Yoongi likes cacti, so Jungkook gets him one. It sits on the windowsill of the only window in his tiny studio, resting in its little white ceramic pot as it soaks in sunlight and the music filtering from Yoongi’s noise-cancelling headphones. It’s usually quiet in the studio- Yoongi doesn’t let anyone come in when he’s working, with Jungkook being the obvious exception- so Yoongi can think and come up with better lyrics, organize his feelings in the comfort of his second home.

Which, let’s be completely brutally honest here, is a perfect name for the glorified broom closet Yoongi calls his studio. When Namjoon stands in the middle of it and spreads his arms to the side (on the rare occasions in which Namjoon is allowed inside), his hands easily touch both walls, brushing against posters of basketball players and self-taken polaroids showing Yoongi and Jungkook smiling at the camera, heads pressed together over a coffee shop table, in front of the ocean, lying on green grass together. The third wall is taken up by an old sofa that barely squeezed inside the tiny room and is used as a makeshift bed for when Yoongi’s eyes are burning like he just opened them underwater or when Jungkook swings by and stays the night as Yoongi works.

“Cacti are low-maintenance,” Jungkook says as he scrolls through his Twitter notifications, stretched over the sofa with his legs dangling over one of the armrests. “The woman at the shop told me to water it once a month and make sure it gets lots of sunlight, so keep your shutter open.”

Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, looking at the cactus from his perch in his worn-out computer chair. “I still think this is all a plot to make me get more vitamin D or whatever,” he warns, squinting at the bit of cloudy sky he can see from the tiny window. “Is that cactus supposed to be a metaphor of me or something? Because if it is and you’re implying that I’m small and prickly-”

“Oh my God, hyung-”

“Jungkook-”

“Yoongi-hyung-”

“Kookie-”

It takes less than a second for Jungkook to throw his phone down on the sofa, cross the room in just half a step, straddle Yoongi in his computer chair, and cup his cheeks to shut him up. “You’re not a cactus,” he tells the elder firmly, looking into his eyes and trying to keep a straight face on despite the fact that he’s crying exasperatedly on the inside. “You’re soft and tender and sweet like vanilla mochi.”

Yoongi’s face takes on an expression that can only be described as that of deep displeasure, but his hands slide up to curl around Jungkook’s wrists. “I don’t know which one is worse.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook breathes, and then he’s leaning down and Yoongi’s leaning up and their lips meet just when the first lightning flashes.

-—–

The storm goes on for a few days with no signs of stopping, but Yoongi’s never been happier. Storms mean staying inside and getting extra work done without having to go outside or have anyone come visit him, the sound of music and rain drops hammering against his window the only things Yoongi hears for a long time as he clicks away on his computer. He stays extra-safe, saving his works every half an hour in case there’s a power outage, and the smell of hot coffee keeps him company. He’s happy.

Then his phone rings, vibrating against the tabletop violently and making the entire piece of furniture shake slightly. Jungkookie, the caller ID flashes, along with a picture of Jungkook flashing a V sign and his signature bunny smile at his college graduation ceremony. Yoongi smiles as he presses the green phone button and presses the phone against his ear. He wouldn’t even consider picking up if it was someone else calling, but Jungkook is a special case. “Jungkookie?”

“Hyung!” Jungkook’s voice sounds cheerful through the phone, the honorific sounding warm and familiar in his mouth. “When was the last time you ate?”

Yoongi pauses. Thinks. Taps his fingers against his mousepad, the one Seokjin got him for Christmas three years ago and has since worn out immensely. “Not sure,” he says, guilt slipping into his voice. “How long ago was three AM?”

There’s disbelieving laughter on the other side of the line. “Open the door, hyung.”

“What?” Yoongi spins in his office chair so he’s facing the door, eyebrows pressed together in confusion. “The door? You didn’t-”

“Just open it,” Jungkook says, and his tone is so gleeful Yoongi finds himself springing from his chair and wrapping his fingers around the doorknob, yanking the door open forcefully to find a dowsed Jungkook smiling brightly at him.

“Surprise,” the younger says, holding up a plastic takeout bag, and Yoongi hangs up.

“You’re crazy,” he gasps as he moves aside to let Jungkook in, gaping after his boyfriend as he shuffles past him. “You’re insane, Jungkook, how could you come here- the storm-”

“I was worried about you,” is all Jungkook says as he sets the bag down, and his tone is so simple and final that Yoongi shuts up immediately, feelings of intense guilt and fondness and admiration bubbling up in his chest.

Yoongi isn’t good with expressing himself on the spot. Never was, and probably never will be. That’s why he writes- it’s so much easier to put your thoughts into rhymes and transfer them to paper, black on white and stored inside his many notebooks. So when he’s overwhelmed with emotions (and he often is with Jungkook) he turns to the easiest problems at hand.

“You’re soaked,” he mumbles, gesturing to the small puddle already formed at Jungkook’s feet, water dripping from his huge red coat onto the floor. Jungkook flushes and shifts his weight from one Timberland-clad foot to the other, always so eager to make himself as less bothersome as he can.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I can mop this up somehow, do you have any-”

He’s interrupted by an oversized hoodie hitting his face, effectively shutting him up for the time being. When he peels the offending piece of clothing from his face, he sees Yoongi digging into his backpack and whispering under his breath, pulling out different clothes and tossing them over his shoulder dismissively. “Hyung?” Jungkook asks, voice hesitant as he clutches the hoodie to his chest.

Yoongi turns to him, face slightly red as he tosses Jungkook a pair of sweatpants as well. “Here,” he says. “The pants probably won’t fit you too well, but they’re the biggest I have, so.”

It takes a moment for Jungkook to realize what that means, but then he blushes a bright red seen only in Saturday morning cartoons. “These- are your clothes?” he squeaks, looking at the black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands questioningly.

Yoongi mumbles something incoherent under his breath, cheeks flushed and his eyes not meeting Jungkook’s, and the younger easily decides that this is one of the best days of his life.

-—–

Or so he thought.

The sweatpants barely reach his ankles even when he lets them hang as low as morally possible, which makes him look like an odd mix between a teenage delinquent and an old man. Jungkook is embarrassed for exactly ten more seconds, because then he pulls on the hoodie and Yoongi’s scent engulfs him completely, a combination of old cologne and his mango shampoo. Jungkook balls his hands in the sleeves (the ends of which reach way beyond his fingertips- Yoongi loves gigantic sweatshirts) and raises one of them to his nose, breathing in secretly. Yoongi’s busy inhaling the ddeokboki he brought him- unsurprisingly, it turns out three AM was quite a long time ago- so Jungkook takes the liberty of closing his eyes and letting himself sink for a while, leaning back against the old sofa and breathing in Yoongi’s scent.

He wakes up to the loud noise of thunder outside, and when he opens his eyes the harsh light of the computer screen makes his eyes water until they get used to the brightness. It’s dark outside- he’s probably been asleep for a few hours- and Yoongi’s tapping away on his computer, noise-cancelling headphones on and his eyes darting across the screen. Jungkook sits up and the old blanket Yoongi sleeps with when he’s at the studio slides off his torso- Yoongi must’ve tucked him in at some point. The thought makes Jungkook’s chest warm and he stands up, putting his hand on the elder’s shoulder.

Yoongi doesn’t even jump in alarm, but he takes his headphones off and spins so he’s facing Jungkook, smiling at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jungkook answers softly, for lack of a better response. “What time is it?”

Yoongi takes a quick peek at his computer screen. “Two AM. You slept quite a lot, little bun.”

Jungkook blinks, then frowns. This will totally mess up his sleep schedule for the next few days, he can tell, but right now he just can’t bring himself to care, bending down to lace his fingers with Yoongi’s. “Come sleep with me,” he says, tone hopeful and eyes wide and bright. Yoongi stands no chance; he never did.

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, reaching behind him to turn off his computer screen before following Jungkook to the sofa. It takes a little shimmying and figuring out, but soon they settle down with Yoongi on top of Jungkook, head resting on his chest- their usual sleeping position. (“You’re warm,” Yoongi muttered the first time they slept this way. “I like that.”)

Jungkook laces his fingers together over Yoongi’s back, eyes wandering over the ceiling as Yoongi’s breathing began to slow down. Eventually they land on the cactus, standing in its white pot on the windowsill, the light of a lonely streetlight throwing one spiky side into sharp relief. It’s quiet; there’d the rain, an occasional thunder, and Yoongi’s breathing, and Jungkook is in peace.

“Poor cactus,” he says into the dark room. “All it needs is light, and now it can’t even get that.”

Yoongi’s head shifts on Jungkook’s chest, moving so his forehead is against the side of Jungkook’s neck. “It’s okay,” the elder mumbles, voice deep and half-asleep by the way he slurs slightly. “It gets all the light it needs because of you.”

Even as the words register in Jungkook’s mind, it still feels unreal. Yoongi doesn’t do this, doesn’t say cheesy and cliché things, ever. He cringes when people confess on TV and rarely tells Jungkook he loves him. Jungkook’s face is burning up and his heart is hammering in its ribcage, and the smile that stretches his lips is one of pure joy.

He kisses the top of Yoongi’s head and closes his eyes.

It’s cold and windy outside, but Yoongi and Jungkook have never been warmer.