favorite?”

Yoongi’s still perched on the edge of the bed, hands resting on the blanket behind him. He tilts his head slightly, thinking.

“I don’t have a favorite,” he says after a pause.

Hoseok gives him a look. “Come on hyung. There’s gotta be one. One song you repeat over and over again. Everyone has one.”

Yoongi watches him for a second, then pushes up off the bed and crosses the room. He doesn’t answer right away, just reaches past Hoseok and pulls out the first album Hoseok had touched without realizing.

Random Access Memories. 

“Been listening to this one a lot lately,” Yoongi says, turning it over in his hands like he already knows every detail on the sleeve.

Hoseok glances down. “Daft Punk?”

Yoongi nods, walking to the record player.

He lifts the lid, sets the vinyl down with practiced ease. The needle drops with a soft crackle, and for a moment, the room is filled with nothing but quiet static.

Then, the first synth notes of Instant Crush start to play, smooth and steady, like the song was waiting for this moment.

Yoongi stands beside the player, hands in his pockets now, gaze somewhere near the floor but not quite focused. Like he’s listening inward more than out.

And Hoseok doesn’t ask why. He just listens too.

The song moves through the room like it belongs there, warm light trailing across the walls, soft shadows gathering in the corners. Neither of them speak.

But something in the silence, under the music, feels like an answer.

The music settles into the room with a strange kind of intimacy, soft drums, gliding synths, a voice that feels more like memory than sound.

Hoseok stays near the record shelf, arms loosely crossed, his gaze flicking toward Yoongi, then back to the turntable.

“I’ve heard this before,” he says quietly. “Didn’t know the name, but... yeah.”

Yoongi glances up at him.

“The lyrics are pretty sad, don’t you think?” Hoseok adds, not in a probing way, just thoughtful. “You wouldn’t expect it, with how it sounds.”

Yoongi leans back against the edge of his desk, head tilted a little, like he’s listening to the song through Hoseok’s ears now.

“Maybe,” he says.

The answer is vague, but not evasive. Just careful.

He lets a few more seconds pass before he adds, “It’s the title that grabs me the most.”

Hoseok looks over.

“Instant Crush,” Yoongi says. “It’s dramatic, I guess, but... it stuck with me.”

There’s a pause. Then, quieter, he says, “It just happens to be a great song.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t explain why the title stuck, or how long it’s been stuck, or whether he’s ever listened to it on loop with the lights off, watching the ceiling blur.

But Hoseok doesn’t press. He just lets the moment settle.

And in the soft lull between verses, something unspoken lingers. Something in the way the song glides through the room, half hope, half ache. Something that fits, even if neither of them name it.

The light has turned gold outside. The kind of hour where everything feels like it’s happening a little slower, like the world’s easing into some in-between space.

Hoseok stays still, hands sliding into his pockets.

“It’s a good choice,” he says simply.

Yoongi gives a small nod. Then the record spins on, and neither of them move to stop it.

The song plays on, steady and low, filling the corners of the room with its fading melody. And for a second, the quiet between them starts to feel a little too quiet.

Not uncomfortable. Just… close.

Almost awkward.

Then Yoongi straightens, brushing his hands down his jeans. “Well,” he says, voice easy again, “make yourself comfortable. I’m just gonna feed the horses real quick, then we’ll get started. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Hoseok tilts his head slightly, eyebrows lifting. “Oh.”

Yoongi pauses mid step and looks back. “What?”

“I just… I didn’t think you were actually being serious,” Hoseok says. “About not letting me feed your horses.”

Yoongi lets out a short laugh. “God, Hoseok. You are so dramatic.”

He crosses the room and pulls open the closet near the door. Hoseok watches as he crouches and rummages through the lower shelves until he finds a pair of boots, clean, but clearly broken in. He sets them near the doorway, then straightens.

“You’re not wearing your shoes out there,” Yoongi says. “They’ll never make it back.”

Hoseok just follows him as they leave the room, stepping softly through the wide upstairs hallway. The hardwood floor creaks gently beneath them, and the warm light spilling in from the high windows gives the whole place a kind of softness..

At the back door, Yoongi sits down to tug on his own boots, quick from habit. Hoseok bends down beside him and steps into the pair waiting for him. They’re big, surprisingly so. Bigger than he expected, considering Yoongi’s a little shorter than him. But it makes sense somehow. Yoongi moves through the world like someone used to heavy steps, weight placed with intention.

Hoseok straightens and flexes his toes a little inside the borrowed boots. It’s not uncomfortable. Just different. A little off balance, in a way that makes him feel like he’s stepping into someone else’s world… because, well, he is.

Yoongi stands, opens the back door, and holds it with one hand as the screen squeaks faintly.

Yoongi steps out first. “Come on.”

And Hoseok follows, the borrowed boots thudding softly on the wood behind him.

The porch steps groan under their weight as they step outside, and the door swings shut behind them with a muted thud.

The air is different out here, drier, open, heavy with the scent of sun warmed earth and old wood. Hoseok blinks against the late golden light, then looks around.

There’s a lot of land.

The house sits near the center of it all, wrapped in short fencing and open sky. Beyond that, the fields stretch far in every direction, patchworked with worn trails, tall grass, and the occasional line of fencing cutting through it all like quiet boundaries. The barn sits a little ways ahead, its wide frame catching the last light of the day. There’s a small corral off to the right, a tool shed farther back, and a low stretch of hills behind everything, like the land knew how to cradle itself.

Hoseok walks beside Yoongi, the borrowed boots landing heavier than he’s used to.

It hits him suddenly, how far they are from everything. No sound of cars. No apartment buildings crowding in from the edges. Just air and space and sky.

He glances sideways at Yoongi, who moves with the same steady rhythm as always, like this open silence is just the way the world sounds to him.

And Hoseok realizes he may as well be in the middle of nowhere.

He doesn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just so different, from Seoul, from campus, from everything familiar. No fluorescent lights or sidewalk chatter. Just gravel crunching beneath their feet and wind rustling through the trees in the distance.

He thinks about how strange it is, how quickly things can shift. A few weeks ago, Yoongi was just someone he sat next to in his music history class. Now Hoseok’s wearing his boots and walking through his family’s land like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s a little surreal.

The barn door creaks wide as Yoongi pushes it open, letting the warm light spill in ahead of them. The air inside smells like hay, wood, and something sweet, familiar to Yoongi, sharp and new to Hoseok.

It’s not dark, thanks to the slanted rays slipping through the open windows near the roof, but it’s still cooler inside. Dust floats gently in the air, undisturbed.

Yoongi’s just about to point out the feed bins when he turns, and realizes Hoseok is no longer beside him.

He hears a soft string of high pitched cooing sounds, and when he looks, Hoseok is already at the far end of the barn, crouched halfway into one of the stalls, both hands extended toward the large brown horse inside like he’s greeting an oversized puppy.

“Hi baby!” Hoseok says brightly, beaming. “Oh my God, look at her face! She’s so pretty!”

The horse snorts softly but doesn’t flinch. In fact, she leans a little closer, snuffling at Hoseok’s hands like she’s intrigued.

Yoongi blinks. “That could’ve gone… a lot worse.”

Hoseok doesn’t look up, but smiles. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t just run up to a horse like that,” Yoongi says, walking toward him. “Especially not one that doesn’t know you.”

“But she’s nice,” Hoseok says, clearly thrilled with himself. “Look, she likes me.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi sighs, resting a hand on the stall gate, “you got lucky.”

Hoseok gently strokes the horse’s neck. “What’s her name?”

“She doesn’t have one.”

Hoseok looks up, clearly scandalized. “What?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“But she’s so pretty. And she likes me.”

“That’s not how naming works.”

“It should be,” Hoseok says, turning back to the horse, still beaming. “You hear that, baby? You deserve a name.”

Yoongi just leans against the stall with a shake of his head, watching the two of them like he’s witnessing something he hadn’t quite prepared for.

Yoongi laughs, actually laughs, when Hoseok starts talking to the horse like she’s a toddler.

“I knew you weren’t really gonna feed them,” he says, shaking his head as he steps past the stall. “Come on, lover boy. I’ll show you the others. Properly.”

Hoseok grins, brushing his hands off as he follows.

Yoongi grabs a few flakes of hay from the stacked bales by the feed room, carrying them with practiced ease. Hoseok trails behind, watching as he moves from stall to stall like he was born doing this.

They stop at the first stall, where a gray mare lifts her head at the sound of Yoongi’s footsteps.

“This one’s Smokie,” Yoongi says, tossing in the hay and leaning over to rub her nose. She steps forward eagerly, ears twitching.

“She used to be so fast. Won every race with her. Could outrun the others by a mile if she was in the mood.” He smiles, voice going soft. “She’s older now. Her legs get stiff in the winter, and she’s a little grumpier when it rains. But she’s smart. She can read people better than most.”

Smokie nudges his shoulder with her nose, and Yoongi lets her. Then he turns slightly, nodding toward Hoseok.

“You can touch her, if you want. She won’t bite.”

He steps to the side, and Hoseok inches forward, cautiously reaching out. Smokie’s muzzle is soft and warm, and she barely flinches when his hand brushes over her.

“She likes you,” Yoongi says, offhand, but there's something in his tone, something that sounds like approval.

Hoseok doesn't say anything. He just watches her for a moment longer, quietly amazed.

Then they move to the next stall.

“And this guy,” Yoongi says, tossing in the last bit of hay, “is Yoonie.”

Hoseok squints. “Yoonie? Like… like you?”

Yoongi pauses. Then, just slightly red in the ears, mutters, “Yeah… like me.”

“Seriously?”

“When he was a baby, I was about eleven. I spent all my time out here with him. My mom would yell ‘Yoonie!’ from the porch to call me in for dinner, and he’d always run toward the house like he thought she meant him.”

He laughs under his breath. “Eventually we just stopped correcting him.”

Hoseok is quiet for a second, staring at the horse. Yoonie’s coat is sleek, his eyes wide and clear. He’s calm but alert, standing with the kind of presence that suggests he knows he’s someone important.

Yoongi leans on the stall door, more relaxed now. “He’s stubborn,” he says. “He was always a little too fast for his own good. But he’s got a good heart.”

Hoseok steps forward.

“You can touch him too,” Yoongi says, a little softer this time.

So Hoseok does. He rests his hand gently against the side of Yoonie’s neck, feeling the quiet strength beneath the surface. Yoonie shifts just slightly, but doesn’t pull away.

And Hoseok smiles.

All he can think about is how Yoongi’s mom calls him Yoonie. And really, he would’ve imagined the name as something soft and silly, but here it is, belonging to something solid and proud and kind of beautiful.

Like Yoongi.

“We should probably head back in,” Yoongi says, brushing a few stray bits of hay from his sleeve. “We’re already taking longer than we should.”

Hoseok nods, giving Yoonie one last gentle pat. Then, without hesitation, he murmurs, “Bye, baby,” and gives the horse a tiny wave.

Yoongi laughs, low and surprised, before turning toward the barn doors.

They walk back in a quiet rhythm, the porch coming into view just as the sun dips behind the hills. It’s cooler now, the kind of late warmth that doesn’t cling to your skin. Inside the house, the light has turned soft and gold, stretching in long stripes across the hardwood.

Back in Yoongi’s room, the late-afternoon stillness settles over them. Hoseok drops onto the edge of the bed while Yoongi toes off his boots by the closet and runs a hand through his hair.

“I always feel gross after the barn,” Yoongi mutters, stepping into the closet and pulling the door halfway shut behind him, not to hide, really, just out of habit.

Hoseok doesn’t move. He just sits there, waiting. At first.

Then the faint rustle of denim draws his attention.

Through the slight opening in the door, he can see just enough, Yoongi tugging off his old Levi’s, the familiar faded pair he wears with worn boots and a pearl snap shirt. The same ones he showed up to class in. Hoseok catches a glimpse of the way Yoongi folds them neatly, sets them on the shelf with practiced ease.

There’s something strange about it, how subtly different he looks in this moment. When he steps back into the room, it hits Hoseok all at once.

Yoongi, in a soft gray tee and a pair of dark basketball shorts, barefoot on the hardwood. Hair a little messy from changing, one sleeve slightly wrinkled from where he tugged it too fast.

He looks... normal.

Like shockingly normal.

Like not the boy who showed up to music history in a belt buckle and boots, who said things like “feed” and “tack” and meant them literally.

Just a guy.

And for some reason, that throws Hoseok a little.

Yoongi sits down beside him on the bed, stretching one leg out, the other bent beneath him.

“Alright,” he says, nodding toward the desk where their laptops sit waiting. “Let’s knock this out.”

But Hoseok is still staring, just slightly, and Yoongi glances over.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Hoseok says, blinking out of it. “Just... wasn’t expecting the wardrobe shift.”

Yoongi raises a brow. “You don’t think I own anything soft?”

“No,” Hoseok says, grinning now. “I think you just broke my mental image of you. You’re like... a person.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Tragic.”

But there’s a smile tugging at his mouth as he leans forward and reaches for his laptop, like the whole thing maybe didn’t feel all that tragic at all.

They start with quiet focus.

Yoongi pulls his laptop onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard with one leg stretched long and the other bent at the knee. Hoseok settles in beside him, cross legged, his own laptop balanced on a pillow.

For a while, it’s just the sound of keys tapping, occasional mouse clicks, and the low hum of Yoongi’s old desk fan.

They don’t talk much, just enough to keep the rhythm going. A “what time signature was that again?” or a quiet “can you play that part back?” They listen to clips from their assigned piece, jot down notes, rearrange phrasing, debate transitions once or twice.

Somewhere in the middle, Hoseok lies back on the bed entirely, laptop still open on his stomach, while Yoongi types beside him. A little while later, they switch, Yoongi lying on his side now, flipping through sheet music with a pen in his mouth while Hoseok adjusts their timeline in the doc.

They pause at one point when Hoseok’s stomach growls and both of them laugh. Yoongi offers a protein bar from the drawer by his bed and Hoseok breaks it in half, tossing Yoongi’s piece back at him.

There’s a stretch where the room falls almost completely silent, except for the occasional creak of the bed when one of them shifts, or the faint sound of cows in the distance outside the window.

The golden light fades into a dusky blue, and eventually Yoongi reaches up to flick on the lamp. They don’t bother with the overhead light. The warm glow of the bulb and the soft brightness of their screens are enough.

It takes longer than either of them said it would.

Two hours becomes three. Then a little more. But neither of them mind.

They don’t rush it. They just work.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, amid the sound clips and citations and reworded paragraphs, it stops feeling like an assignment at all.

It just feels like the two of them, here, in this space.

Together.

They finish way later than they meant to.

The final file is uploaded, the document is saved in three different folders “just in case,” and their laptops sit closed at the edge of the bed. The air in the room feels heavier now, not uncomfortable, just slow with the kind of tired that comes from hours of focus.

Yoongi is lying on his back, one arm flopped over his eyes, the other resting across his stomach. His breathing is deep and even, not quite asleep, but close.

Hoseok sits cross legged beside him, looking around like he’s only just remembered where he is. The lamp on the nightstand glows soft and amber, casting a calm, sleepy warmth across the room. His eyes land on the clock. The numbers blinking 23:24.

He winces. “Yoongi.”

Yoongi hums without moving.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it’d take this long.”

Yoongi shifts slightly, pushing his arm off his face and turning his head toward him. “Not your fault. I’m just dramatic.”

Hoseok huffs. “Still. You’ve gotta drive an hour now and you look like you might evaporate if you move.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. Just stares at the ceiling, lids low, thinking.

Then, quiet, “You could stay.”

Hoseok blinks. “What?”

Yoongi shrugs, eyes still half lidded. “You don’t have anything important tomorrow, right?”

“No. Why?”

“I could take you back in the morning. It’s late. I don’t feel like driving.”

There’s a brief silence. Not tense, just quiet in the way things get when decisions hang in the air.

Hoseok sits up straighter, brushing a hand through his hair. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna be a bother or anything.”

Yoongi laughs, soft, almost lazy. “If it was a bother, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

Hoseok glances over, hesitant. “You sure your parents wouldn’t care?”

“They’re still out of town,” Yoongi says, already pushing himself up to sit again. “And even if they weren’t, this place is big enough that I could house five people without ever running into them.”

Hoseok lets that settle for a second. Then smiles. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Yoongi nods. “Cool.”

And it is.

No big deal. No weird tension. Just a quiet agreement made under a warm lamp, in a too big room that doesn’t feel too big tonight.

Yoongi gets up and stretches, bones cracking softly in his shoulders as he crosses the room. He opens his closet and pulls out a folded t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants, then digs through a nearby dresser drawer for a clean towel and a spare toothbrush still in its wrapper.

“Here,” he says, handing the bundle over. “Towel, clothes, toothbrush. You can shower if you want, hall bathroom’s on the left.”

Hoseok stands slowly, holding the things in his hands. “You’re prepared.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I like having extra stuff around. You never know.”

Hoseok nods, looking down at the soft clothes, then back up at him. “Thanks.”

Yoongi just waves a hand, already heading toward the bathroom himself. “Go. You’ll feel better.”

Hoseok disappears down the hall a moment later, the bathroom door clicking shut behind him.

When he comes back, hair damp, face fresh, towel folded neatly over one arm, he looks a little dazed from how quiet the house is at night. Yoongi’s already showered as well, lounging back in bed in a worn t-shirt of his own, flipping through something on his phone.

He looks up. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says softly. “Your shower has great pressure.”

Yoongi smirks. “We’re high end out here in the country.”

Hoseok tosses the towel over the chair by the window and pads back to the bed, the flannel pants brushing his ankles as he climbs in beside Yoongi again.

They don’t talk much more.

Yoongi reaches up to flip off the lamp, and the room sinks into quiet dark.

No cars outside. No neon. Just the sound of insects humming outside the window, and the occasional creak of the house settling into the night.

And two boys, lying side by side, wondering maybe a little too much about how they ended up here, but not enough to ruin the silence.

**********

The air is cooler now.

Late November has started to slip into the land with longer shadows and sharper wind, but out here, with the hills stretching wide and the sun sitting low behind the trees, it’s still warm enough to ride.

Yoongi adjusts the strap on his glove as he walks toward the barn, his boots thudding against the dry packed dirt. The gravel crunches in that familiar way beneath his feet, one of those small, grounding sounds that never seems to change no matter what else does.

Hoseok couldn’t come home with him earlier, he had work to finish up, and Johnny happened to overhear and offered to give him a ride later, since he usually stayed on campus late anyway. It made more sense than Yoongi waiting around, though Yoongi wouldn’t have minded. Still, they agreed Hoseok would come over after he wrapped everything up and spend the night before leaving for break. Yoongi would take him to the airport in the morning.

Now, with the sun creeping toward evening and the barn yawning open in front of him, Yoongi feels the quiet in his chest a little louder.

The horses greet him with soft snorts and the occasional impatient stomp of a hoof. Smokie lifts her head from where she’s been dozing and blinks slowly at him. Yoonie’s already pacing like he knows what’s coming.

And then there’s the brown one.

Still nameless. Still watching him.

Yoongi reaches for the lead rope hanging on the wall and doesn’t even think about which horse he’s going to walk first. His hand moves without question. The brown one meets him at the gate like it’s planned.

“All right, baby,” he says under his breath, drawing the word out in a high, overly sweet tone that’s unmistakably mocking. It’s a clear jab at Hoseok, whose ridiculous affection for the nameless horse hasn’t let up since day one. “You ready?”

He clicks the rope onto the halter and gives the horse a small tug toward the pasture, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile too much.

They head out to the clearing behind the barn where the pasture fence dips low and the grass stretches wide. Yoongi walks her in circles for a while, just getting a feel for his energy today. She’s a little jumpy, probably the wind. Or maybe he just knows things feel different lately.

The horse nudges at his shoulder more than once. It’s not mean, just eager, uncoordinated affection. She’s still young, still figuring out where her limbs belong.

Yoongi keeps pace, hand firm on the rope. He doesn’t say much. Just breathes, moves, listens.

They’ve been at it for maybe twenty minutes when the horse shuffles too close on a turn and presses against his side. Yoongi tries to step back, but it’s too late, the edge of his boot catches uneven ground and suddenly he’s down, landing flat on his back with a grunt, dust puffing up around him.

The horse jerks back a step, startled, then stands still. Her ears twitch.

Yoongi stares up at the sky for a second, blinking.

Then he groans. “Jesus.”

The horse steps forward again, slower this time, lowering his head toward Yoongi like she’s trying to figure out if he broke something.

Yoongi laughs, breathless. “You trying to kill me or what?”

He pushes himself up, brushing dust off his jeans. The horse nudges his shoulder again, gentler this time.

And something about it, about the way this dumb, gangly thing hovers close, like she knows she did something wrong but doesn’t know how to say sorry, hits Yoongi in the chest.

He exhales slowly and lifts a hand to scratch behind the horse’s ear. “You really are a baby,” he murmurs, this time quieter, no teasing in his voice.

There’s no one around. No one watching. So he just lets the silence stretch.

The care he feels in that moment surprises him, not because it’s new, but because it’s so clear. All at once. Like the fall knocked something loose. He looks at the horse and feels it settle somewhere deeper than before.

Not just responsibility.

Not just routine.

But affection. Gentle and real and probably a little stupid.

Yoongi lets the rope hang loose in his hand as they start walking again, side by side this time.

The horse doesn’t push.

And Yoongi doesn’t rush.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket.

He pulls it out and squints at the screen.

im almost there plz come im scared of knocking

Yoongi huffs a laugh through his nose, gives the horse one last pat, and turns toward the house.

Yoongi meets Hoseok at the gate, still brushing dust from his jeans and gloves tucked into one hand. The air’s grown cooler with the sun nearly down, shadows long across the gravel path. Hoseok stands near the porch steps, backpack slung over one shoulder, half glancing around like he’s unsure if he should wait or knock.

“You didn’t have to stand out here,” Yoongi says as he pulls the gate open. His tone is neutral but warm. “C’mon in.”

Hoseok straightens up. “I wasn’t sure if I should just walk up.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “You’re fine. I’m just finishing up with the horses. Thought I’d get you a pair of boots before we go back out.”

They step up onto the porch together. As Yoongi reaches for the door, he glances over. “My parents are in the kitchen. I’ll introduce you before we head upstairs.”

“Get ready for my mom, she’ll love that I finally made a friend who’s korean.” He adds with a smirk. Hoseok only laughs.

Inside, the warmth of the house greets them immediately, soft lights overhead, the sound of a knife against a cutting board, faint music playing from a speaker in the corner of the kitchen. His mother is at the counter, her back turned as she chops something, while his father sifts through the day’s mail.

Yoongi clears his throat gently. “Mom, Dad,” he says, pausing just enough to make it respectful, “this is my friend, Jung Hoseok. He’s staying the night, I’m taking him to the airport tomorrow.”

At the sound of Hoseok’s name, his mother stills mid-motion.

She turns slowly, knife set carefully down, towel in hand. Her expression is gentle, but there’s something behind her eyes, an almost instant recognition that catches in her chest before it reaches her mouth.

“You’re Jung Hoseok?” she asks, voice soft, but unmistakably surprised.

Hoseok bows politely, his voice clear and formal. “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.”

Yoongi watches his mother closely. She’s staring, not rudely, just with a kind of quiet awe. Then she blinks once, twice, and something shifts into place.

“You’re Hyewon’s son, aren’t you?”

Yoongi turns slightly, confused. “Hyewon?”

His father looks up now, gaze shifting from Hoseok to Yoongi and back again. And he smiles, realizing it as well. 

“Yes,” Hoseok says slowly. “That’s my mom’s name… why?”

Yoongi’s mother doesn’t answer him at first. She’s still looking at Hoseok with an almost disbelieving softness. And then she lets out a quiet breath, like a realization settling all the way down.

“I’d recognize her face anywhere,” she says. Then she turns to Yoongi, her voice even gentler. “Yoongi... this is Jiwoo’s little brother.”

Yoongi’s stomach pulls slightly. “Jiwoo?”

His mother nods. “She used to babysit you and your brother. More than a few times. Hyewon and I went to university together in Seoul.”

Hoseok’s mouth parts slightly, but nothing comes out at first.

“Wait… this is Jiwoo’s younger brother?”

Yoongi looks at Hoseok again, something tight gathering behind his ribs. Hoseok meets his eyes like he’s also only just now realizing something that’s always been true.

“I didn’t know,” Hoseok says, barely above a whisper. 

“I didn’t either,” Yoongi says.

They both blink, stunned, caught in some quiet space between familiarity and disorientation.

Yoongi’s mom finally steps forward with a small, gentle smile. “You two were always side by side when we’d meet with your parents. Though it’s no surprise you don’t remember, you two were just babies, Hoseok must’ve been five when we left.”

Yoongi can’t help but glance sideways at Hoseok again, as if seeing him slightly differently now, even though nothing’s really changed. Or maybe everything just did.

“Wait,” his dad cuts in. “How do you two know each other now?”

Yoongi straightens a little. “We met at school. We have a class together.”

There’s a pause, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just layered. Weighted.

Yoongi’s mom tilts her head slightly. “I actually talked to your mom just last week,” she says, eyes returning to Hoseok. “She mentioned back in August that you were doing a study abroad program this year, but I had no idea it was here.”

Then her smile deepens, full of warmth. “It’s really lovely to see you again.”

Hoseok bows again, slightly deeper this time. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She nods, still looking at him with that same gentle surprise, and adds, “Hoseok, you are welcome here anytime. I know it can be out of the way since we’re out so far, but Yoongi will bring you here and drive you back whenever you please.”

Hoseok’s ears turn faintly pink, but he smiles. “That means a lot. Thank you.”

Yoongi shifts on his feet and nudges Hoseok lightly. “Come on,” he says, voice quiet. “Let’s get you some boots.”

They turn and start toward the stairs, and just as they’re stepping out of the kitchen, Yoongi’s mom calls out behind them, light but certain,

“Don’t stay out too late, dinner will be ready soon.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says over his shoulder, already halfway up the steps.

Hoseok follows beside him, glancing once more toward the kitchen, like the whole thing’s still settling in.

And it is.

But it’s not a bad feeling.

Just something soft, surprising, and a little unreal in the best way.

Upstairs, the energy shifts.

The hallway is dim, lit only by the fading light outside and the soft lamp Yoongi keeps on his desk. They walk in without saying much, the weight of the conversation downstairs still hanging in the air.

Yoongi closes the door behind them and leans against it for a second. It feels strange, having Hoseok here in this room now… with that knowledge, with names they both thought had nothing to do with each other just an hour ago.

He crosses the room slowly and sits on the edge of the bed.

“I...” he starts, then exhales. “I really had no idea.”

Hoseok nods, stepping closer, but not too close. “No... no, I get it.”

There’s a pause.

Yoongi hesitates, then reaches toward the drawer by his bed. He pulls it open carefully and draws out three small photographs, their edges worn from time and touch. He holds them in his palm for a second before offering them wordlessly to Hoseok.

The first is a picture of Yoongi and Jiwoo, he’s probably three, face squished into her shoulder, his eyes half lidded like he’s on the verge of sleep. She’s smiling with all her teeth.

The second, all four of them. Jiwoo and her younger brother, Yoongi and his own older brother, arms tangled together, a moment too chaotic to be posed, too joyful not to be remembered.

The third makes Hoseok freeze.

It’s of him and Yoongi, both tiny, barely more than babies. Hoseok’s arms are wrapped around Yoongi from the side, his face pressed to his cheek in the way only very small children do, eyes closed in full trust. Yoongi looks caught mid laugh, leaning into it.

Hoseok stares, then laughs once, soft and stunned.

“If I wasn’t sure about this entire situation,” he says, holding up the picture between his fingers, “that proves it.”

Yoongi looks up at him, brows knitting faintly. “What do you mean?”

“I have this exact photo framed,” Hoseok says. “In my room. Exact copy. Jiwoo gave it to me when I was, like... twelve? I didn’t know who the other kid was. I just thought it was cute. So I kept it. Still have it sitting on my dresser back home.”

Yoongi blinks, like it doesn’t quite make sense yet. Hoseok shakes his head with a soft laugh.

“It’s like the universe has jokes.”

Neither of them say anything for a while. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, it’s just big. Like the room is holding more now.

Yoongi looks down at the photo again, then sets it gently on the nightstand beside the others.

Then Hoseok, still standing, glances toward the window and says, quieter now,

“Jiwoo… she does wonder about you, you know.”

Yoongi looks up.

“Every time she visits she comes into my room and sees that picture,” Hoseok goes on, “she says something about you. About how you were such a calm kid, but that you’d cry every single time someone tried to take this little horse plushie from you.”

Yoongi blinks, startled.

“And it always ends with her going quiet for a second. She’ll say something like, ‘He probably has a whole life now,’ or, ‘Can you believe he’s older than you?’ Sometimes she wonders if you graduated. If you got married. She’ll just kind of look at the picture and go, ‘It’s crazy, you know? That I knew him since he was born, and then one day, he was just… gone.’” Hoseok’s voice softens again. “She says it makes her feel old.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away.

He’s still staring at the photo on the nightstand, his expression unreadable.

But his hands are still, and he hasn’t looked away.

They don’t speak for a while after that.

Yoongi leans back against the wall beside his bed, legs stretched out, arms folded loosely over his chest. Hoseok sits on the edge of the mattress, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely laced. The photos rest on the nightstand, catching the last of the golden light slipping in through the window.

It’s quiet in a way that doesn’t beg to be filled. Just two people sitting in the middle of a memory they didn’t know they shared, trying to make space for it.

Yoongi’s eyes stay fixed on the photo of them as kids, on the easy way Hoseok had held him, the way he’d leaned into it, completely unbothered.

He doesn’t remember the moment itself.

But now he wishes he did.

The weight of it all settles slowly. Like they’re just beginning to realize that their story didn’t start when they met in class.

It started way before that.

Hoseok exhales quietly through his nose, gaze lowered to his own hands.

“It’s weird,” he says, not looking up.

Yoongi hums in agreement. “Yeah.”

Another silence.

And then, almost too quietly to catch:

“It doesn’t feel bad, though.”

Yoongi glances over. Hoseok finally lifts his head to meet his eyes.

There’s a pause between them, small, warm, and not quite defined.

Then Yoongi straightens slightly, eyes flicking toward the window.

“…Shit.”

Hoseok looks at him. “What?”

“The horses.”

Yoongi pushes up from the bed and moves to the window, peering out toward the fields. “I never put them back in. I was with the brown one when you texted me, and I just… left them out.”

Hoseok stands too, voice still soft but a little amused now. “Think they staged a revolution while we were up here?”

“Knowing Yoonie?” Yoongi mutters, handing Hoseok a pair of boots. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s halfway to Oklahoma by now.”

They both head for the door, the quiet moment tucked between them like something precious.

**********

The sky outside is a pale, bleached blue, humming with heat. The Texas kind that doesn’t scream summer but settles heavy on the skin, thick and still. Inside the house, Yoongi walks barefoot across the cool tile, letting the quiet follow him room to room.

It’s been four days since Hoseok left. Not long, not really, but just enough for the silence to start feeling different. Not restful. Not full of pause. Just too quiet. His parents left that morning to spend a few days in the city, and Yoongi had finished his chores by noon, hay scattered fresh in the stalls, water buckets scrubbed out, grain measured with slow, thoughtless precision.

Now, the house feels emptied out. Even the ticking clock on the wall sounds louder.

He props the back door open with one of his dad’s work boots and lets the wind roll in just a little. It smells like cedar bark and horses. Yoongi leans against the counter, drinks half a glass of lukewarm water, and doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

He thinks about Hoseok’s laugh in that ridiculous blue hoodie he always wears. The way he always brought music with him, like he couldn’t breathe without it. The way he tilted his head when he listened, how quiet he got, like he was tasting your words.

It’s late at night in Korea now.

He calls.

The phone doesn’t even finish the second ring.

“…Yoongi?”

The sound of Hoseok’s voice slices right through him. Rougher than usual. Throat dry. A little dazed.

“You sound horrible,” Yoongi mutters, half-grinning.

A soft exhale. “It’s midnight.”

“And you answered like you were waiting for me to call.”

There’s a pause. A rustle, like sheets shifting or a pillow being adjusted.

“…Maybe I was,” Hoseok says.

Yoongi sits down at the kitchen table, tucking one leg under the other. “How’s Korea?”

“It’s nice to be home, it's just… I didn’t realize how much I miss out on over here. You know, like… looking at the stars.”

Yoongi glances out the window without meaning to. The sun’s still high here, but he can picture the stars just fine. “I miss having someone to talk to while I’m feeding the horses.”

“You talk to the horses.”

“Yeah, but they don’t say dumb stuff back.”

That gets a laugh. Hoseok’s voice cracks a little as he breathes it out. “I’m sorry I left you alone with the cows.”

“They’re judgmental.”

“I know.”

There’s a long pause, not uncomfortable. Just full.

“What are you doing now?” Hoseok asks eventually.

Yoongi glances around the kitchen. “Nothing. Parents are gone, chores are done. I’ve just been walking in circles.”

“Mm.”

“I think I’m just used to you being around,” he adds, quieter.

Hoseok’s voice drops too. “I’m coming back Sunday.”

“That’s forever away.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

They fall quiet for a while.

But it’s not the awkward kind. It lingers soft between them. Neither of them speak, but neither hang up. They just stay, breathing into the space. On one side of the world, Yoongi traces the condensation on his glass. On the other, Hoseok stares up at the ceiling in the dark, one arm behind his head.

Each one is hoping the other won’t end the call.

Eventually, Yoongi rises from the kitchen chair, tucking his phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks up his half empty glass. He moves slowly, not wanting to break the rhythm between them. The floor is warm under his feet as he crosses the house, past the soft whir of the fan in the hallway and upstairs toward his room. The bed is unmade, curtains drawn to the point where not enough light was being let in.

In the back of his mind, he’s already thinking, absently, about taking a nap once Hoseok goes to sleep.

He sits at the edge of the bed, kicking off his slippers, and lays back slowly.

Eventually, Yoongi breaks the silence.

“Have you seen the rest of your family yet? They must’ve missed you.”

Hoseok hums low, like he’s only now coming back to the surface of himself. “Yeah. I saw Jiwoo and her husband the other night. Still calls me ‘Seokie’ like I’m five.”

Yoongi smiles faintly. “You like it though.”

“I do,” Hoseok says, and there’s warmth in the way he says it. “Saw a few cousins too. One of them brought her kid. She had him while I was gone. It was nice. Loud. A little overwhelming. But nice.”

He pauses then, breath hitching just barely before he lets out a quiet laugh.

“What?” Yoongi asks, voice steady, but curious.

“It’s just my aunt,” Hoseok says, with a grin you can hear through the phone. “She’s been trying to set me up with her friend’s daughter since the summer.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, even though Hoseok can’t see it. “Persistent.”

“She thinks the girl has a crush on me.”

“Does she?”

“I mean… probably.” Hoseok exhales, the kind of sound that comes with a shrug. “She’s sweet.”

There’s a small silence.

Yoongi picks at the edge of his comforter. “Is she pretty?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says slowly. “Yeah, she is. She’s just… not my type.”

Yoongi leans further back into the pillows, settling into the soft weight of the call. “And what is your type?”

There’s a stretch of quiet. Longer than the others. It’s not hesitation, exactly, it’s thoughtfulness. Like Hoseok is turning something over carefully in his mind before letting it out.

Then his voice drops a little lower. A little slower.

“I don’t know. People who don’t need to be loud to take up space,” he says. “People who sit in a room and somehow still make it feel different. Calmer.”

Yoongi’s heartbeat flickers behind his ribs.

“People who listen,” Hoseok continues, “but not because they’re trying to say something back. Just because they want to hear you.”

His voice is quiet now. Velvet soft, with no hurry.

“I think I like people who are a little hard to read. Who don’t give everything away at once. People who carry warmth like it’s something private. People who don’t even realize when they look beautiful.”

The air between them tightens, but it’s not uncomfortable. It just stretches, elastic with something new.

Yoongi swallows once, slow. “That’s pretty specific.”

“I guess I’ve been thinking about it,” Hoseok murmurs.

The line buzzes gently. The room around Yoongi feels suddenly too still, like the walls are holding their breath.

The quiet stays suspended, like it doesn’t want to land.

Then Hoseok speaks again, voice rough and soft at once, like fabric brushed too many times in the same place.

“What about you… hyung?”

He says it low, with the kind of gentleness that makes it impossible not to hear it echo after. The pause he leaves behind is quiet but weighted, like he’s laid something down between them and is waiting to see if Yoongi will touch it.

Yoongi stays still for a second. He can feel his pulse in his neck, in the side of his hand where it rests over his chest. The room is warm, close. The line between them feels taut, like thread pulled just a little too tight.

He knows what Hoseok’s doing. Not in a manipulative way, just the way you test the edge of something you want. Just the way you ask without asking.

And Yoongi isn’t entirely sure what this is. But he wants to lean into it anyway.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice low and smooth, like it’s been sitting on the back of his tongue all day. “I think I like people who… look like they belong somewhere, but don’t always feel like they do.”

He shifts slowly onto his side, letting the phone rest against his ear, close enough to catch the quiet on the other end.

“People who hide when they’re overwhelmed, but still let you find them,” he says. “People who talk with their hands. Who fill the silence with music or dumb jokes because they don’t know what else to do.”

The fan ticks once overhead. The sound feels distant, blurred.

“I think I like people who make a place feel warmer just by being in it. Not loud. Not obvious. Just… better.”

He doesn’t say Hoseok’s name.

But the air says it for him.

On the other end, Hoseok is quiet. The kind of quiet that’s full, not empty. His arm is still tucked beneath his head, the blanket pulled just under his ribs. His body feels warm and a little weightless. His skin buzzes like he’s been drinking, but he hasn’t touched a thing all night.

Then, softly, more breath than voice, he says,

“That sounds an awful lot like me, hyung.”

And Yoongi feels that word again, the way Hoseok says it, slower this time. Like he’s meaning something else entirely.

Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. He exhales through his nose, quiet. Doesn’t smile, exactly, but the tension in his face slips loose, something soft tugging at the corners.

“Maybe,” he says.

The silence afterward curls between them, low and warm. It stretches, longer than it probably should, but neither of them moves to end it.

Yoongi sinks deeper into his bed, head tilted against the pillow, phone cradled to his ear like something precious. One arm laid across his stomach, the other hanging over the edge of the mattress. His eyes are half lidded now, tracing the grain of shadow moving across the ceiling. He’s not tired, but his whole body feels heavy. Like he’s waiting for something. Like he doesn’t want to miss whatever might come next.

Across the line, Hoseok breathes slow, steady. There’s the sound of fabric shifting again, he must’ve moved to lie on his side. The call’s been going long enough that the silence between them feels normal now. Like a rhythm. Like a place.

Then, low, almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud, Hoseok murmurs,

“You know what else I like?”

His voice is rough around the edges, softened by time and distance and maybe sleep. But there’s something else in it, too. Like he’s already a little too far gone to take any of it back.

Yoongi’s heartbeat stirs behind his ribs. His voice comes quieter now, like instinct.

“Yeah?”

There’s a pause, soft, like Hoseok is thinking about how far he wants to go. Then,

“I like guys who get quiet when they think. Who leave their hair messy even after they shower. Guys who don’t say much.”

Yoongi swallows, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, but unfocused now. His free hand curls into the sheets.

Hoseok doesn’t stop.

“Guys who don’t realize when they’re staring. Who eat fast and talk slow. Who never look at you long enough to give it away, but always look back when they think you won’t see.”

The air in Yoongi’s room feels warmer now. His skin prickles, like it knows something his mouth won’t say.

And then, without hesitating, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, Hoseok says,

“That sounds an awful lot like you, hyung.”

Yoongi doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even shift. His breath is steady, but tight. His eyes close for a moment, then open again.

The weight of the call settles lower, thick between them, and Yoongi exhales through his nose, slow.

“…You’re doing it on purpose.”

There’s the faintest smile in Hoseok’s voice as he breathes a laugh, loose and quiet.

“Am I?”

The silence presses in around Yoongi now, warmer than it should be. He shifts again, dragging the edge of the blanket up to his chest even though he’s not cold. The fan overhead ticks once. The phone feels too warm in his hand.

He hears Hoseok breathing, just enough to know he’s still close, still listening.

Yoongi’s voice is low when it comes, rough at the edges.

“You like guys who don’t say much, huh?”

There’s a pause. Not long. Just long enough to feel like he’s choosing his next words.

“Guess I should stop talking.”

Hoseok inhales, sharp, like it surprised him. Like it hit somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

Yoongi’s voice isn’t even doing anything special. It’s quiet. Calm. Almost lazy. But Hoseok can hear the Daegu dialect he must’ve picked up from his parents, and it drops just enough to settle somewhere heavy in Hoseok’s chest.

And it makes something in him unravel.

Hoseok turns onto his back again, rubbing at his face, suddenly too hot under the blanket.

“I—” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “That’s not fair.”

Yoongi hums, faintly amused. “What isn’t?”

“That voice,” Hoseok mutters, dragging a hand over his stomach. “You don’t get to talk like that and act like I started this.”

“You did start this,” Yoongi says, and even now he’s still not pushing. He just sounds like he knows exactly where this is going, and he’s letting it come to him.

Hoseok bites the inside of his cheek. His whole body feels warm now, like something is building under his skin and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

And then,

Then Yoongi says,

“Seok-ah.”

It’s the way he says it. Soft. Drawn out. Not teasing. Just intimate.

Hoseok’s fingers curl around the edge of his pillow.

“What are you wearing?”

The question lands like a drop of ink in water, sudden, quiet, and spreading fast.

Hoseok’s breath stutters. He closes his eyes.

That’s exactly where he’d wanted it to go.

But he didn’t think Yoongi would actually take it there.

For a second, he forgets how to move his mouth. Forgets how to move completely.

Yoongi’s voice still lingers in his ear, quiet but pointed. Like he’d known exactly how Hoseok would react. Like he’s been waiting for that silence, this silence.

Hoseok stares up at the ceiling. His chest rises, falls. One hand resting over his stomach now, the fabric there bunched in his fist.

He licks his lips once, blinks hard, then exhales a shaky breath.

“You’re insane,” he says.

Yoongi doesn’t answer.

That makes it worse.

Hoseok shifts under the blanket. He swears he can feel heat in his ears, crawling down the side of his neck. Everything feels too warm, too tight. His voice comes out low, like he has to force it through his throat.

“I mean, I’m in bed,” he says. “Obviously.”

Still, Yoongi doesn’t speak.

Hoseok exhales again, shorter this time, frustrated.

“I’m not naked, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Another pause.

Then Yoongi hums. Slow. Thoughtful.

Hoseok feels it in his spine.

“…Didn’t say you were,” Yoongi says.

It’s not even what he says, it’s how. That same even, grounded tone, like they’re talking about the weather. Like Hoseok didn’t just arch his back off the mattress for a second like a lunatic.

Hoseok swears under his breath and throws an arm over his eyes, heart kicking behind his ribs.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Another beat. The air feels thick again, close.

“Describe it,” Yoongi murmurs.

Hoseok’s hand tightens into the pillow. His throat works.

“You want me to describe what I’m wearing?”

Yoongi’s voice is barely audible now. “Yeah.”

There’s a silence.

Then Hoseok shifts under the blanket again, like it’s starting to cling to his skin. He drags his hand across his chest, fingers grazing the edge of his collarbone, trying to breathe a little steadier. He’s not sure if he’s embarrassed or turned on or both. Probably both.

He licks his lips once and speaks, voice rough.

“You know…” he starts, eyes flicking toward the dark ceiling like it might help him find composure.

“…it gets really hot here at night.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Not a sound.

So Hoseok keeps going.

His throat tightens around the next words, but they come out anyway, low and a little slower now.

“I’m just wearing shorts.”

His fingertips trace along the hem of the blanket without thinking.

“No shirt,” he adds, almost too quietly. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Yoongi still says nothing. But Hoseok can hear his breath through the speaker, steady, shallow. Listening.

“And they’re—” Hoseok stops. Swallows. “The shorts. They’re kind of big. Loose.”

He closes his eyes.

He can feel the sweat prickling at the back of his neck, the blanket suddenly too much against his skin. His voice comes softer now, like he’s starting to forget why he’s saying any of this in the first place.

“They ride up sometimes when I’m lying like this.”

His hand curls into the edge of the sheet.

Then finally—finally—Yoongi breathes out, so quiet it barely registers.

“…Show me.”

For a second, Hoseok doesn’t move.

The words “Show me” linger in his ear like a touch, soft and deliberate. Not demanding. Not teasing. Just… inevitable.

His pulse stutters. He lets out a short, shaky laugh and presses the heel of his hand to his eyes, trying to stay grounded. The blanket is pushed halfway down his hips now. He doesn't even remember doing it.

His voice is quiet when he speaks again. Unsteady, but not hiding.

“My room’s too dark, hyung.”

He pauses. Lets it settle. Then exhales, slow.

“You’ll have to imagine it.”

There’s a smile in his voice now, barely there, but real.

And Yoongi doesn’t say anything.

But Hoseok knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing to him.

There’s a silence again, this time sharper. Loaded.

Hoseok stays still, one hand curled in the sheets near his stomach, the other still holding the phone close. He can hear Yoongi breathing. Just faintly. Steady, but a little deeper now.

Then, finally, Yoongi speaks.

His voice is low. Controlled. But there’s heat behind it now. Something dragging under the surface.

“…Maybe you should take them off.”

Hoseok freezes.

Just for a second.

Then his stomach tightens, like something dropped right into it. His mouth parts slightly. His legs shift beneath the blanket without meaning to, his knees brushing together.

A rush of heat crawls up his neck and across his face. He closes his eyes.

“Hyung…”

It’s barely a whisper. Half protest. Half plea.

But he doesn’t say no.

He doesn’t say anything else at all.

The line goes quiet again.

Then there’s a shift, barely audible, but Yoongi hears it.

The sound of Hoseok moving under the covers. A breath catching in his throat. A pause that holds too much.

And then,

The soft rustle of fabric sliding down skin.

Slow. Deliberate.

Yoongi closes his eyes.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

On the other end, Hoseok lets out a quiet exhale, like he’s trying not to think too hard about what he’s doing. The blanket’s kicked down to his calves now. His fingers hooked into the waistband, shorts pushed down and off, left somewhere on the side of the bed.

He swallows, hard.

“They’re off.”

It’s all he says.

But his voice sounds different now. Breathier. Bare.

And Yoongi?

He still hasn’t said a word.

But Hoseok can feel it.

He can feel him imagining it.

And it makes his whole body feel like it’s glowing.

“…Why so quiet, Seok-ah?”

Yoongi’s voice is calm. Steady.

But it lands like a hand around his throat.

“You were so confident not too long ago.”

Hoseok’s breath catches, sharp. His thighs shift under the blanket. One hand clenches against the sheet.

“I—” he starts, but the word curls back into his throat. Useless.

Yoongi hums. Low. Barely there.

“Cat got your tongue?”

It’s not cruel. It’s close.

Like Yoongi’s sitting right there, watching him unravel.

Hoseok bites down on the inside of his cheek, eyes fluttering shut.

“Shut up,” he breathes.

But his voice is shaking.

And they both know he doesn’t mean it.

Hoseok’s skin is burning.

Not from shame, but from being seen. Like Yoongi’s voice alone is pressing against his chest, crawling under the sheets with him, brushing up the inside of his thighs without even touching him.

But he’s not going to let Yoongi have all the control. Not without trying.

So he shifts his hips, just slightly, and grips the phone a little tighter.

Then, voice low and smug, but still shaking around the edges, he says,

“You’re hard, aren’t you?”

He pauses.

“Thinking of me?”

It’s a swing. A reckless one.

He waits for the stumble.

But it never comes.

Instead, calm, smooth, almost bored, Yoongi answers,

“…Of course I am.”

Hoseok’s heart stops.

And then starts up again, faster. Too fast.

His mouth opens. Closes. He has no idea what he expected Yoongi to say, but it wasn’t that.

Yoongi’s voice stays even, almost soft, almost cruel.

“You told me to imagine it, didn’t you?”

Hoseok sucks in a breath.

Yoongi chuckles under it.

“I am.”

The words echo. Hoseok’s legs tense under the sheets, knees pulling in slightly. He drags one hand down his bare stomach, skin flushed, fingers twitching where they hover at the edge of where he wants them.

He swallows hard. “Fuck…”

Yoongi hums again. That same sound, quiet, knowing. Like he’s already watching what Hoseok’s about to do.

Then,

“What else should I imagine?”

It’s not a request.

Hoseok’s whole body pulses.

“I—” he tries, voice cracking.

Yoongi cuts him off, still maddeningly calm.

“Are you touching yourself?”

Hoseok lets out a sound, something between a breath and a whimper, sharp and helpless.

The silence after Yoongi’s question is thick. Electric.

Hoseok’s hand trembles where it rests just below his navel, unmoving. His thighs press together under the sheets. He’s flushed all over, cheeks, chest, even the tips of his ears. Everything feels hot, tight, aching.

He can still hear Yoongi breathing, slow, even, unbothered.

He bites the inside of his cheek hard, trying to ground himself, but it does nothing. His body is practically vibrating with need.

Yoongi doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t push. Just waits.

Hoseok grits his teeth.

“…Say something,” he mutters.

Yoongi hums, low and smooth, like he’s stretching it out just to see how long Hoseok can take it.

“I asked you a question.”

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut.

“Hyung…”

Still, Yoongi stays quiet.

Hoseok shifts his legs again, restless. His hips jerk just slightly, barely there, like his body’s acting on its own.

He breathes in, sharp. Then out, shakier.

“…Please.”

It slips out.

Small. Barely formed. But it’s there.

And Yoongi smiles.

“There you are.”

The words settle into Hoseok’s spine, warm and low, like a hand smoothing down his back.

He lets out a shaky breath, long and quiet. There’s no use pretending anymore, not with the way his body is already moving, slow and aching under the covers. His hand drifts lower, hesitant only for a second.

Then he touches himself.

A soft gasp escapes his mouth. Barely there, but enough.

Yoongi hears it. Of course he does.

The silence on his end sharpens, still, but focused.

Hoseok swallows, thumb brushing over sensitive skin, breath hitching. His eyes flutter closed, lashes damp at the corners. He keeps the phone tucked against his ear like an anchor, like if he lets go of it he’ll come apart too fast.

“I am,” he whispers. “Touching myself.”

His voice is rough now, broken open. Raw with honesty.

“I am.”

Hoseok barely gets the words out. They ride the edge of his breath, shaky and broken.

His hand moves slow, hips shifting against the mattress, thighs tense beneath the sheets. Everything feels too much and not enough all at once. His skin’s hot, his neck damp, every nerve pulled tight and ready to snap.

“Hyung-ah…”

The name slips out again, softer this time. Gasped, not spoken.

“…Hyung-ah…”

Yoongi hears it, feels it, and something in him stirs so sharply it aches. He exhales through his nose, low and uneven now.

“Do it too.” Hoseok says. Whispered. Raw. “Please.”

For a moment, there’s no sound but their breathing, out of sync, then suddenly not.

Then Yoongi shifts. Soft fabric, the rustle of his sheets, the quiet sigh of motion.

And Hoseok hears it.

He closes his eyes, lips parted, his hand moving with more urgency now.

Hoseok’s fingers curl tighter around the sheets with each breath. His voice slips out in pieces, quiet sighs, soft gasps, whispering hyung again and again, like it’s the only thing tethering him to this moment.

Yoongi’s breath matches his now, deeper, less steady. One hand beneath the covers, the other still holding the phone close.

“…Seok-ah.”

Hoseok’s body tenses, hips twitching slightly.

Yoongi’s voice is lower now. More raw.

“I wish you were here.”

Hoseok whimpers, genuinely. No control left. His fingers falter, then move faster. His heart’s pounding, chest rising and falling like he just ran miles.

“Me too,” he breathes. “Fuck, me too—”

“What would you do if I was right there?” Yoongi asks again, slower this time. “If I was watching you?”

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut. His hand stutters, then keeps going.

“I’d let you,” he says, voice raw. “I’d let you watch.”

Yoongi exhales, a shiver of breath.

“You’d let me touch you too?”

“Yes.”

The word falls out, shaky and certain.

“Where?”

Hoseok can barely think. His mouth is dry. His chest is tight.

“My thighs,” he breathes. “My stomach.”

His legs tense, back arching just slightly.

“Everywhere.”

Yoongi’s voice is quieter when it comes again, almost reverent.

“God, Seok-ah…”

Hoseok’s legs are trembling now, knees drawing in, his fingers moving faster, slick with sweat and everything he’s feeling. His body feels electric, like every nerve has been dragged to the surface.

Yoongi hasn’t stopped either. His breath is heavy in the speaker, not loud, but there. Hoseok can hear it, can feel it, and it keeps him moving, keeps him present.

“Tell me more,” Yoongi says, voice rough, low in his chest.

Hoseok lets out a sound, too close to a whimper. He licks his lips, breath catching.

“I want your hands on me,” he gasps. “Want to feel your mouth, your voice in my ear, like this, but closer.”

Yoongi groans softly, like he’s losing control.

“I’d have you underneath me,” he murmurs. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

Hoseok nods before he remembers Yoongi can’t see.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I’d let you do anything.”

His body jerks, head pressing back into the pillow, sheets twisted under his hips.

“Fuck, hyung—please—”

Yoongi’s voice falters, thick and strained now.

“You’re so good like this,” he says. “So fucking good for me.”

The words hit Hoseok like a wave.

He’s shaking. Moaning now, raw and open.

“I’m close—hyung-ah, I—”

Yoongi’s breath catches again. Then:

“Come for me.”

Yoongi’s voice drops, low, hoarse, full of heat he’s no longer hiding.

“Come for me, Seok-ah.”

Hoseok breaks.

His body arches off the bed, sharp and sudden. A gasp rips from his throat, high and involuntary, and his hand jerks once, twice, before his whole body locks up, tight, trembling, gone.

Pleasure crashes through him like a wave, hot and dizzying, curling in his stomach, up his spine, down his thighs. His toes curl, chest heaving, mouth open and panting. He doesn’t even realize he’s moaning Yoongi’s name until it’s already left his lips.

Across the line, Yoongi lets out a breathless groan, deep and guttural. His hand moves faster, hips jerking once against the bed, and then he’s coming too, hard, sharp and overwhelming, the kind that drags his whole body with it.

He chokes on a gasp, jaw slack, lashes fluttering shut as heat floods his limbs, his stomach, his throat. He’s never come that hard from just words, from just a voice.

His fingers twitch. His chest rises and falls in fast, uneven waves.

Neither of them speak.

For a long moment, it’s just the sound of their breathing. Staggered. Shallow. The occasional shift of limbs, the rustle of sheets.

Then it hits.

What the fuck just happened.

Hoseok stares at the ceiling, completely still, his body still flushed, chest sticky with sweat, and something else. Shorts halfway off the bed.

Yoongi presses the back of his wrist to his mouth, eyes wide, phone still cradled to his ear like a crime scene.

Neither one of them dares to be the first to speak.

The silence is unbearable.

But they sit in it anyway.

The silence stretches.

Longer than it should.

Yoongi’s still lying there, breath finally starting to slow, eyes open and unfocused. The fan hums overhead, a faint breeze brushing over his sweat damp skin. The phone is still against his ear, but it feels heavier now. Like holding it any longer might make something snap.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Across the line, Hoseok’s chest is rising and falling fast. His legs are still tangled in the sheets, body flushed, hand limp at his side.

But the heat that was burning through him moments ago is already cooling.

His skin feels raw. Like he’s been touched without being touched. His heart is pounding, and he can’t tell if it’s from what just happened or from the creeping sense of did why did I do that?

A flush rises to his face again, not from arousal this time. From something else. Something sharper.

He swallows.

And still, nothing.

Yoongi doesn’t speak. Hoseok doesn’t either.

Neither of them know how.

The line isn’t dead. But it’s close. Just breathing. Just presence.

The silence is starting to ache.

Yoongi stares at the ceiling, the curve of his chest still rising and falling in slow, careful breaths. The air in his room feels cooler now, like the heat has drained from the space entirely, leaving nothing but the echo of everything they just did.

He still hasn’t moved.

Neither has Hoseok.

But Yoongi knows he’s still there. He can hear the breath, shaky and uneven, barely catching up. He can feel him, somehow, even through the line. And that stillness, that kind of quiet, it’s starting to feel worse than anything else.

So finally, softly, Yoongi says,

“…You okay?”

His voice is low. Not teasing. Not confident.

Just real.

Hoseok doesn’t answer right away.

Yoongi swallows, biting gently at the inside of his cheek.

“I didn’t mean to…” he starts, then trails off, eyes flicking toward the window even though there’s nothing out there but dark.

“I mean, I did,” he admits, voice even quieter now. “But I don’t know if we—if that…”

He exhales.

“Hoseok-ah”

And on the other end, Hoseok finally speaks.

“…I feel kind of dirty.”

The words are small. Not ashamed. Just raw.

And Yoongi’s chest tightens.

Not because he disagrees.

But because he kind of does too.

“Hoseok-ah,” he says, voice low, warm. “It’s okay.”

Another pause. He shifts, the blanket slipping a little lower on his chest. His skin still feels flushed, but his voice is steady now.

“We didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hoseok doesn’t answer, but Yoongi can hear his breath, still shallow, but listening.

“We didn’t plan it,” Yoongi continues. “We didn’t… even know what we were doing, not really. It just—” he swallows. “It just happened.”

Another pause.

“I don’t regret it,” he adds, softer this time. “Not even a little.”

He lets that sit for a second.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just… I want you to know I’m still here.”

And he is.

Still holding the phone close. Still lying there, open. Waiting.

Yoongi waits.

Just quiet breathing on the other end now, until it shifts.

He hears something soft, a sharp inhale, the tiniest sound of a choked breath. And then another. Wet.

Yoongi’s brow furrows.

“…Hoseok-ah?”

There’s no answer. Just the sound of him trying not to make noise. But it slips through anyway, a shaky exhale, a quiet sniff, the catch of breath that gives him away.

Yoongi sits up slowly, heart kicking harder now.

“Seok-ah. What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t sound calm anymore. He sounds worried.

“I—” Hoseok starts, then stops, breath catching again. “It’s not—fuck, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

Yoongi’s voice is softer now, trying to steady, even though his own throat feels tight.

Hoseok breathes out hard, like it hurts.

“It’s just that…” he says, voice trembling. “It’s just that I actually do like you, hyung.”

The line goes quiet again.

Yoongi forgets to breathe.

“And fuck—” Hoseok’s voice breaks completely. “Fuck, I fucked up, hyung.”

His voice cracks right open on the last word.

And Yoongi has no idea what to say.

Because he wants to hold him.

But he can’t.

He’s just holding a phone.

And listening to someone he might love fall apart on the other side of it.

“…Seok-ah.”

Hoseok hiccups softly on the other end.

“Seok-ah,” Yoongi says again, a little firmer now. “You know I like you too.”

There’s a pause, just a breath.

Then Hoseok lets out a sound that’s not quite a sob, not quite a laugh. Just air leaving his lungs like he’s been holding it all day.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he says, barely audible.

“I mean it.”

Yoongi presses the phone tighter to his ear.

“I’ve meant it.”

The words sit heavy, but not crushing.

They settle into Hoseok’s chest like warmth, like weight taken off. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just lets the silence fill with Yoongi’s voice, still echoing in his head.

He presses the back of his wrist to his eyes, wipes gently. His cheeks are wet, but he’s not sobbing anymore. He sniffles once, lets out a long breath through his nose.

“…I didn’t think you’d say that.”

Yoongi hums softly, just a sound. Comfort.

“I wasn’t sure when I would,” he says. “But I always meant to.”

Hoseok turns his head on the pillow, eyes still damp, but softer now.

“Even before…?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, a little quieter. “Even before.”

Another silence, this one easier. Slower. Their breathing has found its rhythm again. No more gasps, no more choked words. Just the quiet that follows after a storm has passed.

Hoseok exhales again. This time, steadier.

“…Okay.”

Yoongi lets that sit. Just that one word. And smiles, small, to himself.

“Okay,” he repeats.

And they stay on the line. Not because they don’t know what else to say, but because they don’t have to.

Hoseok’s breathing has evened out, soft and low against the speaker. The edge in his voice is gone. What’s left is something looser. Lighter.

Yoongi shifts onto his side, pillow tucked beneath his cheek, phone pressed close.

There’s nothing urgent left to say. No rush to define it.

They’re just there.

Connected by breath. By warmth. By everything they didn’t expect to feel tonight.

“…Are you gonna fall asleep on the phone again?” Yoongi asks eventually, voice so quiet it almost fades into the dark.

There’s a faint smile in Hoseok’s answer.

“Yeah.”

Yoongi hums. “Okay.”

And they sleep.

Each in their own bed, in different time zones, wrapped in tangled sheets they never bothered to clean up. Sticky, tired, skin still flushed from what they did.

But it doesn’t matter.

**********

The terminal’s full of sound, rolling luggage, voices, footsteps, gate announcements echoing through the air. But Yoongi doesn’t really hear it.

He’s leaning against a pillar near the exit, cowboy hat tilted low over his eyes, the light from the windows catching on the worn denim of his Levi’s. They sit snug at his waist, faded and creased in all the right places. His boots—real leather, scuffed at the toes—tap slow against the tile.

There’s a crisp white tee under an open chambray button up, sleeves pushed to his elbows. Nothing flashy. Just lived in. Effortless. 

And then, “Hyung!”

Yoongi’s head snaps up just in time to see Hoseok break through the wave of travelers. He’s smiling so big it looks like it hurts, bag slung across his chest, one sleeve half-rolled and his hair sticking up from the flight.

Before Yoongi can say a word, Hoseok’s jogging the last few steps and throws himself forward, arms flinging around Yoongi’s neck like he’s never going to let go.

Yoongi catches him with a soft grunt, staggering half a step back. “Whoa—hey—”

He wraps his arms around Hoseok’s waist, holding tight. His hat shifts from the force of it, almost knocked off, and Hoseok’s cheek is pressed against the side of his neck.

“I missed you,” Hoseok mumbles, breath warm against his skin.

“You were gone for a week,” Yoongi murmurs, but he’s already squeezing tighter.

“I know,” Hoseok says. “Too long.”

Yoongi breathes in, Hoseok smells like fabric softener and exhaustion and something so familiar it knocks the wind out of him.

When Hoseok finally pulls back, he looks him over. His eyes trail down, cowboy hat, open shirt, those jeans, those boots.

“Hyung,” he says, almost breathless. “You really wore the whole thing.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “What thing.”

“Don’t play dumb. Levi’s. Boots. The hat.”

Yoongi shrugs, lips twitching. “Sun’s out.”

“We’re inside.”

Still, Hoseok’s eyes linger. Too long. And Yoongi notices.

“You look good,” he says.

“…dangerous,” Hoseok mutters, half under his breath.

Yoongi grins.

“You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“My mom’s making dinner, should be ready when we get there.” Hoseok smiles. 

Yoongi takes his bag without asking. Hoseok lets him.

And they walk out into the soft gold light of late afternoon, side by side, shoulders brushing, boots clicking softly on tile.

They don’t talk much on the way to the car.

The airport’s cooler than the outside air, and when they step out into the early evening sun, it hits warm and soft across their shoulders. Yoongi unlocks the truck with a quiet click, tosses Hoseok’s bag in the back seat, and climbs in behind the wheel. Hoseok follows, door shutting with a gentle thud, seatbelt clicking into place without a word.

They’d already decided on the plan, Hoseok would stay with Yoongi for the night. He didn’t have class early Monday. Neither did Yoongi. No point in going all the way back to campus. He could sleep in. They’d go together in the morning.

The engine starts with a low rumble, and Yoongi pulls out slow, one hand resting on the wheel, the other adjusting the volume knob until soft guitar filters through the speakers.

Neil Young.

Something slow and a little sad, but not heavy. Something made for roads like this, wide, golden, empty at this hour.

The light outside is warm and fading, casting long shadows across the dashboard. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the breeze. The music hums low between them.

Hoseok shifts in his seat, leans his head back against the window.

Within minutes, he’s asleep.

His knees are drawn up just slightly, one hand resting loose in his lap, his head turned toward Yoongi. Lips parted. Breathing steady.

Yoongi glances over once, then again.

He looks peaceful. Soft. Hair falling across his forehead, lashes casting faint shadows over his cheekbones.

Yoongi exhales, slow. Lets one hand fall from the wheel to rest on his thigh, palm open.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

Just drives.

Mile after mile of quiet road, sun setting behind them, Neil Young whispering about love and memory and everything in between. The world narrowing to this: a warm car, a sleeping boy, and the kind of silence that feels like trust.

Yoongi doesn’t rush.

He just keeps watching the road.

And once in a while, he watches Hoseok.

**********

Thursday evening, the house smells faintly like ginger and old wood, like warmth that’s settled into the walls after years of use. The heater hums quietly through the vents, soft and steady, and a folded blanket sits between them on the couch, never quite shared, but never moved.

The TV is on, but muted. Some documentary Yoongi turned on an hour ago and promptly ignored. Hoseok’s curled up on one end, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, legs folded underneath him. His hair’s still a little damp from his shower, the front pieces curling slightly against his forehead.

Yoongi’s beside him, one socked foot propped on the coffee table, the other leg bent up against the edge of the couch. He’s got a mug of tea resting on his knee, both hands wrapped around it, though he hasn’t taken a sip in a while.

The light from the lamp behind them throws long shadows across the coffee table, half empty bowls, a few crumbs, Hoseok’s phone charging between them.

Hoseok shifts slightly. His eyes are on the floor for a beat before he speaks.

“You know,” he says, voice quiet but sure, “I told my mom about your mom. And Jiwoo. All of that.”

Yoongi’s gaze flicks toward him. “Yeah?”

“She felt silly,” Hoseok says, mouth twitching into a small smile. “For not remembering you guys were still in Texas. Said she would’ve told your mom had she remembered.”

Yoongi’s lips tug upward faintly. “What’d she say about it?”

Hoseok draws his knees in closer, chin resting against them for a second before he lifts his head again. “She thought it was crazy, honestly. You know, the way the world works.”

Yoongi hums low in his throat. Waits.

“She said…” Hoseok trails off, eyes following the shadow of Yoongi’s hat hanging on the coat rack across the room. “That my parents and yours were really close back then. Like… really close.”

Yoongi nods once, quietly listening.

“I didn’t realize they still talk,” Hoseok adds. “But my mom said they call each other a lot. Catch up. She said they’d love to see your parents again. That it’s been a long time.”

He pauses.

Then lowers his voice, just slightly.

“…Or meet you.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“You know,” Hoseok adds with a faint, almost nervous grin. “Actual you. Not six year old you.” He says, lips twitching wider, then fading again. He looks down at his hands, fingers playing with the frayed edge of his sleeve. His voice dips lower.

“I, um… I talked to my mom.”

Yoongi’s mug makes the faintest clink as he sets it on the table. He turns a little more toward him, fully tuned in.

Hoseok’s fingers curl, then uncurl.

“I asked her if—if you could come home with me. Over break.”

He glances at Yoongi, but only for a second.

“She said yeah, of course. They’d love it. My dad said the guest room’s all clear. And even though Jiwoo’s married and doesn’t live there anymore, my mom said she’d still probably stop by. They’d just… be happy to meet you. Like, you-you.”

He stops. Breathes. And Yoongi still hasn’t said anything.

So he keeps going, filling the space with words to cover what he’s already imagining as rejection.

“I mean, it’s just a month. I figured, you know, your parents aren’t going anywhere, and I know you said it gets quiet around here over break. We get discounted flights so it wouldn’t be too much trouble. And I just thought—” he swallows, “it gets really pretty, where we are. In the winter. Everything slows down. The town puts up lights on the trees, there’s this hill that gets covered in frost, and the bakery near our place always gives away hot chocolate after five. I just thought…”

He looks at Yoongi again.

“…you might like it.”

And underneath all of it, Please say yes.

Yoongi’s face is unreadable. Not cold, not distant. Just… still. Like he’s thinking hard, or not thinking at all, and Hoseok can’t tell which is worse.

So he panics.

He laughs, short, breathless, not real. Shrinks a little into himself and waves a hand like he’s brushing it all off.

“Never mind,” he says quickly. “Forget it. It was dumb. You probably want to stay here anyway—your horses, your house—”

But Yoongi speaks before he can finish.

“That sounds…”

His voice is soft. A little rough. Like he’s choosing each word carefully.

“That sounds really nice, Seok-ah.”

Hoseok freezes.

His fingers still on the blanket. His breath catches.

He looks up.

Yoongi’s not teasing. Not humoring him. He’s just… there. Open. Honest.

“I mean it,” Yoongi adds. “I’d like that.”

And just like that, Hoseok’s shoulders drop.

The relief is immediate. Almost embarrassing.

But more than that, it’s warm.

Deep in his chest, something untwists.

“…Yeah?” he asks, a little breathless, blinking.

Yoongi nods once.

“Yeah.”

**********

Leaving Texas hadn’t been as hard as Yoongi imagined it would be.

There was something strange about that, something he kept turning over in his head during the quiet moments of the flight, how easily the weeks leading up to it had unraveled into something gentle. He thought he’d hesitate. Thought the idea of stepping into Hoseok’s world would feel foreign, like overstepping.

But when the gate closed behind them and the city faded beneath the clouds, he didn’t panic. He just looked at Hoseok, asleep beside him, and knew he was okay.

That feeling stuck.

Even after they landed. Even after Hoseok’s dad pulled up to the terminal in a wool coat and nodded at him like he already knew who he was.

Even after Yoongi stepped out of the airport in full cowboy attire.

The Levi’s. The belt. The worn leather boots. The cream button-up. The hat.

He hadn’t thought much of it. It was just what he wore. He packed light.

But Hoseok looked like he might die right there on the curb. He had to pause with both hands braced against the back of the car, laughing into his sleeves while Yoongi just stood beside the luggage like nothing was wrong.

Since then, Yoongi had mostly been wearing Hoseok’s clothes.

Soft hoodies, thick thermal shirts, sweatpants, scarves that smelled like whatever detergent Hoseok’s mom used. Hoseok’s jeans that fit just a tad bit too tight. The sleeves on some of his sweaters bunched a little too long on Yoongi’s arms. He didn’t mind.

In fact, he liked it.

It felt… undemanding.

The house was bigger than he’d expected, two stories with tall windows, a wide staircase, rooms that stretched out instead of stacking on top of each other. But it didn’t feel cold or empty. It felt full.

Hoseok’s parents didn’t try to impress him. They didn’t fuss. They just let him be. His mom baked constantly, asked gentle questions, and always set out extra food like it was routine. His dad moved around like a quiet rhythm, soft-footed and steady, humming under his breath when he passed by the living room.

It didn’t take long for Yoongi to understand where Hoseok got his sweetness.

It was in the way his mom rested a hand on his shoulder when he passed. In the way his dad refilled everyone’s tea without a word. In the warmth of the table, the hall, the very air of the house.

And then there was Jiwoo.

She’d visited the day after they arrived, already glowing from the cold, arms full of bags, her hair tied back and lips stained faint pink. Yoongi hadn’t seen her in years, but she was still graceful, still striking in that way only people who know who they are seem to be.

She gave him a hug before she even said hello. He didn’t quite know how to respond, but she didn’t seem to mind. She talked fast and smiled hard and didn’t seem at all surprised that he was there, in Hoseok’s house, like that had always been the plan.

It was surreal.

All of it. The warmth. The familiarity. The way Hoseok walked around the kitchen barefoot while Yoongi sat at the counter in one of his old sweatshirts, sipping tea. The way the lights outside the house blinked softly in the frost each night, gentle, rhythmic, like clockwork.

And then there was the picture.

Framed neatly on Hoseok’s dresser, right between a little ceramic bowl full of rings and a bottle of cologne he probably never used.

Yoongi had seen it on his second day there. He hadn’t been snooping, just sitting on the edge of Hoseok’s bed while he searched for socks. His gaze had drifted over the top of the bookshelf, then to the dresser, and landed there.

The photo was small. A little faded. But unmistakable.

It was them.

Yoongi and Hoseok, both tiny, bundled in coats and scarves. Hoseok had his arms around him, face pressed against Yoongi’s cheek, eyes closed like he trusted him with everything. And Yoongi, mid laugh, leaning in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It had stunned him.

There was something about seeing himself like that, so small, so happy, so held… that hit him in a place he didn’t know he’d been guarding.

They were about a week into winter break when they decided to go for a walk.

It was just past dinner, the kind of chilly night where everything felt still but not frozen. Hoseok had tossed him a scarf and said something casual like “Come on, it’s pretty out tonight,” and that was enough.

The streets in Hoseok’s neighborhood were wide and quiet, lined with tall, bare trees that reached out over the sidewalk like arches. Lights stretched along their trunks, blinking faintly in warm gold. Most of the houses were dark by now, just a few flickers of life in kitchen windows or porch lights left on for no one in particular.

Yoongi walked with his hands deep in his pockets, chin tucked into the collar of Hoseok’s coat.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” he muttered.

Hoseok glanced sideways at him, grinning. “You’re fine.”

“It’s actually inhumane out here.”

“You’re literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes, turning up his collar even higher. “I live in Texas. This is a betrayal.”

Hoseok laughed, bright, a little breathless, like he wasn’t even trying to be mean. “It’s barely even cold.”

But Yoongi didn’t turn back.

He kept walking, step for step, beside Hoseok.

The city felt different out here. Quieter. Like time moved a little slower when no one else was watching. The lamps overhead hummed softly. The trees rustled when the wind shifted. Everything else was still.

They didn’t talk much after that.

Just walked.

Until, somewhere down a side street framed in lights, Hoseok slowed a little, just enough to glance at Yoongi, voice lower now.

“You know…” he said, “I’m really glad you came.”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away. Just watched his own breath fog out in front of him and disappear into the dark.

Then, quiet, but sure,

“I’m glad you brought me.”

He looked up at the sky, it was clear, still.

“It’s really nice.”

Hoseok’s smile was soft this time. 

They’d been walking in silence for a while, feet brushing softly against the concrete, their shoulders close enough to catch warmth from each other in bursts. The wind had settled. Only the distant hum of traffic and the soft buzz of the overhead lamps filled the space between them.

Then, out of nowhere, “I think I’m coming back in the summer.”

Hoseok looked up.

They were nearing the edge of the neighborhood now, lights thinning, the sidewalk narrowing under a row of leafless trees. The air was colder out here. The kind that bit at your ears and settled beneath your collar, even through layers.

Hoseok blinked once. “What?”

Yoongi didn’t look at him. Just kept walking, voice low and even.

“I got an internship.”

Hoseok slowed a step. “An internship?”

“With an entertainment company,” Yoongi said. “A big one. Like—one of the big three.”

The words hung in the air, visible in the cold between them.

“I’ve been applying since June,” he went on. “It was a long process. Multiple rounds. A portfolio review. Final interview was last week.”

He exhaled, long and soft. “They picked me.”

Hoseok stopped.

Not completely, his feet kept moving, but his body felt like it had paused, like something had just been said that shifted the ground beneath them.

Yoongi glanced over, finally meeting his eyes.

“They want me,” he said again. Simpler this time.

Hoseok’s chest tightened.

Yoongi didn’t look proud. He didn’t look smug. He just looked… braced. Like he wasn’t sure how it would land.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” he continued, voice barely louder than the wind. “I didn’t want anyone to know. Not until I was sure.”

He sniffed once from the cold, rubbed his gloved fingers together.

“I guess I didn’t want to make it real until it was mine.”

Hoseok didn’t know what to say.

His heart was full, overwhelmed, maybe, but not in a bad way. Just full.

Yoongi had done this. On his own. In silence. He’d chased something massive and carried it alone, even while they’d been sitting on the same couch for weeks, drinking from the same mugs, sleeping under the same roof.

And he hadn’t said a word.

Not until now.

Hoseok swallowed hard, voice catching when he finally said, “Yoongi hyung…”

Yoongi’s shoulders drew slightly tighter. Like he wasn’t sure if Hoseok was going to be proud or disappointed. Like he was already ready to accept either.

“That’s huge,” Hoseok said quietly.

Yoongi nodded once. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I know.”

Hoseok’s hands were buried in his coat pockets, but he felt them curl into fists.

“I wanted to,” Yoongi said. “I just… I needed to know I could do it first.”

And Hoseok did understand that.

He did.

But it still hit him in a place he didn’t expect, the secrecy, the independence, the fact that Yoongi had quietly built a bridge to the next version of his life while Hoseok had been right there beside him, completely unaware.

He stepped in closer, boots brushing the edge of the curb. The wind shifted, stirring Yoongi’s hair just slightly under his hood.

“I’m proud of you,” Hoseok said, voice steadier now. “I mean it.”

Yoongi’s eyes softened. He didn’t look at Hoseok right away, just dropped his gaze to the sidewalk, where the streetlight poured faint gold over the cement.

Then, finally, he smiled.

Small. Honest.

“…Thanks.”

They kept walking, their winter boots scuffing against the uneven sidewalk, the cold creeping in slow through the seams of their coats.

Then Hoseok bumped Yoongi’s arm lightly with his elbow and said, “Think you’ll survive without your horses?”

It was light, teasing. A grin tugged at his mouth before he even finished the sentence.

Yoongi didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even smile.

He just looked ahead, a faint cloud of breath spilling from his mouth as he said, voice soft,

“Yeah.”

Then quieter,

“Yeah, I think… I think I’ll have something else to care about.”

He glanced down at the ground, kicking a stray stone along the curb. His voice came slower after that, almost like he was still working it out as he said it,

“Something to… take my mind off the horses.”

Hoseok’s steps faltered.

Not much. Just a pause in his rhythm, a single skipped beat that neither of them acknowledged out loud.

He turned slightly to look at Yoongi, but Yoongi wasn’t looking at him. His shoulders were a little higher than before, scarf pulled close to his mouth, eyes fixed straight ahead.

But his meaning was clear.

And Hoseok felt it land, right in the center of his chest.

He swallowed hard, the wind brushing across his face, and let himself keep walking.

Not because he had something to say.

But because he didn’t trust himself to say it yet.

They kept walking until the neighborhood began to thin, the streets turning narrow and quiet beneath rows of bare trees. A soft gold streetlamp cast light onto the sidewalk ahead, pooling around a low bench and a stretch of untouched pavement.

They stopped there.

Not for any reason. Just because the moment asked them to.

Yoongi didn’t say anything at first. His hood was still pulled low, scarf loose around his mouth, hands stuffed in the pockets of the coat Hoseok had lent him.

Hoseok glanced over, trying to read his face in the low light. “What?”

Yoongi looked at him.

Not quick. Not shy.

Just… searching.

And when he spoke, his voice was soft.

“I meant it.”

Hoseok blinked. “About what?”

“Coming back,” Yoongi said. “Caring about something else.”

He paused.

His breath curled white into the cold.

“You make it easy.”

Hoseok didn’t know what to do with that. His heart kicked once, too hard.

He opened his mouth, probably to make a joke, or say something light, something to break the silence.

But then Yoongi took a step closer.

And reached out.

One gloved hand came up to rest just beneath Hoseok’s scarf, fingers brushing lightly against his jaw, thumb catching at the curve of his cheek.

Hoseok stilled.

His mouth parted, breath caught, but he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

And Yoongi leaned in.

No hesitation. Just quiet, certain motion.

Their lips met, soft and warm despite the cold, gentle but deliberate, like Yoongi had been thinking about it for a long time and had finally let himself decide.

Hoseok melted.

His eyes fluttered closed. His shoulders dropped. He leaned in like gravity had pulled him there, like he’d been waiting for this to happen since the first time they met.

And then snow began in the quietest way.

Just a few flakes at first, drifting slowly from the sky. Then more. Falling between them, around them, brushing Yoongi’s coat and catching in Hoseok’s hair.

They parted just slightly, noses still close, breath mingling between them in the cold.

Above them, the snowfall had thickened, still soft, but real now. A few flakes clung to Yoongi’s lashes. More had gathered in Hoseok’s hair, catching on the curve of his ear, his collar, the tips of his scarf.

Hoseok glanced up.

Then smiled, quiet, stunned.

“It’s snowing,” he whispered.

Yoongi followed his gaze.

The flakes were falling slower now, fuller, the air around them gently shifting from still to glowing. The snow caught in the light, hung in the space between them like the moment itself had started to shimmer.

Yoongi looked back at him, blinking.

And Hoseok just smiled a little more, voice still low,

“Didn’t think we’d catch it like this.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

He just looked at Hoseok, really looked at him, and something in his face softened so fully it didn’t need a name.

Around them, the city was still.

The snow kept falling.

And neither of them moved.

Because somehow, it felt like everything had just clicked into place.

**********

Christmas was coming soon, and the days spent in Hoseok almost felt like they were going top fast. It was Friday now, and the heat had kicked on sometime in the early morning, filling the house with the faint hum of warm air pushing through the vents. It wasn’t loud, but it was constant, steady, like a heartbeat pressed against the walls.

Outside, the cold was sharp. The kind that burned your nose and settled behind your eyes. It hadn’t snowed again, but the frost on the windows hadn’t melted all day.

They didn’t go out.

Didn’t think to either.

It just made sense, too cold, no reason, already comfortable.

Hoseok’s parents were in Gwangju for the weekend, visiting relatives. They’d left that morning with overnight bags, hugs, and a note to help themselves to whatever was in the fridge.

Now it was just them.

Yoongi and Hoseok.

At some point, Hoseok shifted.

He leaned further into the armrest, legs stretching out. His foot nudged against Yoongi’s calf, not on purpose, not at first, but he didn’t move it away.

And Yoongi didn’t flinch.

In fact, after a few minutes, he adjusted slightly, shifted his knee until it was resting comfortably against Hoseok’s ankle under the blanket. No announcement. No eye contact. Just the quiet press of familiarity. Of something new they weren’t naming yet.

Hoseok turned a page he wasn’t reading.

Yoongi thumbed through his phone without looking at it.

When Yoongi eventually got up to refill his mug, he passed Hoseok’s without asking. Just took it with him like it was routine. Like this was something they did. Hoseok’s eyes followed him to the kitchen, not with urgency, just a kind of still attention. Something soft.

When he came back, he handed the mug to Hoseok with fingers brushing. Yoongi sat down again. This time a little closer.

The second their shoulders touched, Hoseok didn’t shift.

He didn’t lean away.

And neither of them said anything.

Later, when the movie had changed and neither of them were really watching it, Yoongi’s hand ended up resting near Hoseok’s thigh. Not quite on it, just near enough to be felt. Hoseok glanced once. Then settled back into the couch like it belonged there.

The TV kept playing, low and flickering across the darkening room, but neither of them was really watching. The mug in Hoseok’s hands had gone cold. Yoongi’s phone buzzed once, unread.

They hadn’t moved in a while.

Their shoulders were still touching. Their knees, too.

The kind of contact that wasn’t accidental anymore.

Hoseok shifted slightly, like he was about to say something, then didn’t. He looked down at the mug, turned it once in his hands, then back toward the glow of the screen. Yoongi glanced at him, just once, but didn’t push.

Then, after a long quiet stretch, Hoseok said it. Barely louder than the hum of the heater,

“Can we go to my room?”

Yoongi turned his head.

Hoseok was still facing forward, not looking at him. His voice was steady. Casual. But soft around the edges.

“I’m kind of tired.”

Yoongi didn’t ask what he meant.

Didn’t ask if he wanted to be alone. Or if he meant both of them.

He just nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Okay.”

They stood slowly.

Hoseok reached for the mugs, and Yoongi took them from his hands without thinking. They moved through the quiet house like it was something they’d always done, lights low, footsteps muffled by socks and old wood floors.

Hoseok pushed open the door to his room with his foot, already tugging off his sweatshirt as he moved across the floor. “I think my friends are doing something for New Year’s,” he said, halfway to the closet. “Some party or whatever. Jimin’s planning it, which basically means chaos, but like…  coordinated chaos.”

Yoongi sat down at the edge of the bed, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. He was warm. Settled. But his eyes followed Hoseok without thinking.

“They’re excited to meet you,” Hoseok went on, voice echoing slightly from inside the closet. “I told them the basics you know… that you’re a country boy, and that you talk like a grandpa.”

Yoongi didn’t respond.

Not because he didn’t have a comeback, but because he wasn’t listening anymore.

The closet door was ajar.

And through the sliver of space, Yoongi could see Hoseok pulling on a pair of soft gray pajama shorts, low slung, loose fitting, the waistband sitting low on his hips in that unconscious, effortless way. He shifted to reach for a shirt, and the fabric moved with him, catching the light.

Yoongi’s gaze lingered longer than it should’ve.

He hadn’t meant to look. But now that he was, it felt impossible not to.

There was something about the way those shorts fit, too big, like they weren’t really his size. Something about the way they looked on Hoseok’s legs, familiar in a way Yoongi couldn’t place at first.

Until he did.

It hit all at once, quiet and sharp.

The night of the call.

The way Hoseok had said, “It gets really hot here at night,” voice low and breathy.

The way he’d said, “My room’s too dark, hyung, you’ll have to imagine it.”

Yoongi’s chest went still.

He looked at the shorts again.

Then away.

Then back.

They were the same ones.

Probably the exact same ones.

And that knowledge, simple, ordinary, intimate, made something shift deep in his chest.

The moment from weeks ago folded back into the present, layered with something new. Something real. Something physical.

He swallowed. Looked down at his hands. Pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

Outside the closet, Hoseok kept talking, something about a karaoke machine and too many snacks.

But Yoongi wasn’t listening much anymore.

His ears were full of quiet.

And his heart was suddenly beating just a little too loud.

Yoongi was still sitting at the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, the blanket slipping slightly from his shoulders. His eyes were on the floor, but his mind wasn’t anywhere near it.

He was still thinking about the shorts.

The call.

The sound of Hoseok’s voice that night.

And the way it all fit now, seamless, undeniable.

Then the mattress shifted.

Hoseok launched himself out of the closet and landed on the bed beside him in one motion, making the frame creak slightly beneath them.

“Why so quiet, hyung?” he said, grinning, breath a little puffed from the jump. “Did I bore you with party talk?”

Yoongi startled slightly, blinking out of the thoughts he hadn’t meant to sink into.

He glanced over.

Hoseok was stretched out beside him now, propped on one elbow, legs curled just enough that the loose fabric of his shorts shifted again. They hung low on his thighs, tan skin peeking from underneath in a way that didn’t seem intentional at all.

And that was the problem.

It wasn’t intentional.

But Yoongi noticed anyway.

And now he couldn’t stop.

His throat felt dry. He forced a shrug.

“Just… thinking.”

Hoseok tilted his head. “About what?”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away.

Hoseok didn’t push.

He just smiled softer and nudged Yoongi’s knee gently with his own.

The touch was casual.

Yoongi exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to where their legs touched, just barely, under the blanket that had slipped between them.

And Hoseok still didn’t know.

Yoongi hadn’t moved in a minute.

His fingers fidgeted lightly with the hem of the blanket in his lap, knuckles brushing fabric, breath steady but a little too careful.

Then, quietly, more like a statement than an excuse, he said, 

“I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

Hoseok blinked. “What?”

Yoongi still didn’t look at him. “I’m tired.”

Hoseok tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a bit in that soft, fond way he always had when Yoongi started acting like something wasn’t happening, when it clearly was.

Then he smiled, gently. “Oh, no, you can stay here with me tonight.”

And he meant it.

Casual. Light. Familiar.

He meant like before. Like sleepovers, or nights when the house was cold and the silence too big. Like they’d done already, in one way or another.

But Yoongi stilled.

Visibly.

Like something had short circuited inside him.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t nod. Didn’t even fake a laugh.

He just sat there, shoulders stiff, hands frozen at the edge of the blanket, like the thought alone had pressed against something he couldn’t name.

Hoseok opened his mouth, ready to ask, “Why are you being so weird?” but the words never left.

Because then he looked down.

And he saw it.

Just barely, how Yoongi’s legs had shifted. How the blanket was suddenly pulled more intentionally into his lap. How his posture had changed so subtly, like he was trying not to move too much at all.

And Hoseok understood.

All at once.

His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t say anything.

Not even a joke.

Not a smirk.

He just looked away, fast, careful, and nodded once, quiet.

He curled slightly onto his side, back to Yoongi now, as if to give him space, even if neither of them moved beyond the width of the mattress.

Yoongi stayed where he was.

Yoongi hadn’t moved since Hoseok turned away.

He was still perched at the edge of the bed, the blanket clutched casually—but not accidentally—over his lap. His fingers were tight around it. His gaze fixed somewhere between the floor and the wall, jaw clenched like he was thinking through something he couldn’t say out loud.

Behind him, Hoseok lay on his side, facing the wall. Still. Quiet.

And then, “Hyung.”

The word was soft. Unassuming. Dipped in something light, but not sharp.

Yoongi glanced over, slow.

Hoseok didn’t turn around. Just kept his voice easy.

“You’re sitting like you think the bed might bite.”

Yoongi blinked. “I’m fine.”

“Mmh,” Hoseok hummed, skeptical.

Yoongi swallowed, eyes darting to the back of Hoseok’s neck. His hair was slightly mussed, the collar of his sleep shirt slipping just a little lower on one side. He looked… comfortable.

Yoongi didn’t answer.

Hoseok shifted slightly under the blanket. Not facing him. But the energy changed.

“You always do that,” he said, voice lower now. “When you’re trying not to think about something.”

Yoongi’s chest tightened. “What?”

“Get really still,” Hoseok said. “And quiet.”

Yoongi’s hand twitched under the blanket.

“I’m just cold,” he said.

Hoseok finally rolled slightly onto his back, just enough to glance at Yoongi out of the corner of his eye.

His tone didn’t change.

“Then come under the blanket.”

Yoongi’s breath caught.

Hoseok was watching him now. Not smiling. Not teasing. Just there, wide eyed, open, quiet in a way that felt like an invitation.

“Unless you’re warm over there,” he added gently. “But you don’t look warm.”

Yoongi didn’t answer at first.

Then he moved, slowly. Like he was being pulled rather than choosing to go. The blanket rustled around him as he slid further onto the mattress, careful, cautious, until his side was just barely touching Hoseok’s under the covers.

Yoongi settled in carefully beneath the blanket, limbs stiff at first, like he didn’t quite know how much space he was allowed to take up.

Hoseok didn’t say anything.

But the second Yoongi’s side touched his, he shifted, just slightly, making room, then pressing in, warm and solid and quiet. Their legs brushed, then aligned. Yoongi hesitated.

Then exhaled. Relaxed.

Hoseok’s hand found his again under the blanket. No movement. Just that soft touch of skin. A resting place.

Minutes passed like that.

Breath slowing.

Warmth building.

And Yoongi, heart still loud in his chest but finally easing, let himself believe it was over. That maybe Hoseok hadn’t noticed anything after all. That maybe they were just falling asleep, like they had before, like nothing had changed.

His eyes were closed now, the kind of half sleep where you start to drift.

And then, in the lowest voice, barely audible, 

“Do you wanna watch me like you said you would that one time?”

Yoongi’s entire body tensed.

He blinked his eyes open. Slowly leaned back just enough to look at the silhouette of Hoseok’s face in the dark.

“What?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Hoseok’s eyes were already open, barely. His mouth tugged into the softest grin.

“What,” he echoed, innocent.

But he was already laughing.

It was muffled, a breathy sound against Yoongi’s collarbone, his shoulders shaking just enough to give himself away.

Yoongi stared at him, breath caught in his throat, still trying to convince himself he hadn’t heard what he knew he just heard.

“What did you say?” he asked, voice low.

Hoseok didn’t even flinch.

He just smiled, lazy, warm, like he’d been waiting for this moment.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Yoongi didn’t answer.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak.

He just stared at Hoseok in the dim light, the space between them pulled so tight it barely existed anymore. Hoseok’s lips were parted, his breath faint against the skin just below Yoongi’s jaw. The laughter was gone now, and what was left in its place felt sharp and hot and absolutely undeniable.

Yoongi's pulse was heavy in his ears.

His hand moved under the blanket, found the hem of Hoseok’s shirt, warm skin beneath. His fingers flexed there, not hesitant, just deliberate. Feeling. Holding.

Hoseok was watching him still. Wide eyes. Chest rising a little quicker now.

And then Yoongi leaned in.

No warning.

He closed the space between them in one swift, solid motion, his mouth catching Hoseok’s with no hesitation, no testing.

It was immediate.

Firm. Full.

Hoseok’s body jolted like his breath had been knocked loose, and then he responded, without question, without pause. His hand clutched at the front of Yoongi’s sweatshirt, fingers curling tight in the fabric, anchoring him in.

Yoongi pressed harder.

Their teeth bumped, breath collided, hands gripped at anything they could reach. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t even careful.

Weeks of touching almost. Weeks of pretending not to watch. Weeks of silence that meant everything.

Yoongi’s hand moved up, across Hoseok’s side, over his ribs. He could feel the way his breath stuttered beneath it. Hoseok shifted beneath him, hips tilting up slightly, not on purpose, not planned, just reacting. Just feeling.

And god, Yoongi felt all of it.

The warmth of Hoseok’s skin under thin cotton. The sharp inhale between kisses. The tension in his thighs, the tremble of restraint in his hands as he tried not to pull Yoongi in too hard, too fast.

But Yoongi didn’t hold back.

He kissed him like he’d been waiting for permission and finally stopped caring whether he had it or not.

And Hoseok, Hoseok let him.

Hoseok’s hands were already in Yoongi’s hair, tugging, not harsh, just needing, as their mouths moved in sync, broken only by the quick breaths that didn’t quite catch in time.

Yoongi had shifted back, half onto the pillows now, elbows propping him up, but his grip on Hoseok hadn’t loosened for a second. One hand still firm on Hoseok’s waist, the other sliding up under his shirt, palm splayed warm and flat against bare skin.

Then Hoseok moved.

Without thinking, without even hesitating, he pushed himself up, hands planted on either side of Yoongi’s chest, and swung one leg over.

Straddled him.

Settled in his lap.

It knocked the air out of Yoongi’s lungs.

Not because of the weight, Hoseok was careful, still testing how far this could go, but because of what it meant.

There was no space left between them now. No more pretending this was anything less than what it was.

Yoongi looked up at him, lips parted, breath coming hard.

And Hoseok was already leaning back down, hand on Yoongi’s jaw now, thumb brushing the edge of his mouth before he kissed him again, deeper this time, slower.

More control.

Yoongi groaned low against his mouth, hands gripping tighter at Hoseok’s sides. Hoseok’s hips shifted once, barely, but Yoongi felt it all the way up his spine.

The heat between them was no longer just under the skin, it was everywhere.

Their bodies moved together now, not frantic, but deliberate. Focused. Like they were learning something they already half knew.

Hoseok’s lips broke away, trailed along Yoongi’s jaw, then lower, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to the side of his neck. Yoongi’s fingers dug into his thighs, his breath stuttering as he tilted his head back, exposing more.

“Fuck,” Yoongi whispered, barely audible, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

But Hoseok smiled against his skin, lips ghosting up to his ear now.

And Yoongi let his eyes flutter shut.

Because there was no pulling away now.

No undoing this.

Yoongi’s head tipped back into the pillow, breath coming hard, fingers still locked around Hoseok’s thighs. His mouth was swollen, his chest rising with each shaky inhale, skin flushed beneath the collar of his sweatshirt.

Hoseok was still on top of him, straddling his hips, his hands braced against Yoongi’s ribs now, warm, steady, like he was grounding himself. His lips were red from kissing, hair falling slightly over his eyes.

They were both breathing too fast.

And neither of them was backing away.

Yoongi opened his eyes slowly, throat tight. He looked at Hoseok, not just his body, not just the weight of him above, but him.

And then, barely above a whisper, 

“Seok-ah…”

Hoseok’s gaze dropped to his mouth. His hands twitched against Yoongi’s chest.

“Do you want to?”

The room went still.

No flickering. No air left to fill.

Yoongi hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding that soft. That real. But it did. There was nothing casual about it. Nothing teasing. Just the truth of it, trembling a little in his chest.

Hoseok stared at him, lips parting like he needed to breathe through it.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice was low, rough, already breaking.

His hands slid higher, up Yoongi’s sides, over the soft fabric of his shirt, fingers curling hard like he needed something to hold on to.

“Fuck… yes. I want to.”

Yoongi swallowed, body reacting before his mind could catch up, hips lifting just slightly into the press of Hoseok’s, breath stuttering at the contact. Hoseok made a sound at the back of his throat, something desperate and quiet, and leaned down again.

Their mouths met hard this time, teeth catching, lips parting fast. Yoongi pulled him closer, one hand slipping under the back of Hoseok’s shirt, splayed against his bare spine now, guiding him in like he couldn’t stand the space between them anymore.

Hoseok moved with him, slow but intentional, pressing down just enough to draw out a low groan from Yoongi’s throat.

The kind of sound he didn’t usually let anyone hear.

Yoongi’s hands slid under Hoseok’s shirt first.

He’d touched his skin before, fingertips against his sides, palms through fabric, but this was different. Now his hands moved with purpose, flattening against warm skin and tracing up, over the soft curve of Hoseok’s spine. The shirt rose with the motion, slow and deliberate, baring more and more with each inch.

Hoseok didn’t stop him.

He just lifted his arms, quiet and steady, and let Yoongi pull it over his head.

The shirt dropped to the floor somewhere behind them.

And Yoongi, still breathless, still beneath him, looked up and saw him fully.

Chest rising fast. Shoulders flushed. Every line of him lit faintly by the glow spilling in through the window. Like this had always been waiting to happen.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until Hoseok leaned down and kissed him again, slower this time. Mouth warm. Lips softer now. Yoongi’s hands skimmed down his back again, memorizing.

Then Hoseok tugged at the hem of Yoongi’s sweatshirt, just once, fingers curling in it, asking without saying a word.

Yoongi let him.

He sat up slightly, arms raised, and Hoseok pulled the sweatshirt up and off in one clean motion, tossing it aside.

Their chests pressed together now, skin to skin, warm and tight and real. Yoongi ran a hand down Hoseok’s chest, not rushed, just exploring, fingertips catching at the edge of his waistband, like he was seeing him for the first time and trying to take in everything at once.

Hoseok sucked in a breath.

Then he leaned up and kissed him again, deeper now, pulling him back down with both hands, letting their bodies align.

The blanket fell back behind them, forgotten.

And Yoongi’s hips shifted, slow, sure, grinding up just enough for both of them to feel it.

Hoseok’s head tipped back.

“Hyung-ah…” he gasped, barely there.

Yoongi was already moving again, fingers hooked at Hoseok’s waistband, thumb stroking against his skin. His voice was low, wrecked.

Every layer they pulled away left them more exposed, more open, more certain. There was no confusion. No turning back. Just the warmth of their skin, the weight of their bodies, and the quiet, desperate way they held onto each other like it had been building for months.

Because it had.

Yoongi flipped their bodies then, quick and steady, and Hoseok lay back against the pillow now, bare except for the heat of Yoongi above him. His chest rose fast beneath Yoongi’s hands, flushed and glowing in the low light, eyes searching Yoongi’s like he couldn’t believe this was real.

But Yoongi was very real.

He was leaning over him now, thighs bracketing Hoseok’s hips, one hand pressed firm against the mattress, the other skimming gently down the curve of Hoseok’s waist.

His fingers moved slow, drawing invisible lines against skin he’d only imagined touching until now.

Hoseok’s breath hitched.

Yoongi looked at him, thumb brushing just beneath his ribs, and asked, quietly,

“You okay?”

Hoseok nodded once. Then again, stronger. “Yeah… I have stuff in my drawer just there, in the corner.”

His voice was shaky, and Yoongi smiled gently as he reached for the small clear bottle and a condom.

Yoongi kissed him again. Softer this time.

Mouth warm, steady. Grounding.

He tasted like heat and something new. Something they both had always wanted but never let themselves name until now. Their bodies pressed closer, bare and warm, legs shifting to find a rhythm, hands moving without thinking.

Hoseok closed his eyes, only feeling Yoongi lift himself above him. The way he grabbed his thigh, gently pushing it open to expose a new part of him. 

“You’re perfect Seok-ah.”

Yoongi massaged his thigh as his fingers drew closer, and Hoseok only waited for that feeling, that surprisingly, came gently. Despite the knobby fingers and calloused skin. 

Yoongi was careful, moving his fingers gently, carefully watching Hoseok's face to make sure he was comfortable. 

Hoseok arched into him, fingers sliding up Yoongi’s spine, pulling him back in like he needed him to stay right there.

And Yoongi did.

He stayed. He moved lower once he had a rhythm with his hand, tracing the shape of Hoseok’s collarbone with his mouth. All while continuing to work him open. Hoseok moaned a little too loud then, and Yoongi knew he’d found it. 

“Hyung.” Hoseok said breathless, “Yoongi hyung… I’m– put it in.”

And Yoongi listened, quickly opening the condom with his teeth to slide it onto his length. Hoseok opened his eyes then, watching Yoongi, the way he carefully watched his movements, pushing into Hoseok slowly. Hoseok bit his lip close to the point of drawing blood, and hooked his arms around Yoongi, pulling him to hold him close as Yoongi continued to push himself in. 

And in that moment of Hoseok holding onto Yoongi tightly, the way his lip brushed against his shoulder, the way he could feel his mouth open, and the sounds that came out with it. Yoongi felt a warmth inside of him that had never been discovered. One that didn't come from the sweaters he’d been borrowing since he got here, or even the hot summers in the state of Texas, one that he knew could only be fulfilled by Hoseok. It was almost as if he was the sun itself, and in that moment Yoongi knew he could not live without him. 

And Hoseok, he holds onto Yoongi’s shoulders tightly like that’ll help ease the pain. It does. 

But maybe it’s not because he’s holding on, but because Yoongi just happens to be gentle, and even when he pushes himself all the way in before pulling out to push into him again, Hoseok feels full. But full in a way that feels so good, in a way that makes him hold onto Yoongi tighter, that makes him throw his head back against his pillow. 

“Hyung-ah” Yoongi felt it like a pulse in his chest. He leaned back up, forehead to forehead, breath mingling in the space between them.

“Is this okay?” 

Hoseok nodded, face scrunched up and lips parted. “Move faster.”

Yoongi only nods, lifting himself slightly to position himself better. 

He finds a steady rhythm, pushing into Hoseok just right, and he knows this by the sounds that keep coming from the younger, and the way his hands fall from his back and onto the sheets to grip them tightly below his palm. 

“Feels so– so good, Seok-ah.” 

Hoseok didn’t talk much, only gasps and soft moans coming from him. His back arched and head thrown back against the pillow, neck exposed. Yoongi leaned in closer, kissing just where his neck met his collarbone. It was messy, the way he’d kiss him just to gasp a moment after. 

He lifts himself then, kissing Hoseok on the mouth. It wasn’t meant to be as long as it was, but their lips only pressed together again and again, opening between each pull of breath as Yoongi thrusted into him faster. They moved with focus, nothing careful, just a steady rhythm that deepened quickly.

And in one instance that Hoseok's lips parted from his to gasp, Yoongi let go, lifting himself completely and positioning himself between Hoseok's hips. 

It was sudden, but he grabbed his hips and fucked him. 

Yoongi threw his head back, not losing control of his movements, being motivated by the sound of Hoseok losing himself under him. 

Hoseok who could not keep his mouth closed. Hoseok who couldn’t help his eyes from fluttering closed. Hoseok whose heels were digging onto the mattress. Hoseok. 

Hoseok. Hoseok. Hoseok. Hoseok.

“Hyung– hyung don’t stop.”

Yoongi watched him under him, moving even faster.

Hoseok touched himself then, thrusting himself to the quick pace Yoongi led. 

Yoongi groaned, fingers digging into the sides of Hoseok’s hips. 

“Gonna come– hyung–” Hoseok was breathless, and Yoongi’s movements were becoming messier.

“Come Seok–ah.” Yoongi said, low breathy voice, “Come baby I’m right here with you.”

Hoseok gasped one last time, a quiet moan coming out of him as his cum covered his stomach. Yoongi watched this under him, while feeling the clench of Hoseok's hole around him. 

“Fuck– fuck baby I’m coming,” Yoongi thrusted into him hard one last time, coming into the condom. He thrusted into him twice more, riding it out, all while moving closer towards Hoseok, finally landing gently above him. 

The room was quiet now aside from their breathing, which was still uneven, but slower. Heavy in the kind of way that meant they hadn’t moved yet. 

Yoongi lay curled against Hoseok’s chest, cheek pressed to bare skin, eyes half lidded but not quite closed. 

Hoseok’s arm stayed wrapped around his back, hand flat and steady like he didn’t want Yoongi to shift away. His thumb rubbed in small, absent motions, more instinct than thought. His skin was warm. Everything was warm.

Neither of them said anything.

Yoongi blinked slowly, lashes brushing Hoseok’s collarbone. He could feel the thud of Hoseok’s heartbeat beneath his cheek, still quick, but calming. Like his own.

Their legs were tangled, one of Hoseok’s drawn up slightly, resting between Yoongi’s like it had ended there naturally.

Yoongi’s cheek rested against Hoseok’s shoulder, their legs still tangled under the blanket. The room felt too warm, but neither of them moved. They were still catching their breath.

Yoongi lifted his head just slightly, voice low.

“You okay?”

Hoseok turned to glance at him, blinking slow. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

There was a pause, soft and unhurried.

“Did you…” Yoongi started, then cleared his throat. “Did you like it?”

Hoseok’s expression didn’t change right away, but the corner of his mouth pulled into something small, real.

“Yeah, I did,” he said. “I really did.”

Yoongi nodded. That was all he needed to hear.

They lay in silence for a few more seconds before Yoongi let out a quiet breath and said, “We should probably shower.”

Hoseok groaned lightly, eyes closing again. “I don’t want to move.”

“I didn’t say we have to now.”

A small smile passed between them, barely there, but shared.

“Five minutes,” Hoseok mumbled.

Yoongi hummed in agreement and settled back into the curve of his body, arms still loosely around his waist. Hoseok’s fingers brushed lightly along the inside of his forearm.

Neither of them said anything else. And for now, that was enough.

**********

It was already New Year’s Eve.

The holidays had moved quickly, but not in a way that felt rushed. There’d been enough time for everything, meals, slow mornings, long drives with music playing low. Christmas had been simple and warm. Yoongi’s parents had come and gone without much fuss, and Hoseok’s family had made the visit feel easy. There hadn’t been any pressure to explain things. Somehow, it had all just worked.

Now the year was ending, and the city felt restless. Cold in that late December way, but full of movement. The streets were busy, the windows lit. Everyone was headed somewhere.

Yoongi had been quiet most of the day, not because anything was wrong, just thoughtful. Thoughts that had started to follow him more often since he got here. Since things with Hoseok changed.

He thought about home more than he expected to. Not the house, really. The land. The rhythm. The mornings with breath in the air and the weight of everything he needed to do sitting clean in his hands. The distance. The sky that looked untouched.

But being with Hoseok made the distance feel different. Not smaller, but easier to carry.

Yoongi still missed the ranch. That hadn’t changed. But lately, when he thought about it, it wasn’t with longing. It was with understanding. Like it could still be part of him even while he was here, walking beside Hoseok, listening to him talk about which jacket made more sense for the party and whether anyone would actually notice.

They hadn’t talked about what this was. But they hadn’t needed to.

Every day since Christmas, Hoseok had gotten closer. Reaching for his hand in quiet moments. Sitting close without noticing. Curling into his side during movies like he’d done it a hundred times before.

And Yoongi hadn’t pulled away.

They were heading to Jimin’s party now, walking up the last stretch of hallway. Music echoed faintly from the apartment at the end of the hall. Hoseok was just ahead of him, cheeks pink from the cold outside, scarf loose around his neck. He turned and smiled when he caught Yoongi looking.

They hadn’t even made it inside yet.

But already, Yoongi felt like the year was ending exactly where it was supposed to.

They stopped just outside the apartment, and Hoseok turned to Yoongi as the music shifted faintly behind the door.

“It’s just close friends right now,” he said. “More people are coming later, but not for a while.”

Yoongi nodded.

“I’ve told you about them. Namjoon, Taehyung, Jin, Jungkook. Jimin, obviously.”

Yoongi nodded again. Hoseok didn’t say more, he didn’t need to.

Hoseok had talked about them plenty, little things here and there. They were the faces in the framed photos above his desk, the people in the background of old group shots, the ones he mentioned when he told stories about rehearsals and late night takeout and whatever happened at the studio that week.

Some of them danced with him. Some of them had been around forever.

Now they were here. All of them. Together.

He knocked twice, sharp and quick.

The door opened within seconds. Jimin was there, drink in hand, eyes bright. He was already smiling, the kind of smile that looked practiced and genuine at the same time.

“Took you long enough,” he said, stepping back to let them in.

Hoseok walked in like he belonged there. Yoongi followed close behind, pausing briefly to scan the space.

The apartment wasn’t big, but it was warm. Low yellow light from floor lamps, music playing just under the volume of conversation. A few jackets were draped over the entry bench. Someone had lit something sweet, maybe vanilla, maybe citrus. It was lived in and comfortable.

Namjoon was seated on the couch with a drink, hoodie bunched around his elbows. Jungkook and Taehyung were on the floor by the coffee table, quietly bickering over something on Jungkook’s phone. Jin leaned against the kitchen island, drink in hand, listening to the room more than talking.

Hoseok didn’t make a big announcement. He glanced back toward Yoongi and said simply, “This is my friend from the States, Yoongi.”

That was it.

The room shifted slightly, not with tension, but awareness.

Jimin blinked, smile twitching wider. “This is the cowboy you’ve been talking about?”

The tone was playful, but the words landed quickly. He turned slightly toward Jin, lowering his voice like it was meant to be offhanded.

“What? He’s the one who said—”

Jin bumped his elbow into Jimin’s side. Quick and subtle, not sharp

Yoongi caught it. The bump. The way Jimin's posture straightened just slightly afterward.

Namjoon was already standing, drink in hand, stepping forward. “Hey,” he said, with a tone meant to shift the focus. “Yoongi, right? Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi said.

Namjoon extended a hand. It was solid, warm, slightly damp with condensation from his glass. He let go fast.

“We’ve got beer, wine, some weird punch Jimin made, and probably something else if you look hard enough.”

Jimin leaned against the wall, smiling like none of it phased him. “I’ve been hearing about you for weeks—”

“Okay,” Namjoon cut in, sharper this time.

Still smiling, but definitely cutting him off.

Jungkook didn’t look up, but Taehyung did.

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to Hoseok.

Hoseok was quiet. Watching Jimin with a kind of patience that said he knew this would happen. His hands were still tucked into the pockets of his coat, his shoulders relaxed, mouth pulled slightly at one side. A familiar look, not nervous, just aware.

“Want something to drink?” Hoseok asked, voice low, directed only at him.

“Sure.”

They moved toward the kitchen together. The noise behind them didn’t change much, but it faded slightly as they stepped past the island. Hoseok leaned into the fridge without saying anything and grabbed two beers, twisting one open and handing it over.

Yoongi took it, fingers brushing Hoseok’s briefly. Hoseok glanced up once, then looked back down at his own drink.

For a moment, Yoongi stood there, quiet. Watching how everyone else fit together. How Hoseok fit in here, so easily, like he always had. Like this room had been shaped around him years ago.

And then there was that bump. That careful nudge. The way Jin had moved without hesitation.

Like he didn’t want Yoongi to feel called out. Like they all knew enough to say just the right amount.

Yoongi leaned against the counter, beer in hand. Hoseok had just stepped away, something about helping Jin with a stuck cork. The space beside him felt suddenly more noticeable, even in the warmth of the room.

A few seconds later, Taehyung wandered over. He wasn’t in a rush. Just drifted in like the room moved him there.

“Hey,” he said. “Do you mind if I hang here for a bit?”

Yoongi shook his head. “Go ahead.”

Taehyung leaned beside him, close enough to talk, but not pressing in. His drink clinked softly as he sipped.

“Jimin always lights weird candles when people come over,” he said, nodding toward the shelf. “This one’s not awful, though.”

Yoongi followed his gaze briefly, then looked back down at his bottle.

Taehyung let the silence stretch for a second.

Then he said, easy, like it wasn’t meant to be a big thing, “He likes you.”

Yoongi didn’t flinch.

He glanced sideways, then said simply, “I know.”

Taehyung looked at him for a second. Then shook his head. “I don’t think you do.”

Yoongi turned to face him a little more, not defensive. Just curious.

Taehyung spoke evenly, without dramatics. “I’ve known Hobi hyung since I was a kid. He likes people. He’s warm. But he’s never talked about someone the way he talks about you.”

Yoongi didn’t answer, but his grip on the bottle changed slightly.

“It’s not just that he likes you,” Taehyung went on. “It’s the way he sees you. He notices things. Small stuff. Like the way you drink water. Or how you stand when you’re not thinking about it.”

Yoongi exhaled through his nose. Taehyung didn’t smile this time.

“He talks about you like you’re all that matters,” he said. “Like it’s already more than whatever he thought it was gonna be.”

Yoongi was quiet for a long moment. “Okay.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” Yoongi said, firm but low. “It doesn’t.”

Taehyung studied him for another second. Then smiled, small and sincere.

“Good.”

He bumped Yoongi’s shoulder lightly, then straightened.

“Nice to meet you, by the way.”

“You too.”

And then Taehyung drifted back to the living room, drink in hand, like nothing heavy had just passed between them.

Yoongi stayed where he was, letting the words settle. He glanced down at the bottle in his hand. It was still cold.

When he looked up again, Hoseok was walking back over. He smiled when he reached Yoongi’s side, like nothing in the room had changed.

Hoseok came back with a smile.

Whatever had happened across the room, wine bottle, corkscrew, Jin. He looked amused about it. He stepped back into Yoongi’s space like nothing had shifted, like the room was the same as when he left.

He handed Yoongi a napkin, even though he hadn’t asked for one.

“Just in case,” he said.

Yoongi took it, eyes still on him.

Hoseok leaned his hip against the counter beside him, sipping from his own glass like he hadn’t just been the subject of an entire quiet conversation. His posture was relaxed, face a little flushed from the wine, attention flicking to the playlist Jimin was messing with in the background.

He didn’t notice the way Yoongi kept looking at him. Not right away.

A minute passed. Then another.

Then Yoongi asked, soft but audible,

“You talk about me a lot, Hobi?”

Hoseok paused.

His head turned slowly, like he wasn’t sure he heard right.

“What?”

Yoongi didn’t look away. His tone was teasing, but his eyes were warm.

“Hm?” he said again, like it was nothing. “That’s what Taehyung said.”

Hoseok blinked once, then smiled, smaller now. A little caught.

“I might’ve mentioned you.”

Yoongi took a sip of his drink, then added, casual, almost like he was testing the sound of it, “Hobi.”

Hoseok’s smile widened, eyes crinkling slightly.

“Are you trying that out?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Has he always called you that?”

“He has.”

“Should I?”

Hoseok tilted his head. “If you want.”

Yoongi nodded once, like he was still turning it over. Then looked forward again, steady.

“Hobi,” he said again, quieter this time, but more sure.

And Hoseok didn’t say anything to that. Just smiled.

The room had filled out slowly.

By the time ten thirty rolled around, the apartment had started to fill with more bodies, more voices. A few new jackets piled near the door. Laughter came easier. The music turned up a little, low bass threading beneath conversations.

Jimin had switched the playlist. Someone opened another bottle of something cheap but fizzy. The windows had started to fog at the corners.

Yoongi stayed close to Hoseok.

At first, he didn’t say much. Just nodded when someone introduced themselves, smiled when someone asked if he needed anything. But the edge he’d walked in with, the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes tracked every shift in the room, that had begun to fall away.

Slowly.

Maybe it was the drinks. He wasn’t drunk, but he was warm now. Looser in his limbs. His voice, when he spoke, was a little quieter than usual but less careful. He let people ask things. Let them tease him a little.

Taehyung passed by again and patted his arm lightly like they were old friends. Jin offered him another drink and didn’t comment when he turned it down. Namjoon had made a bad joke and Yoongi had actually laughed. 

And through all of it, Hoseok stayed near.

Sometimes beside him, sometimes just within reach. Not holding him in place, not showing anything obvious. Just there. Enough to remind him that this, whatever this was, wasn’t something Yoongi had to do alone.

He hadn’t realized how easy it could be to feel like part of something without trying to be. Not until now.

The music changed again. Voices rose. Someone called out that it was half an hour to midnight. Jimin whooped from the kitchen.

Hoseok came back with a drink in hand, bright pink, half fizzed at the top, ice clinking faintly against the rim. He looked lighter now, a little more flushed around the cheeks, the way he always got after two or three. There was a looseness in his walk, in the way his eyes moved around the room like he was taking it all in at once. Still in control, still steady, but definitely buzzed.

Yoongi, leaning against the wall by the hallway, watched him approach. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached out when Hoseok got close enough and touched his wrist, gentle and firm.

“Maybe stop drinking now,” he said.

Hoseok blinked, caught a little off guard. “What?”

Yoongi’s fingers stayed there, light against his skin. “I want us to be sober by midnight,” he said. “Clear headed.”

The noise of the party pressed in around them, laughter from the living room, a burst of music as someone opened the balcony door, but it felt far. Like none of it was quite touching them.

Hoseok looked down at the drink in his hand. For a second, he just stood there, eyes flicking from the glass back to Yoongi’s face.

Then he turned and set it down on the nearest table without another word.

When he stepped back beside Yoongi, he was smiling quietly, like it was meant just for him.

Yoongi’s thumb brushed once across the inside of his wrist. “Thanks, baby.”

The word hung there for a second. Not heavy. Just there.

Hoseok didn’t say anything at first. But Yoongi saw the way his mouth twitched slightly, the way his eyes softened, gaze falling somewhere near the floor.

“I like when you call me that,” Hoseok said after a moment.

Yoongi tilted his head slightly. “Call you what?”

“Baby.”

The way Hoseok said it was different than usual. Less playful, not so sharp. His voice was a little softer around the edges, and he still wouldn’t quite look directly at Yoongi.

“You called me that that one time,” he said. “You probably don’t even remember.”

Yoongi didn’t look away. “I do.”

That made Hoseok glance up, finally meeting his eyes.

His smile shifted then, wider, messier. “I like anything you call me,” he said. “Seok-ah. Hobi. Baby. Call me whatever, hyung.”

The word landed differently this time, hyung. A little drunk, a little sweet, but not in a way that undercut the weight of what he meant. It was affectionate.

He leaned in then, slow and unhurried, and pressed a kiss to Yoongi’s cheek.

Warm lips against skin, the faint scent of his cologne, his breath close, just for a second longer than it needed to be.

When he pulled back, his voice was quieter, not slurred but gentle.

“I like you a lot.”

Yoongi didn’t react right away. Just looked at him, really looked. The pink in his cheeks. His mouth, a little red from the drinks. His eyes, open and unguarded in a way they always were.

Yoongi’s voice, when it came, was quiet. Steady.

“I like you a lot too.”

Hoseok’s lips parted slightly, like he wasn’t expecting to hear it back quite so directly, even though he knew it was true.

Yoongi let a second pass, then added, even softer, “I’ve liked you since you sat next to me.”

Hoseok blinked.

Yoongi gave him the smallest smile. “In class. First day.”

“Oh my god,” Hoseok said, laughing under his breath. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“I surely annoyed you that day.”

“I can promise you, you didn't.”

Hoseok turned fully toward him now, both hands slipping to hold onto Yoongi's like he didn’t know what else to do with them. He was smiling so much it was starting to push into his eyes, and he ducked his head into Yoongi's chest like he needed a second to recover.

Yoongi bumped his shoulder gently.

“You okay?”

Hoseok nodded, still laughing softly, still blushing. “Yeah. I’m good.”

And Yoongi, without thinking, reached out and brushed his fingers along the back of Hoseok's neck, down his spine, just once.

“I know I've said it… but I’m really glad I’m here with you,” he said.

Hoseok looked back up.

“Me too hyung.”

They didn’t say anything else for a while. And time passed quietly between them.

The apartment filled in slowly. Music shifted. Glasses changed hands. A new scent drifted in from the kitchen, probably something burning. Someone shouted from the balcony. It all moved around them.

But Yoongi and Hoseok stayed close.

They hadn’t moved much since that first conversation, since the kiss to the cheek, the hands tangled together, the laughter still warm in Hoseok’s chest. They spoke a little here and there, Yoongi commenting on someone’s shirt, Hoseok trying to guess what time it was based on the number of empty bottles on the counter, but mostly, they just stayed like this.

Side by side. Pressed close.

Yoongi felt Hoseok’s thumbs brushing over his knuckles, slow and easy. The haze from earlier had lifted. Hoseok looked steady now. Clear. Like everything had landed just where it was supposed to.

From where they stood, they could see most of the room. Taehyung was on the floor with Jungkook, trying to teach him a dance that wasn’t syncing with the music. Jin had claimed the couch and was laughing into his cup. Jimin had given up trying to monitor anything and was now combining every remaining bottle into one giant bowl labeled ‘FIRE’. Namjoon sat nearby, blinking slowly like he was trying to remember how language worked.

“I think Jimin’s pouring soju into the punch,” Hoseok murmured.

Yoongi didn’t look. “He’s going to kill someone.”

“Probably Namjoon.”

Yoongi smiled, head turned slightly. Hoseok leaned into him more, resting just enough weight to make it feel deliberate.

The music got louder. Someone yelled something indistinct from the other side of the apartment. Light from the kitchen flickered, and someone turned the rest of the lamps down low. The space felt smaller now, tighter, warmer, and full.

“They’re losing it,” Yoongi said, watching Jungkook try to balance a cup on his head while Taehyung narrated in a fake British accent.

“They always do,” Hoseok said. “You just get to see it now.”

Yoongi shifted slightly, voice low. “Do they always stare like they’re trying not to?”

That made Hoseok laugh, quiet and breathy, and he bumped his forehead against Yoongi’s shoulder. “They’re subtle.”

“No, they’re not.”

“They mean well.”

Yoongi didn’t argue that.

Somewhere across the room, someone shouted, “Ten minutes!”

Hoseok glanced toward the door, thoughtful, lips curling slightly before he turned back.

“You know…” he said, voice low. “Jimin’s apartment is pretty close to the Han River.”

Yoongi blinked, waiting.

“If we ran out now,” Hoseok went on, slower, almost like he was still talking himself into it, “we might make it by midnight.”

Yoongi’s brow lifted slightly. “What?”

“Just saying,” Hoseok said, smiling now. “We could catch the fireworks. The big ones. You ever seen them from the river?”

Yoongi looked at him for a long second. Hoseok was standing there, hopeful but not pushing, like it was just an idea, just a maybe. His cheeks were still pink, hair falling a little into his eyes.

“You want to leave?” Yoongi asked.

“Not forever. Just—” Hoseok shrugged. “You and me. Cold air. Lights over the water. Might be nice.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything right away. His fingers brushed against Hoseok’s, eyes flicking toward the door, then back again.

Yoongi didn’t say anything at first.

Just looked at Hoseok, really looked. At his flushed cheeks, his slightly messy hair, the way his mouth twitched like he couldn’t believe he even suggested it. His eyes were wide, hopeful, and a little wild in the way that made Yoongi feel like maybe this was exactly the kind of thing they were supposed to do.

So he nodded.

“Let’s go.”

And just like that, Hoseok was moving.

They slipped toward the door without telling anyone, weaving between bodies, dodging sparklers and party hats and laughter spilling through every corner of the apartment. No one even noticed. The countdown hadn’t started yet.

The hallway outside was quiet, but not silent.

From behind the doors lining the corridor, they could hear it, celebrations beginning early in someone’s apartment, clinking glasses, music turned all the way up. A group down the hall was already yelling numbers, off by a few minutes.

Yoongi and Hoseok didn’t stop.

They took the stairs.

Four floors down. Hoseok grabbed the railing with one hand to steady himself, the other tight around Yoongi’s wrist as they jumped the last step of each flight. They didn’t trust the elevator. Not tonight. Not when the clock was ticking.

Yoongi could hear Hoseok laughing behind him, breathless.

When they finally burst out into the street, the cold hit instantly, biting, full of winter.

They didn’t stop to breathe.

They just ran.

Past street corners lit by vending machines, past couples huddled in coats, past the flicker of an apartment building where a woman stood on her balcony with her phone pointed at the sky. Above them, the first wave of fireworks had already begun, low bursts of gold and blue cutting through the air, slow and spaced, like the city was warming up.

Yoongi didn’t look up yet.

He just followed Hoseok’s hand, their fingers locked tight, shoes hitting pavement, breath clouding in the cold.

The river wasn’t far, but neither was midnight.

But they reached the river with seconds to spare.

Yoongi barely noticed the street disappearing behind them. All he could hear was the sharp slap of their footsteps on concrete and the distant buildup of shouting voices from balconies and sidewalks and rooftops. Fireworks were already beginning to spark overhead, smaller ones at first, slow and random, then faster, rising one after another into the winter sky.

His lungs ached from the run, mouth open against the cold, chest tight with adrenaline. He kept going until the trees broke, and the open river stretched wide in front of them, dark and still beneath the color.

He stopped just shy of the railing, breath catching.

Beside him, Hoseok pulled up, barely a step behind, panting through a winded laugh. He dug into his coat pocket with a shaking hand and yanked out his phone.

He looked at the screen.

Yoongi watched as Hoseok’s eyes widened slightly, then lifted immediately to meet his.

The light from the fireworks cracked over their heads, bright white and gold.

And Hoseok said it softly, like it was only meant for him,

“Happy New Year, Yoongi hyung.”

Yoongi blinked, stunned by the way it landed in his chest.

His throat was dry when he answered.

“Happy New Year, Hoseok.”

Then neither of them moved.

The sky broke open in full above them, burst after burst of gold and red and pink, lighting up the dark in waves. It was loud. Alive.

And Yoongi leaned forward.

His hand came up to the back of Hoseok’s neck, glove rough against the soft hairs there, and he kissed him with no hesitation. Hoseok exhaled hard against his mouth, kissing back instantly, hands sliding into Yoongi’s coat like he didn’t care who saw.

Yoongi’s lips were cold. Hoseok’s were warm. Their noses bumped once and then adjusted, breath tangled between them, bodies still shaking slightly from the run.

Somewhere across the river, a new round of fireworks fired into the air, loud enough to rattle in their bones.

Yoongi didn’t pull away.

Not until he had to.

When he did, his hand stayed at Hoseok’s neck, his thumb brushing behind his ear. They were both flushed, eyes wide, mouths open just slightly, the taste of each other still fresh between breaths.

And then Yoongi whispered, voice low and clear beneath the sound,

“Be my boyfriend, Seok-ah.”

Hoseok looked at him, just looked, stunned and soft and full of something that had no name.

Then he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, laughing through the breath he’d been holding. “Yeah. Okay.”

Yoongi leaned in again, and they kissed once more, slower this time, deeper, like they had all the time in the world.

And this time, they did.

They walked back slowly.

The fireworks were still going behind them, smaller now, further away. Their breaths hung in the air, clouding and drifting as they moved through the cold, fingers still loosely laced between them.

When they reached Jimin’s building, the front door was cracked open. Music was still playing, louder now. 

The apartment was full of energy, all champagne haze and glitter and flushed cheeks. Jungkook had a party hat on upside down. Taehyung was yelling about missing the exact second of midnight. Jimin was trying to fix the speaker again, shouting over Namjoon’s insistence that he had fixed it already.

The moment Yoongi and Hoseok stepped inside, Jin looked over from the couch and raised his drink lazily. “There you are.”

“Where’d you two go?” Jimin asked, narrowing his eyes in mock offense.

Yoongi just smiled. “Han River.”

Jimin blinked. “What?”

Hoseok grinned, cheeks still pink. “We ran.”

Hoseok leaned into Yoongi’s side as they walked further in, their coats still half-open, their hands brushing again.

“Happy New Year,” Namjoon called out to them.

Yoongi nodded, returning it quietly. “Happy New Year.”

He looked around at the chaos, at the music, the drinks, the comfort of it all.

Hoseok was beside him. His boyfriend. His fingers warm against his own.

The year had only just started.

But Yoongi already knew, it was going to be okay.

**********

The year had been good to Yoongi so far.

It was late January now, and everything had settled in that way things do when you’re not trying to force them. Leaving Korea hadn’t been hard. Not with Hoseok boarding the same plane home, shoulder tucked into his on the early morning flight out of Incheon. And returning to Texas, to the land and the sky and the wide stretch of stillness he grew up with, it was easier than he’d imagined. Familiar in a way that felt deeper now.

His parents were well. The ranch looked just as it always had. The only real shift, the one that actually mattered, was that Hoseok was here too.

Not in a class together anymore, though. That part stung more than he liked to admit. He hadn’t expected it to. But walking his lecture halls and not seeing Hoseok in any of them, notebook half open, grinning like he’d been waiting for him, it left a small ache in his chest that he hadn’t figured out what to do with yet.

Still, it didn’t matter much. Hoseok drove to campus with him most mornings anyway, one hand on the aux cord, the other nursing some sugary drink Yoongi always told him wasn’t real coffee. He came back home with him almost every day. Ate dinner with his parents. Helped feed the horses. Fell asleep in his room more than he didn’t.

It was late afternoon now. The sun had begun to sink behind the trees at the back of the property, casting everything in that long, low winter gold. The air still held the chill of January, but the sky was clean, and the wind had gone still. They were outside near the corral, the ground packed and dry underfoot.

Yoongi stood beside one of the older horses, hand resting against its neck, watching Hoseok try to adjust the stirrup on the saddle without looking like he was struggling.

He was absolutely struggling.

“You’re overthinking it,” Yoongi said.

“I’m not,” Hoseok muttered, frowning down at the leather strap like it had personally offended him.

Yoongi reached over with one hand, flipped the buckle, and tightened it smoothly in a few seconds.

“Okay,” Hoseok said, lips pressed together. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re doing fine.”

Yoongi was in jeans again, stiff and worn, with boots that scuffed against the dirt and a flannel shirt rolled up to his forearms. He’d fallen back into it without even thinking. The posture, the pace, the drawl that softened the ends of his sentences when he talked to the horses. Hoseok hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this version of him until he saw it again, saw Yoongi with dust on his boots and a ball cap pulled low, calm and steady and entirely at home.

He looked good like this.

And Hoseok didn’t mind letting him take the lead out here. Not at all.

“Are you sure he’s not gonna throw me?” Hoseok asked, glancing up at the horse.

Yoongi shook his head once, amused. “He’s too old to care.”

“You’re really selling this.”

Yoongi stepped back, wiping his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Come on,” he said. “Foot in the stirrup. Pull with your arms, not your back. I’ll steady him.”

Hoseok gave him a wary look, but did as he was told.

It wasn’t graceful, but he got up.

Yoongi held the reins steady the whole time, one hand on the horse’s mane, the other ready in case Hoseok lost his balance.

He didn’t.

“Look at you,” Yoongi said, tone light but proud. “Like a real cowboy.”

Hoseok laughed, breath fogging in the cold. “Don’t push it.”

Yoongi didn’t. He just held the reins a second longer, then looked up at him and said, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok said, sitting taller now. “I’m good.”

They walked for a while.

Yoongi led them out of the corral, opening the gate with one hand and guiding Smokie through with the other. The ground sloped downward just past the fence line, unfolding into the back half of the property, open pasture dotted with bare trees, split rail fencing in the distance, and hills that curved gently into the horizon. It had rained a few days earlier, but the ground was dry now. The sun was out, low and bright and sharp against the cold, painting long shadows across the grass.

The horse moved slowly, hooves clicking steady against the hard packed earth. His breath came out in quiet bursts, visible in the cold, ears flicking forward as they walked.

Hoseok shifted a little in the saddle, still adjusting, but not tense anymore.

“Sorry, Smokie,” he murmured, patting the horse’s neck awkwardly. “I was being dramatic.”

Smokie didn’t react, just kept walking like he’d seen this kind of performance before.

Yoongi glanced back with a grin. “He forgives you.”

“He should. I’m trying.”

“You are,” Yoongi said, eyes turning back to the path ahead. “You’re doing good.”

The air smelled like dry cedar and dust. Somewhere farther off, a few birds stirred in the brush, and a dog barked once near the barn. But out here, it was quiet. Just the soft rhythm of the horse’s hooves, the occasional creak of the saddle, and the sound of their breath catching the cold.

They walked down a shallow slope, then back up again, the hill rising gently underfoot. Yoongi’s boots scuffed the dirt with each step, slow and even, one hand wrapped loosely around the lead rope.

The sun caught his shoulders in patches, light across his back, the collar of his shirt, the curve of his cheek when he glanced over.

Hoseok watched him from the saddle, quiet for a minute.

He liked him like this.

Liked the calm in him, the way his voice settled into the air without trying to fill it. Liked the clothes, too, not because they were particularly stylish, but because they were so him. The jeans. The boots. The quiet confidence. Like the land recognized him and made room.

Hoseok let his hands rest gently on the horn of the saddle, eyes following the movement of Yoongi’s shoulders.

It was cold, but not harsh. The kind of cold you could breathe through. And the sun, bright, warm on his face, made everything around them feel golden, even in winter.

“Do you do this every day?” Hoseok asked, adjusting his hands on the saddle horn as they moved slowly over the rise of a shallow hill.

Yoongi glanced back, one hand still loose on Smokie’s lead. “I used to. More back in high school.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.” Yoongi’s voice was easy. “School was closer then. I’d get home earlier. Had more time.”

He slowed his steps a little, letting Smokie walk a steady line beside him as the hill leveled out beneath them.

“I used to finish most of my homework during lunch or last period,” he added. “Had the whole afternoon free.”

Hoseok smiled faintly. “Of course you did.”

Yoongi turned slightly, giving him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” Hoseok shrugged one shoulder. “Sounds like you were the type.”

Yoongi huffed a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I graduated in the top ten,” he admitted. “Number seven.”

“Hyung,” Hoseok said, eyebrows rising. “Of course you did.”

Yoongi shook his head, eyes turning toward the trail again. “It wasn’t a big class. Like a hundred and twenty people, maybe.”

“Still,” Hoseok said, sitting up straighter in the saddle. “You’re smart. You just don’t act like it.”

“I don’t act like it?”

“You don’t go around saying it.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“You’re not,” Hoseok said, smiling now. “That’s why I like it.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything to that. He just kept walking, the reins loose in his hand, head slightly tilted toward the sunlight.

Smokie let out a long breath, and the wind carried it forward, a soft cloud of warmth against the cold. They passed a cluster of cedar trees near the fence line, their shadows stretched long and narrow in the afternoon light.

Hoseok was quiet for a moment, then asked, a little softer this time, “How was it… you know. High school.”

Yoongi looked up at the question. Not surprised, exactly, but like he had to roll the thought around for a second before answering.

“It was fine,” he said eventually. “Kind of quiet. But nice.”

He ran a hand down the side of Smokie’s neck as they walked.

“I had a few close friends. Did well in my classes. Stayed out of trouble.”

Hoseok nodded, taking that in.

“It wasn’t complicated,” Yoongi said. “Not like now.”

Hoseok was quiet for a second, then said, “I liked high school.”

Yoongi glanced back at him. “Yeah, I bet you were trouble.”

Hoseok scoffed. “I wasn’t.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, slowing his pace just slightly. “You weren’t?”

“No,” Hoseok said, but he was smiling, eyes cast toward the ground ahead. “I mean… maybe I talked a lot. But I didn’t skip class. Didn’t get in fights. I was… normal.”

Yoongi nodded like he believed him, but something in his face said he was still picturing it. “You say that,” he murmured, “but I’ve seen your friends.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yoongi smirked faintly. “You’re close with people who dance on tables. Who spike drinks for fun. Who wear glitter on their cheeks?”

“That’s just Taehyung.”

“It’s not just Taehyung.”

Hoseok laughed.

Yoongi kept going, voice softer now, thoughtful. “You’re the kind of person who draws people in. You probably always have been.”

He glanced up again, eyes on Hoseok in the saddle. “I can picture it.”

Hoseok tilted his head, curious. “Picture what?”

Yoongi’s gaze drifted to the distance for a moment, hills still golden, sky pale and wide overhead.

“You. At sixteen. Walking down a hallway like you were already late. Everyone saying hi. Teachers pretending not to be annoyed that you talked during class because you still turned everything in early.”

Hoseok’s smile faltered just slightly, like he hadn’t realized Yoongi would be able to see it so clearly.

“I wasn’t like that,” he said after a moment. “Not entirely.”

But Yoongi didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at him—really looked—and didn’t say otherwise.

“Bet you didn’t miss a single party,” Yoongi said, lips tugging into a faint smile.

Hoseok laughed, tossing a glance down at him. “Of course not, hyung. You know I love to dance.”

The way he said it, so open, so certain, made Yoongi’s chest warm. Hoseok wasn’t performing. He never was. He meant it, every time. He loved movement. Loved music. Loved people. He’d find a reason to dance anywhere, even if there wasn’t one.

Yoongi didn’t respond right away.

He just looked at him, at the way his hands rested loose and relaxed on the saddle horn now, at the way the sun caught on the tips of his hair and the faint curve of his nose. His cheeks were still pink from the cold, but his posture had settled. He didn’t look out of place anymore.

He looked like he belonged here too.

“You know,” Hoseok said, voice lilting with a teasing edge, “what about you, hyung? Did you go to many parties?”

Yoongi let out a quiet breath, half laugh, half scoff.

Hoseok blinked. “Is that a no?”

Yoongi shrugged, gaze forward again. “Yeah. I mean, not that many. Maybe just… every two weeks or so.”

Hoseok stared at him.

Yoongi didn’t even look back, just kept walking like he hadn’t said anything strange at all. “Nothing too crazy.”

“You—” Hoseok started, then broke into a laugh. “You went to parties?”

Yoongi nodded, completely unfazed. “Yeah, why is this so hard to believe?”

“I just—” Hoseok blinked again, speechless for a second. “I thought you were more…”

“Reserved?”

“I was gonna say mysterious, but sure.”

Yoongi didn’t look up, just let a soft breath out through his nose, eyes on the path ahead.

“I had friends, Seok-ah.”

Hoseok didn’t say anything right away.

They kept walking, the sun still warm on his back, the sky high and soft above them. But something about Yoongi saying ‘I had friends, Seok-ah,’ stuck with him.

He’d never really imagined Yoongi in high school.

Not in detail, anyway. He hadn’t needed to. Yoongi had always felt like someone who was formed, already full of distance and thoughtfulness, like he’d come into the world exactly as he was. But now, Hoseok was picturing him younger, still sharp, still quiet, but surrounded by people. Maybe he had a little group. Maybe they sat at the back of the cafeteria, swapping answers and talking about things Hoseok never thought about when he was sixteen.

He wondered what Yoongi looked like back then. If his hair was shorter. If he wore those boots everyday. If he stayed up late texting people, waiting for a reply. If he’d ever gotten his heart broken.

And then, without meaning to, Hoseok started wondering something else.

He didn’t feel jealous, exactly, not in the way that made you angry or suspicious. It was more like a quiet pull in his chest, something soft and curious and a little insecure.

He looked down at Yoongi, who was still walking beside Smokie like the world hadn’t shifted a bit.

And then he asked, voice lower than before, not quite looking at him, 

“Did you ever have any… girlfriends or boyfriends back then?”

Yoongi looked up at him.

It wasn’t a long look. Just long enough.

And Hoseok could feel it, the way something in his face must’ve shifted, something small but readable, because Yoongi’s expression changed too.

He smiled.

“Seok-ah.”

Hoseok sat up a little straighter, already backpedaling. “What? I’m just curious.”

Yoongi stopped for a second and reached up, brushing his hand over Hoseok’s thigh, light and warm, like it wasn’t meant to calm him down but just say he was there.

“I had flings,” he said. “But never anything serious.”

Hoseok looked at him carefully.

Yoongi’s eyes didn’t waver.

“Not like you, at least.”

Yoongi kept his hand on Hoseok’s thigh for a second longer, thumb brushing lightly along the denim, then let it fall.

He looked up at him—really up, into the soft lines of his face, the way his hair lifted gently with the wind, the sun catching just behind his ear.

Then Yoongi stepped closer to the horse.

“Here,” he said. “Come down.”

“I can get off—”

“I know,” Yoongi said quietly. “Let me.”

Hoseok looked at him for a moment, uncertain, then nodded once.

Yoongi slid his hands up, slow and sure, one settling just above Hoseok’s waist, the other curling gently around his hip. Not rushed. Not pulling. Just steady, warm pressure where it mattered.

“Put your hand on my shoulder,” Yoongi said.

Hoseok did.

And Yoongi eased him down, carefully, the saddle creaking slightly as he shifted his weight forward and Yoongi helped guide him, feet brushing the stirrup, hands tightening briefly around his waist.

The moment Hoseok landed, boots hitting the dirt, Yoongi didn’t step away.

He stayed close.

Hands still at Hoseok’s waist, thumbs pressing faintly into his sides. Their bodies not quite touching, but close enough that the space between them felt like nothing.

Yoongi’s voice came low, just for him.

“Never like you, Seok-ah.”

Hoseok’s eyes flicked up, wide, and warm, and already soft at the edges.

And Yoongi leaned in and kissed him.

It was gentle at first. Full of air. Full of breath.

His hands slipped further around Hoseok’s waist, palms flat against his back now, holding him close. Hoseok leaned in immediately, fingers curling into the front of Yoongi’s shirt, like something in him had been waiting for that line, that gesture, that kiss, like it settled something.

The wind stirred the edge of Yoongi’s flannel. The horse shifted once beside them but didn’t move away.

And the sun stayed low behind them, casting their shadows long across the quiet land.

The kiss deepened fast.

What started soft shifted in seconds, Yoongi’s mouth parting just slightly, Hoseok answering with a sigh that curled into the space between them. Yoongi’s hands moved with more purpose now, sliding around Hoseok’s waist, then slipping up beneath the hem of his hoodie, bare skin under his fingertips, warm despite the cold.

Hoseok breathed in sharply, hips shifting forward almost unconsciously as Yoongi kissed him again, then again, slower now but firmer, deeper, like he had something to say and couldn’t speak it out loud.

Yoongi’s fingers spread over the small of his back, then moved lower, skimming the edge of his waistband, thumbs dragging just above the line of his jeans. He pressed their bodies together, leaning into Hoseok’s mouth like he needed to memorize it, and when he pulled back just enough to kiss down the line of his jaw, his hands slid higher, under layers of fabric, past the warmth of Hoseok’s sides.

“Hyung…” Hoseok said, voice thin, the smallest laugh in it. “Not here.”

Yoongi didn’t answer. Just kissed lower, under his ear, along the curve of his neck, breath hot against his skin, his thumbs pressing in a little tighter now, thumbs moving slow.

“Hyung,” Hoseok said again, trying to pull himself together. “Hyung, we’re dirty.”

“Yes,” Yoongi murmured, lips grazing just beneath his jaw. “Here.”

Hoseok laughed, half helpless. “Not… not with Smokie watching.”

That made Yoongi huff out a laugh against his throat, mouth still pressed to the skin there, still kissing him once, slower, like a promise.

He kissed him again, one last time.

Then he stopped.

But he didn’t let go.

He stayed close, hands under Hoseok’s clothes, forehead pressed briefly to his shoulder, breath still a little unsteady. Hoseok’s hands were fisted in the front of his shirt, and neither of them moved, not yet. The air was cold around them, but between their bodies, it was warm. 

Yoongi smiled, lips brushing the collar of Hoseok’s hoodie.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Later.”

The sun had started to dip fast, sinking behind the edge of the hill line, casting the land in that sharp, blue-toned light that only came right before dark. The warmth was bleeding out of the air quickly now, and Hoseok shivered once, pulling the hem of his hoodie down over his hips.

Yoongi noticed.

He glanced up at the sky, then at Smokie, who stood patiently beside them, reins loose, breath fogging in slow bursts.

“We should head back,” Yoongi said.

“Yeah,” Hoseok murmured, voice still a little low from earlier.

Yoongi hesitated, eyeing the stretch of pasture between them and the barn.

“Get back on,” he said. “I’ll ride with you.”

Hoseok blinked. “Both of us?”

“Smokie can handle it. We’re not far.”

He held Hoseok’s gaze for a second, like making sure it wasn’t too much, not too weird. But Hoseok just nodded, and Yoongi gave him a faint smile, stepping forward to guide him back up into the saddle.

Once Hoseok was seated, Yoongi mounted behind him in one smooth motion, hands settling at Hoseok’s hips, thighs pressing against the outside of his legs. Smokie shifted once beneath the weight, but didn’t fuss.

Yoongi leaned in, breath warm against the back of Hoseok’s neck.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” Hoseok said quickly. “It’s fine.”

Yoongi wrapped the reins around one hand and clicked his tongue once.

Smokie started forward, slow and steady, hooves thudding gently against the packed dirt.

The ranch stretched wide ahead of them, trees casting long shadows across the ground, the barn a soft silhouette in the distance. The wind had picked up slightly, biting against their faces, but Yoongi pressed in close, chin tucked just behind Hoseok’s shoulder, hands resting firm and sure on his waist.

By the time they reached the barn, the light had thinned to a dull blue gray, streaks of pink still holding on at the edges of the sky. The air had turned sharp, the kind of cold that crept into sleeves and stuck to the inside of your throat.

Yoongi climbed down first, boots hitting the dirt with a soft thud. He reached up instinctively, hands firm at Hoseok’s waist, guiding him down the same way he had earlier, slow, steady, careful not to let go too soon.

Once Hoseok’s feet were on the ground, he stayed close, standing still for a beat longer than he needed to.

Yoongi turned toward Smokie, running a gloved hand along his neck.

“Good boy,” he murmured, quiet.

They walked him inside the barn together, the wood creaking faintly underfoot, the smell of hay and warm dust thick in the air. Smokie went into his stall without a fuss, tail swishing once, then settling. Yoongi made quick work of the bridle, unbuckling it one strap at a time, movements practiced and silent. Hoseok leaned against the stall wall, watching.

Neither of them spoke much.

Yoongi tossed the saddle blanket over the stall door, coiled the reins, then checked the water trough automatically.

Hoseok rubbed his hands together for warmth.

“You good?” Yoongi asked.

“Yeah.”

When they stepped back outside, the cold hit harder. The sun was gone now, and the wind had picked up just enough to make them move faster without saying anything about it.

The house was dark when they reached the porch.

Yoongi unlocked the door and stepped inside first, holding it open behind him. The smell of wood and earth and something faintly sweet, maybe laundry detergent, drifted in as they crossed the threshold.

No lights. No voices. No one home.

His parents had gone into the city for the weekend, dinner plans, a night or two away. The house was theirs.

Yoongi flipped the hallway light on low, casting a soft glow through the front room. Hoseok toed off his boots near the door, shivering once, rubbing his arms through his hoodie.

They always showered after being out with the horses. An unspoken part of the routine, come home, peel off the dust and cold, start fresh for the evening. Lately, Yoongi had gotten used to using the bathroom in the hall upstairs instead of the one in his bedroom.

Because Hoseok had started leaving his things in there. His shampoo, his body wash, a toothbrush tucked behind the mirror, his razor on the edge of the sink like it belonged.

It didn’t bother Yoongi. Not even a little.

He didn’t mention it when it started. Just shifted his towel to the other hook, moved his cologne to the back corner of the counter, and kept showering down the hall. The hallway bathroom had a smaller shower, a smaller mirror. But Hoseok’s things in his space, neatly tucked into the routine of Yoongi’s life, felt too natural to move.

Sometimes, on weekends like this, they’d shower at the same time. Separate bathrooms, water running through the walls at the same rhythm. And afterward, they’d meet in the hallway or the bedroom, skin warm and soft from the heat, hair damp, voices quieter somehow.

Tonight felt like that.

The house was still quiet when Yoongi stepped out of the hallway bathroom, towel slung around his shoulders, hair damp and clinging slightly to his temples. The upstairs floor creaked under his bare feet as he padded back toward his room, the air warmer now from the steam.

His skin was clean, flushed pink at the collarbones, and the scent of cedar and something sharp lingered faintly, his own body wash, less floral than the one Hoseok had started using in his bathroom. The hallway light was still on, casting a soft golden hue across the wood floors and into the open bedroom door.

Hoseok was already inside.

He was sitting cross legged near the edge of the bed, a clean hoodie pulled over damp hair, sleeves pushed halfway up his arms. His face was flushed from the heat of the shower, and his knees were tucked up in front of him like he hadn’t fully settled yet. A towel sat folded on the floor nearby.

Yoongi walked in without saying anything at first, rubbing at his neck with the edge of his towel before letting it drop into the hamper.

“Hi,” Hoseok said softly.

Yoongi looked over at him. “Hey.”

Yoongi pulled the old sweatshirt over his head, the hem catching slightly before settling over his hips. Hoseok watched him quietly.

There was something about seeing Yoongi like this, just like this, that never quite got old.

He was so often put together. Buttoned up, layered in jeans and boots and that steady, unreadable posture he carried through most days. Even on campus, there was always something slightly closed off about him. Not in a cold way, just Yoongi being Yoongi.

But here, in the soft lamplight, hair wet, wearing clothes no one else ever saw him in, Hoseok felt like he was seeing a version of him that belonged only to this room.

Only to him.

Yoongi sat beside him, the mattress dipping gently under his weight, their knees brushing.

Hoseok leaned into him without thinking, chin resting on his shoulder for a second, breath catching faintly against the fabric of Yoongi’s hoodie.

Yoongi didn’t move away.

He let him stay there, one hand coming up to rest over Hoseok’s thigh, fingers warm through the soft cotton of his sweats.

The room felt full, even with nothing happening. Full of breath, heat, the hum of the air between them. The kind of silence that didn’t ask to be filled.

Hoseok smiled into Yoongi’s shoulder. “You always wear this one.”

Yoongi glanced down at the faded print. “It’s comfortable.”

“It’s cute.”

Yoongi huffed a laugh. “It’s old.”

“I like it,” Hoseok murmured. “It’s very… you.”

As much as Hoseok loved Yoongi like this, clean, warm, casual, sitting next to him in a hoodie that probably had its sleeves stretched from years of wear. There was something about the other version of him that Hoseok couldn’t stop thinking about.

The cowboy thing.

It was ridiculous, objectively. The boots. The stiff jeans. The hat that sat on his dresser like it was a centerpiece. Hoseok didn’t grow up around that, didn’t fully understand it, but when Yoongi stepped into it, it did something to him.

It felt foreign, sure. Kind of theatrical. But also… undeniably hot in a way that Hoseok had no real framework for.

He’d been holding it in all week, this weird mix of fascination and frustration. Like it wasn’t fair that someone so quiet, so layered, so him, also got to wear clothes like that and make them work.

So he looked up from where his chin was resting on Yoongi’s shoulder and said, completely serious,

“Hyung, can we play dress up?”

Yoongi turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”

“Dress up,” Hoseok said again, already pulling back and sitting up. “Come on.”

Yoongi blinked at him.

Hoseok didn’t wait for a response before getting to his feet. He made a beeline for Yoongi’s closet, opening it without hesitation.

Yoongi turned slightly on the bed, confused, trying to catch up.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

“I want the flannel,” Hoseok said, already running his fingers along the hangers. “The one with the snaps. You know which one.”

Yoongi blinked again. “This isn’t a game.”

Hoseok pulled a button up from the rack triumphantly, holding it up to his chest like he was in a fitting room. “It’s exactly a game.”

Yoongi just stared at him, bewildered. “Are you serious right now?”

“Completely.”

Hoseok spun from the closet with the flannel in his hands, crossing the room in a few fast steps. Yoongi was still standing near the bed, damp hair falling into his eyes, sleeves of his hoodie pushed to the elbows. He looked at Hoseok like he was being ambushed.

“You’re wearing this,” Hoseok said.

Yoongi leaned back slightly. “What?”

Hoseok didn’t answer, he just peeled the hoodie off him in one motion, not rough but quick, like he was on a deadline.

Yoongi blinked. “I was comfortable.”

“You’ll be comfortable in this too.”

Hoseok opened the flannel and started sliding it over Yoongi’s arms. Yoongi didn’t fight him, but he didn’t help either. He just stood there, letting Hoseok dress him like some mildly uncooperative scarecrow.

“You know this goes with an undershirt,” Yoongi said flatly.

“We don’t need that,” Hoseok muttered, eyes fixed on the buttons now. His fingers moved fast, snapping the shirt shut with surprising precision. He only did the middle ones, leaving the top open and the bottom loose, just like he liked it.

Yoongi squinted at him. “Why are you in a rush?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re doing everything like you’re being timed.”

Hoseok stepped back to assess. Then turned, bent at the waist, and opened the drawer where Yoongi kept his jeans. He pulled out the Levi’s. The Levi’s. The ones that actually hugged him properly. The ones Hoseok always pretended not to look at when Yoongi wore them around the house.

He held them up.

“Put these on.”

Yoongi didn’t take them. “It’s after nine.”

“So?”

“So, I just showered, and I’m not wearing jeans right now.”

Hoseok took a slow step forward, jeans still in hand.

“I want you to wear them.”

Yoongi stared at him, unmoving.

“You’ve already seen them,” he said, voice flat.

“Not in here.”

“…What does that mean?”

Hoseok didn’t explain.

He just stepped closer, holding the jeans out again, eyes focused, tone low, like this was all completely reasonable.

And Yoongi, still not entirely sure what game they were playing, finally sighed, and started untying the drawstring on his sweatpants.

Yoongi dressed quickly.

No complaints, no more questions. The jeans came on fast, stiff and snug, the denim pressing clean lines into his legs, and the flannel stayed loose around his torso, slightly open where Hoseok had left it. He rolled his shoulders once as he stood, adjusting the hem, and looked up.

“There,” he said simply.

He barely got the word out before Hoseok threw himself at him.

There was no hesitation, just weight and warmth and lips pressing hard against his like Hoseok had been holding it in since the moment they got home. Yoongi’s hands flew up instinctively, grabbing at Hoseok’s waist, steadying them both as he stumbled back half a step from the impact.

Hoseok kissed like he meant it. Like he had a point to prove. Mouth open, breath heavy, fingers clutching at Yoongi’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Yoongi kissed him back, steady at first, then deeper when Hoseok shifted closer, pressing against the hard lines of the jeans he’d just demanded he wear.

Between kisses, Hoseok pulled back just enough to gasp, voice rough and high,

“Wanna ride you like this…”

His hands slid up Yoongi’s chest, slipping under the flannel, fingers brushing against warm skin and muscle.

“I— I wanna wear the hat.”

Yoongi blinked, dazed, mouth still parted, lips flushed.

It was a ridiculous sentence. The kind that would’ve made him roll his eyes, or laugh, or walk out on someone else.

But it was Hoseok.

And he said it like he meant it.

And Yoongi understood now. Exactly what this was.

His hands slid up to Hoseok’s face, thumbs brushing the curve of his jaw.

He kissed him again, deeper, slower this time, full of pressure and intent. Hoseok melted into it, arms locking tight around his shoulders, legs shifting to get even closer, like he wanted to fold right into the heat of him.

Yoongi pulled back just enough to look at him.

Their breath was shallow now, lips red and parted, Hoseok still pressed against him like he didn’t plan to move. His hands were fisted in the flannel, knuckles pale, body warm everywhere they touched.

“You’re ridiculous,” Yoongi said, voice low, half laughing as he looked down at him.

Hoseok didn’t laugh.

He just said, quiet and breathless, “Yeah.”

And his eyes didn’t move.

Didn’t flicker. Didn’t tease.

They stayed locked on Yoongi’s, wide and dark and completely open, like he meant it. Like he’d been thinking about this, about Yoongi like this, for days. Weeks. Maybe longer.

And Yoongi felt something inside him twist.

The air between them shifted. It wasn’t funny anymore.

It was real. Hot. 

Charged in a way that made Yoongi’s breath catch just a little. He looked at Hoseok again, really looked, and saw how flushed his cheeks were, how his chest was rising fast under his hoodie, how his jaw clenched faintly like he was holding something in.

Yoongi didn’t speak.

He just kissed him again, harder this time. More definite.

Hoseok responded instantly, hands sliding to Yoongi’s waist, fingers gripping the belt loops of the Levi’s like he was claiming them, like this had always been the point. Their mouths moved together fast now, clumsy in the best way, hungry, sure, real.

Yoongi’s hands moved too, down Hoseok’s sides, over the curve of his hips, gripping tight enough to draw a small sound from the back of Hoseok’s throat.

It only made him kiss him deeper.

They didn’t stop kissing as they moved.

Yoongi let himself be pulled back until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sat first, Hoseok still on him, kissing him like he knew what was going on all along. His hands were everywhere, Yoongi’s shoulders, the back of his neck, tugging at the flannel like it wasn’t enough.

Yoongi grabbed at Hoseok’s hips, grounding them both as he slid back onto the mattress, and Hoseok followed without hesitation, straddling him, knees bracketing his thighs, weight pressing down in a way that made Yoongi exhale through his nose, slow and sharp.

Hoseok was already shirtless.

At some point, between kisses, between Yoongi’s hands dragging along his back, he’d shrugged his hoodie off himself and let it fall somewhere behind them, along with his shorts, half forgotten on the floor. Now it was just warm skin, flushed and lit by the soft bedroom light, his chest rising quick and hard with every breath.

Yoongi stayed still for a second, just watching him.

Fully clothed beneath him. In the Levi’s, in the flannel, in everything Hoseok had asked for. He felt pinned. Not just by weight, but by heat. By the look in Hoseok’s eyes. By how beautiful he looked like this, already undressed, already moving against him with that same energy he’d had since the moment he said put these on.

Yoongi’s hands slid up again, slow this time, palms flat against Hoseok’s bare waist, thumbs tracing the lines of his ribs.

He kissed him once, slower now, lips dragging.

And Hoseok kissed him back with a sound Yoongi could feel more than hear, something low, something messy, something that pulled all the air out of the room for a second.

And Yoongi still hadn’t taken a single thing off.

The kiss didn’t break.

It only deepened, lips parting, breath mixing, Hoseok’s hands clutching at the front of Yoongi’s shirt like he couldn’t get close enough. His hips rolled once, slow and deliberate, and Yoongi let out a low sound against his mouth.

Then Yoongi’s hands moved lower.

Still kissing him, still tangled in that heat and rhythm, he slid his hands down, palms dragging over the backs of Hoseok’s thighs before reaching for his own waistband. His fingers worked quickly, pushing past the button, tugging down the zipper with one practiced pull.

He lifted his hips just enough, pushing the denim down to mid thigh in one motion, rough and awkward.

The air hit his skin, cooler now, but he didn’t stop.

Didn’t even pause.

Hoseok shifted with him, breath catching slightly at the sound of denim dragging across skin, at the feel of Yoongi’s hands still moving, still grounded in control even as everything around them felt like it was coming undone.

Yoongi’s jeans hung half off now, low on his hips, exposing just enough.

He kissed Hoseok again, one hand sliding up his bare back, the other anchoring hard at his waist.

Everything burned.

And neither of them wanted to stop.

Hoseok pulled back just a little, lips still pink, breath still fast, hands resting on Yoongi’s chest like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just glanced over his shoulder, toward the dresser, toward the hat. Yoongi followed his gaze, already knowing.

Hoseok shifted off his lap slightly, still straddling him, and reached out with one arm. His fingers curled around the brim, slow and careful, like the moment might break if he moved too fast.

He brought it back between them.

And then, in one smooth motion, he settled it on his head.

It sat low, shadowing his eyes just enough, tilting slightly off center before he adjusted it with both hands, his chest still rising and falling under the low bedroom light.

When he looked back at Yoongi, he laughed, soft and nervous, like he didn’t know what he looked like. Like he wasn’t sure if it was stupid or too much.

But Yoongi didn’t laugh.

He looked at him. Really looked.

And for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

Hoseok looked beautiful.

Not in the soft, innocent way people meant when they said it casually, but in a way that hit Yoongi hard in the chest. Bold and flushed and wild, eyed, glowing under the lamplight in nothing but skin and that ridiculous, perfect hat. His hat. 

Hoseok was his.

Yoongi smiled. Like this made everything make sense.

Hoseok moved gentler now, lifting himself slightly as his hands wrapped around Yoongi's length. “I… I already prepped in the shower.”

“No condom?” Yoongi asked.

Hoseok stopped his movements, tilting his head slightly. “Do we have to? I’m clean.”

“Only if you don’t want to, I’m clean too.” Yoongi said, and Hoseok only smiled, continuing his movements.

Yoongi watched, guiding him carefully, bringing his arms around his hips to push him down slowly. Yoongi smiled. 

Hoseok gasped once he sat down completely, as if getting used to the girth Yoongi had was something he could never get used to, but that was perfect for him. 

Yoongi didn’t rush him, let him sit there for a moment, holding his shoulders. He only rubbed circles around his hips, holding him steady. 

And then he moved, bouncing slowly on top of Yoongi, using his shoulders to steady himself. And to Yoongi it was a sight for sore eyes. 

It was all too much and not enough at the same time, Hoseok above him, around him, completely focused and completely his. Every breath they shared felt like it shook something loose in Yoongi’s chest. It wasn’t just want, it was closeness, trust, the way Hoseok held tightly onto him. The room felt hot and open, and all Yoongi could do was hold him tighter, chasing something wordless between every gasp. And beneath it all was the certainty that that was his.

At some point, Hoseok leaned down and kissed him again, slower this time, deeper, like he needed to anchor himself. I wasn't careful or sweet. It was hot and real and full of breath, his lips dragging just slightly like he didn’t want to stop. Yoongi met him in it fully, pulling him closer with both hands. It was the kind of kiss that made everything else blur, time, thought, everything. Just the two of them, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, and something inside Yoongi coming apart in the quietest, most complete way.

He moved his mouth in a way that lured Yoongi in, all while his hips created a faster rhythm between them. And Hoseok moved them in a way that Yoongi couldn’t describe, in a way that hypnotized him. 

He threw his head back, groaning loudly and letting go for a moment, sitting back and admiring Hoseok above him, the sounds coming out of him, the way his skin glowed under the sweat, the lining of his defined stomach, his thighs around him. The stupid hat. 

“So perfect…” He was breathless, “So perfect Seok–ah.”

He rested his hands on Hoseok's hips again, caressing the skin gently, letting Hoseok put in the work.  

“Hyung–” And Yoongi felt it. The way he was losing control of the steady rhythm he had, his hands that were slowly slipping off, his thighs that were shaking restlessly. 

Yoongi moved before Hoseok could think. Before Hoseok could stop him. One hand braced against his lower back, the other curling around the back of his thigh, and in one smooth, breathless motion, he flipped them, rolling forward and guiding Hoseok down onto the bed beneath him. 

Hoseok let out a soft, startled sound, more surprised than anything, eyes wide and lips already parted when Yoongi settled over him. The hat slipped sideways, then toppled off completely, landing somewhere against the sheets. Neither of them looked at it. It was long forgotten.

Part of Hoseok wanted to protest, wanted to whine at Yoongi for taking over. But he couldn’t, not with Yoongi bringing back the fast pace. Holding onto his hips tightly, like it was all that mattered. 

Hoseok looked at Yoongi above him, thrusting into him between his spread legs, and smiled. 

He reached forward again, fingers fumbling slightly as he worked at the last buttons of Yoongi’s shirt, his hands moving awkwardly from this angle, but determined. The fabric pulled slightly under his grip, but the snaps gave way one by one, until the shirt finally hung open, exposing Yoongi’s chest. Hoseok exhaled, not quite a sigh, then shifted his weight just enough to reach to the side, hand brushing across the sheets.

He patted blindly for a moment, searching, until his fingertips found the brim.

His smile came slow, soft, dazed, a little stunned by everything, and he closed his hand around the hat, lifting it carefully. There was something almost reverent in the way he brought it forward, like this had always been part of it. Like this moment wasn’t complete without it.

He lifted himself and leaned in, close enough to feel Yoongi’s breath against his cheek, and placed the hat on his head, slow and deliberate, before lying back down, and watching him once more.

And when Yoongi’s right hand let go of him for just a second to adjust it, thumb and forefinger pinching the brim, tilting it just so… it did something to him.

Something low and deep and unnameable.

Like watching Yoongi step fully into something Hoseok had imagined a hundred times.

And now it was real.

“Hyung,” He moaned softly, “Hyung…” He arched his back in the way he always seemed to do, in the way that let Yoongi know that he was close.

“Hyung is right here Seok–ah.” He moved his hands higher, resting them at his waist, gripping onto him tighter and fucking into him harder. 

“Yoongi.” And that would always do something to Yoongi, when Hoseok would be so lost in the haze that he’d drop the honorifics. 

His movements became sloppy, as he brought one hand to Hoseok’s cock to stroke him. 

Yoongi came down then and reached for him gently, fingertips brushing his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his jaw.

He watched Hoseok as he fucked him, his parted lips, the way he’d smile before his face would scrunch up, the sweat trickling down his forehead. 

And then he said it.

“I love you.”

Just that.

No lead up, no hesitation.

Like it had been sitting there for a long time, waiting for this exact second to come out.

And it had.

Since that first day in class, when Hoseok sat beside him without asking and made the whole room feel different. Since October, when Hoseok started showing up at his house more often than not, always with something to say, always with that smile that slipped past Yoongi’s defenses. Since November, when they first admitted they liked each other. Since Korea, since that kiss by the river, fireworks in the sky, Hoseok in his arms saying yes like it was obvious.

Yoongi had known for a while.

And now it was just said.

Hoseok blinked once, eyes going wide, then soft.

He didn’t speak right away.

And then, low and a little unsteady,

“I love you too.”

He sounded breathless, gasping at the end of his sentence. 

“Yoongi I– I’m gonna come.” Yoongi closed his eyes, holding onto Hoseok tightly and trying his hardest to stay steady. Each thrust he gave into Hoseok was hard, fast, and messy.

“Gonna come too Seok-ah– Hobi… my baby.” It came out softly.

“Come in me.” Hoseok moaned. “Come in me hyung.”

Yoongi groaned, thrusting one last time before his body gave out, coming inside of Hoseok. 

Hoseok gasped at the foreign feeling, and one last stroke and a final thrust was all it took before Yoongi sent him over the edge. 

“Yoongi.” He moaned softly, holding onto the other to pull him closer as they came down from the feeling. 

Yoongi fell into him gently, holding onto him as they both caught their breath. 

They didn’t say anything at first.

Yoongi stayed where he was, leaning over him, breath warm against Hoseok’s neck, arms wrapped tight like he couldn’t bear the space that might come from letting go. Their skin was still flushed, still cooling, but everything else had softened. The world felt hushed around them now, quiet and golden and still.

Hoseok’s fingers moved gently along Yoongi’s back, tracing nothing in particular, just needing to touch. He turned his head slightly, pressing his lips to Yoongi’s temple, then down to his cheek. His voice came out low and cracked at the edges.

“I love you.”

Yoongi exhaled, long and steady. He didn’t lift his head.

“I love you,” he murmured into Hoseok’s skin. “God. I love you.”

Hoseok tightened his arms around him. “I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, as if it were something sacred.

And Yoongi answered it every time. Again. And again. And again.

Like they were saying it into each other’s skin, into the space between their ribs, into the parts of them that had waited months to hear it.

At some point, the hat slipped off, tilted too far back as Yoongi leaned in, fell to the side, landing soundlessly beside the pillow. Neither of them moved to catch it. It didn’t matter anymore.

Eventually, Yoongi shifted just enough to press a kiss beneath Hoseok’s jaw, slow, not rushed, like he wasn’t ready to move but knew they had to. Hoseok tilted his head slightly, eyes still half closed, fingers tracing lazy patterns along the back of Yoongi’s arm. Their legs were tangled together, skin warm where they touched, the weight of the room held softly between them. 

For a while longer, they didn’t say much. Just a few more ‘I love yous,’ quieter now, like they’d settled somewhere deeper. Like the words belonged to the air between them. It was late, and they’d get up soon. They’d shower again. They’d start the rest of the night. But for now, they stayed there, wrapped around each other, quiet and full and completely home.

**********

Texas had been everything Hoseok could’ve never imagined.

It was big in a way that didn’t make sense until you were in it, until you saw the sky stretch out so far it made you feel like your body took up no space at all. The land was flat in some places, rolling in others, with fences that seemed to go on forever and roads that didn’t believe in turning. And everything about it was loud. The trucks. The air. The food. The language.

The English became comfortable quickly enough, but it was the drawl that surprised him, the slow, easy rhythm of it, the way Yoongi slipped into it when he spoke to his friends or answered the door. The way locals said ma’am without thinking, how the sun didn’t set so much as pour itself over the pasture, thick and golden and constant. The food was heavier than he was used to. The people talked more or not at all. And the cowboys—the real ones—weren’t what the movies made them out to be.

But Yoongi was.

And somehow that made it all make sense.

Hoseok hadn’t meant to love it. Not really. He thought he’d stay the year, and head home with a story to tell. But then it turned into two stories. Then three. Then he was helping feed the horses and sleeping in Yoongi’s bed and walking down gravel roads like he’d grown up doing it.

And now they were here.

Their bags were packed. The plane tickets printed. Everything was ready.

But first they walked the pasture one last time.

The sun was low. The horses were far off in the distance, grazing lazily, barely glancing up when they passed. Baby stayed close, trailing just a few steps behind like he always did, hooves soft against the grass. Their boots moved slow over the earth, not talking much. Not needing to.

They’d been doing well.

After everything, after winter break, after the new year, after the snow and the quiet confessions and the decision to stay close, life had steadied into something gentle. Something that didn’t need explaining. They fell into each other’s routines like they’d always been part of them. Mornings weren’t rushed anymore, just slow and shared, Yoongi feeding the horses while Hoseok stayed asleep, both of them brushing their teeth side by side without thinking. They took turns cooking. Took turns picking up groceries. Took turns reaching for the other person’s hand first, though it stopped mattering who started it.

Their birthdays had passed somewhere in the quiet middle of all of it, Hoseok’s in February, Yoongi’s in March. There were no big parties. Just laughter. A cake from a bakery they both liked. A kiss at midnight when Yoongi’s parents had gone to bed. Hoseok had gotten Yoongi a new guitar strap with his initials stitched into the leather. Yoongi had written Hoseok a letter he didn’t let him read until morning. They still hadn’t said everything in it out loud. But that didn’t matter.

Being with each other felt as natural as breathing.

They still argued sometimes, usually about stupid things like whether or not Hoseok could drive in town without “accidentally killing them both,” or about Yoongi’s refusal to buy a proper umbrella. But it never lasted. They always ended up laughing, always ended up apologizing by way of brushing fingers, or resting their heads in each other’s laps, or passing notes when they were too tired to talk.

It was easy now.

Not perfect. But theirs.

The hills rolled out around them, low and gold beneath the early evening sky. The pasture stretched far in every direction, dipping in places where the grass grew longer, rising again where the fence lines climbed into view. The air smelled like earth, warm and dry and faintly sweet, like sunbaked wood and the last of the dust kicked up by their boots.

Hoseok kept his hands tucked in his jacket pockets, eyes drifting over the fence posts, the barn in the far distance, the endless, open sky above them.

He took a deep breath.

And then, quietly,

“I’m really gonna miss this, you know.”

Yoongi looked over at him, but didn’t say anything right away.

Hoseok kept walking, eyes still forward. “The land. The horses. The sky. All of it.”

He paused for a second, then added with a small smile, “Even the way it smells out here.”

His voice wasn’t sad, just thoughtful. Soft, like the weight of it hadn’t quite landed yet, or like he was still pretending it wouldn’t.

Yoongi’s gaze didn’t shift. He kept his eyes on Hoseok, steady even as they walked.

“It’s gonna miss you too,” he said.

The words came out low, but he meant them. Hoseok could hear it in his voice. There was no teasing there, no humor tucked between the syllables. Just the truth.

Hoseok’s smile tilted, soft and crooked, eyes falling back on the land in front of them.

“I’m so happy I came here,” he said after a second. “I mean it.”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away.

Just kept walking beside him, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly like he was thinking about something deeper.

“You had to,” he said finally.

Hoseok turned toward him, brow furrowed faintly. “What?”

Yoongi stopped walking.

Not suddenly, but in that deliberate way he always moved when he needed a moment to hold still. Hoseok took a few steps more before realizing, then turned to face him, half lit by the sinking sun.

“We were bound to meet, Seok-ah,” Yoongi said.

His voice was soft, but sure.

“It was fate that brought you here.”

And the way he looked at him then, eyes full, mouth steady, body so still in the middle of the wide open land, it made Hoseok feel like the sky could split in half and he’d still be held.

Hoseok stood there for a moment, blinking once like he wasn’t sure he’d heard him right, or maybe just like he was trying to make the moment last longer in his chest.

Then he smiled.

Not big. Not showy. Just this soft, honest thing that lifted slow at the corners of his mouth, eyes flicking down for a second before meeting Yoongi’s again.

Because he believed him.

Because part of him had always believed it.

And now it was just finally being said out loud.

Yoongi stepped in slowly, like he didn’t want to rush it, not this one, not the last kiss before everything changed again. 

He reached up, cupping Hoseok’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing gently against warm skin. Hoseok leaned into it without hesitation, mouth already parting, eyes fluttering closed. And when their lips met, it wasn’t the beginning of anything. It wasn’t frantic or new. It was just right. Certain. Like the world had already made room for it long before they’d arrived. 

They kissed there in the middle of the pasture, boots buried in the soft grass, the sky stretched wide above them, and the baby watching from just a few paces back. 

And surrounded by all that green, bathed in the heat of the late Texas sun, under the stretch of clouds that hadn’t moved in hours, Yoongi knew with something bone deep and unshakable that he had always been meant for Hoseok. And Hoseok had always been meant for him.

And if this land had always been waiting for Hoseok, then maybe Yoongi had been too.