Chapter Text
Hoseok thinks the city looks lonely this year. He looks out from the window of his Brooklyn loft, watches the wind blowing through the trees while nursing a cup of coffee. The leaves are a vibrant green--his favorite color--and the flowers are in bloom, the seasons hinging on spring in full swing, and yet something feels off. It’s the day before his 30th birthday and everything in his life is going well: the dance studio, the recent fashion and merch line that he’s set up with some of his friends, the apartment he’d moved into just a few months ago which had great things like built-in heating and recessed lighting. But something isn’t sitting right and he can’t place what it is, exactly: he didn’t really have a quarter life crisis, had glided through his twenties like it was a stage and he knew all the steps. Maybe it’s all just catching up, he thinks.
His phone vibrates and he checks it in the periphery, more skimming than reading. He sighs with relief when he sees that it’s Seokjin asking him if he wants to have dinner and maybe some drinks. Hoehoehoeseokie. Dindin and drinks?
Drinks--yes, that’s exactly what he is up for, he decides, and texts: Ok, see u. 7:30? Where?
They meet up at a rather upscale Italian restaurant, Seokjin looking great as usual--dressed in a light gray dinner jacket, navy slacks, and a polo shirt that brings out the amber tone of his brown eyes. Hoseok is glad that he dressed up instead of giving into his initial impulse which was to come in the outfit he’d worn to dance practice that day. Instead he’d decided on an emerald green cashmere turtleneck, dark pencil-cut pants, loafers, and a long coat that he thought was very reminiscent of John Cusack in Say Anything.
Seokjin orders them salad, pasta and a bottle of rosé to share.
“So. What’s up? Why the sudden invite?”
“What else?” Seokjin shrugs, taking a sip of wine. “I was bored. You know what they don’t tell you about the film industry?”
“What?”
“That if you’re not Brad Pitt or whatever, once the movie actually starts shooting, you’re basically just a suit.”
“Ah, but you always say that. I’ve measured it exactly. It’s pretty much every six months that you tell me you’re bored and then threaten me with wanting to go back to Korea.”
“I didn’t say I want to go back to Korea! Ah, you’re putting words in my mouth again. I just said I was bored so I decided to have dinner with my weird friend who accuses his friends of having mini-existential crises when they clearly have nothing of the sort.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes “Whatever you say. Well. The timing’s perfect because it’s my birthday tomorrow.”
Seokjin grins. “How old again? Seriously, after I turned twenty-five I just stopped counting.”
Hoseok smirks. “Thirty.”
Seokjin sighs pretend-exasperatedly. “ Okay, jeez. I’ll buy you dinner.”
Hoseok smiles. “You know what I want for my birthday?”
“What?” Seokjin cocks an eyebrow.
Hoseok grins. “I want to get good old Big Apple wasted.”
“You mean pink cosmos in Manhattan?”
“I mean shots off each other at a bar and then maybe a bottle of cheap wine by the East river.”
Seokjin laughs, shakes his head a little. “I don’t really feel like sleeping with you tonight.”
Hoseok’s lopsided grin gets wider, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What makes you think I want to sleep with you ?”
Seokjin shrugs. “Sooner or later, everyone wants to.”
Hoseok thinks about when they’d first met. Seokjin had gone scouting for choreographers for a film his studio was handling and had been pointed Hoseok’s way by one of their executives who followed his choreography practice videos on YouTube. They’d met over lunch, talked logistics through the afternoon, and then fucked long and hard on the boardroom table until the bevelling marked perfectly on Hoseok’s back. Hoseok filed it under “fucks gone right”: he looks at Seokjin now, the warm light bouncing off of the pink wine in his glass, illuminating the curve of his lips.
I must truly be numb, he thinks. Under the attraction (Seokjin was right about everyone--boys, girls--wanting a piece of him), Hoseok feels nothing but the warmth of familiarity. The thing with Seokjin was that they were so alike. They’d given it a good go for two months or so but they couldn’t stop fucking other people--and yet, they also couldn’t keep away, couldn’t stop telling one another about the other people they’d fucked or how their day went or how they were feeling. They weren’t so much jealous as they were at ease in one another’s company.
So one night, instead of fighting over who was worse at being in a relationship, Hoseok had admitted defeat and come over with a bottle of cheap wine. They’d sat on the kitchen of Seokjin’s floor drinking and eating a block of cheese between them until the sun came up. They’d decided to stay friends. Best friends, these days, Hoseok thinks, feeling a strange pang in his chest.
“Why the sigh, birthday boy?”
Hoseok shakes his head. “Just the blues, I guess. I don’t know. I haven’t gotten homesick much since I’ve been here but these days have been weird.”
Seokjin pauses before putting his wine glass down, purses his lips. “Wait. Do you actually want me to bone you tonight?”
Hoseok laughs. “Put enough drinks in me and maybe.”
They find themselves at a bar hosting 80s night, all pink fluff and Molly Ringwald paraphernalia, Debbie Gibson blasting from the speakers. I get lost, in your eyes. And I feel my spirits riiiiiiiise.
Hoseok does the tequila shot off of Seokjin’s chest, licks the salt off of his perfumed skin, sucking hard before taking the lemon slice between his teeth and then slamming the empty shot glass down on the counter. They both burst into maniacal laughter as a small bruise blooms on Seokjin’s chest, in the perfect shape of Hoseok’s mouth. Hoseok has left a couple, now forming a smiley face-shape from clavicle to clavicle. Hoseok himself has a couple of hickeys on his neck now too. Seokjin has bad eyesight so he’d been aiming for a dog-shape but instead it just looks like a bunch of random blobs vaguely resembling an open mouth.
Seokjin pounds on the bar.
“Another round, please.”
The bartender shakes his head but takes the bottle of Tequila off the shelf, pours them another round.
Seokjin is laughing, pointing at Hoseok’s neck. “One of them kind of looks like Lumpy Space Princess. All your students are going to see that tomorrow.”
“Hah. Don’t flatter yourself. LSP is shapely, at least. And come on . What kind of self-respecting birthday drunkard do you think I am? I took the day off tomorrow.”
Seokjin laughs again as the shots arrive. “Seriously, though.” He picks up a shotglass, glances at the clock behind Hoseok. The clock strikes twelve. “Happy birthday, Hobihobi.”
Hoseok smiles, picks up the other shot and clinks their glasses together. “To great friends and more adventures.”
“Cheers."
They stumble into Hoseok’s apartment at around half-past three in the morning. Seokjin leans against him, drunk and laughing about something neither of them can remember.
“Sorry, Hobihobi. I don’t think I can do anything more tonight--let alone fuck. Maybe I can hold you or whatever.”
Hoseok laughs, releasing Seokjin and letting him collapse onto the couch. Hoseok is not quite drunk but is very, very tipsy, his coordination out of whack. “It’s okay. I’m tired too. We had fun.”
“ Are having fun.” Seokjin slaps him on the arm. “My god, keep up! The night is young!”
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Do you ever think about settling down? Finding love that kinda thing?”
Seokjin leans his head up against the sofa’s armrest, attempting to sit up and only half-succeeding. “Ohh, you’re getting all sentimental on me--”
Hoseok laughs. “Nahhh.”
“Hah. You look at your feet when you lie.”
“I don’t know. It’s weird. My mentality has always been career first, don’t settle down , don’t settle for less--but now what ? There’s all this--” he gestures to the apartment. --”And no one to share it with.”
Seokjin shrugs. “Is it really so bad?” His face grows serious, smile slowly fading. “I think it’s only torture if there’s someone who you want to share it with you and that person isn’t there.”
Hoseok contemplates this and his mind settles on what’s been bothering him. “Hrmm. Did I ever tell you about Yoongi?”
“The hairdresser from Queens?
“What no. My Yoongi. Min Yoongi. My best friend from back home?”
“Refresh my memory.”
“He was literally the boy next door; dorm room next to mine in college. We’re both from outside Seoul and will you believe he didn’t bring any towels with him when he moved? Three in the morning, came knocking at my door. This kid with super brassy, obviously DIY dyed-hair and circles under his eyes like all he did was play video games--which was true, turned out. We were the only two kids on our whole floor who didn’t go home Christmas and summer breaks because our families--well, they are the way they are. You know how it goes.”
Seokjin looks at him contemplatively. “I was home-schooled for seventeen years and then went to boarding school with snobby kids I hated so I don’t really know anything. Tell me.”
“That first summer we started sleeping in each others’ rooms to save up on electricity for the AC. I woke up one day and he was so, so beautiful, this strange kid sleeping on my floor with the blankets off, the pillows nowhere near his head. Usually, he was just fucking bratty and hot-headed but also so sweet and vulnerable--kind of like you, come to think of it. So I kissed him and he kissed me back and that was it. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Not the way you and I couldn’t--we weren’t just doing each other everywhere--I just mean in general: we held hands while watching TV and kind of leaned on each other while playing video games, made pinkie promises. Two straws in a milkshake, that kind of thing.”
“And how did it fall apart?”
“Well, you know me.”
“Allergic to commitment?”
“Throat-closing, can’t-fucking-breathe allergic. I broke up with him. He cried, asked if we could still be friends because I was his only friend, his best friend. From anyone else--well, except you, come to think of it--I’d be like I can’t be friends with someone I constantly wanna bone but he was right. So I said of course. And we were inseparable. We’ve been through everything together, pretty much. When I broke my engagement off with Taehyung--remember him?--to move here, it was Yoongi that picked my things up at our apartment. When his parents were having mortgage problems, I helped him raise funds for them. That winter, just after I made what could be the biggest mistake of my life, we went ice-skating and this guy who acts like butter-won’t-melt all the time pulls a mistletoe from his pocket and chases me around the rink. When we end up laughing on the ice, our butts sore from the fall, he gives it to me and says, hey, how about if we’re both thirty and still unmarried, we just end the fuck up together ?”
“Jesus.” Seokjin is sitting up now. He looks at his watch. “Well. Is he with anyone?”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of months. He’s a music writer so he follows bands around all over the place so there hasn't been time or the ideal situation for him to really be with anyone serious. Last we talked was in August, I think? He was in Japan covering a festival. He didn’t mention anyone but a lot can happen in a few months.”
Seokjin nods. “Goodluck.”
“Thanks.” Hoseok reaches down to run a hand through Seokjin’s hair. “ Thanks for taking me out too.”
Seokjin waves him off. “I’m the one who asked remember?”
“It’s late. You have work tomorrow. You should probably g--”
He is interrupted by his phone ringing, a ringtone so specific he can’t mistake it for anything else because going PICK ME PICK ME PICK ME UP PICK ME PICK ME PICK ME UP at the loudest volume setting.
Seokjin leaps to his feet, covers his ears. “JESUS CHRIST DO WHAT THE PHONE SAYS AND PICK IT UP"
Hoseok presses the green buttons, braces himself to hear a familiar voice.