here’s the thing.

yoongi knows.

he’s known since way back, when he would sneak out in the middle of the night, namjoon only ever a couple of steps behind him. he's known since before jungkook and jimin and taehyung joined, since before jin switched from acting to singing when it was just him, namjoon and hoseok. he’d feel it lodged in his throat as  their debut date drew closer and closer and he spent more and more time locked up in the studio. he stopped smoking, couldn't inhale anything past namjoon, caught behind his lungs, in his beats, in his bed and god—

so, yes. yoongi knows. he’d known then and he knows now and he doesn't regret it.

he doesn't.

***

“hyung?”

yoongi sighs, pushes himself off the wall he'd been leaning on. “thought i told you not to call me that.”

namjoon looks like he's been slapped and yoongi almost, almost takes it back. instead he steels himself and fixes namjoon with a glare. “i’m not rapping at nirvana anymore. so stop annoying the out of ikje.”

namjoon gapes at him and yoongi sighs. “that's all i came to say.” he hesitates, then adds. “good luck with your comeback.” then he turns and leaves before he can say something stupid like “ i miss you ”.

he doesn't regret it.

***

“,” yoongi groans, head hitting the back of the bathroom stall, tangling in blonde locks, dry from too much bleaching, “ god .”

he doesn't know the name of the guy at his feet, just that he has a pair of full, pouty lips and he's more than willing to help yoongi ride out his performance high. he feels lightheaded, like he's still drowning in the sheer ecstasy of the stage, of the music.

blondie does something with his tongue, nails digging into his hipbones and yoongi growls, dragging him up and crashing their lips together. he can taste vodka, tongue pushing past chapped lips and hands deftly slipping under rough denim. blondie groans and yoongi smirks, swallows the sound. this is good. he can work with this, he can—

“what the ?”

yoongi growls, nips on the other guy's lip and pulls away, fully intending to tell whoever it is to off — it isn't like what their doing is exactly unusual. it comes part and parcel with the underground.

the words die on his tongue as he turns around and yoongi can see the exactly moment namjoon registers exactly who he interrupted.

“hyung.”

completely he doesn't even bother telling namjoon off, guilt constricting his lungs, tight and irrational . he isn't namjoon’s, they aren't together. they aren't anything . yoongi made sure of that.

“why the are you here?”

hurt flashes across namjoon's face and yoongi curses, low, and pushes himself off the wall, crossing his hands over his chest. blondie looks between them, probably decides he'd rather not get tangled in what might be a fight, and leaves.

yoongi groans, zips himself up with some difficulty, walks past namjoon and turns the tap on full blast. he washes his hands, with soap, twice, splashes cold water over his face and turns back to namjoon. “well?”

his voice comes out sharper than he intended and namjoon flinches. yoongi sighs, drying his hands on the paper towel and throwing it into the wastebasket. “come on.”

he turns around and leaves without checking to see if namjoon is following. yoongi knows he will — he has a reputation to uphold now after all, and a public bathroom in the back of a hongdae club is far too risky and yoongi knows namjoon knows this.

so he walks. slips out through the back entrance and buys a plate of dubeokki from one of the nearby stalls. he walks until he gets to a small park, abandoned this late at night, and sits down on one of the benches.

namjoon sits down, shoulders not quite touching and looks anywhere that isn't yoongi.

“hyung, i—”

“what do you want from me joon?” yoongi sighs, cutting the younger off unapologetically. he's too tired, too exhausted and he's let this go on for far too long.

namjoon glances at him, and yoongi thinks he's going to try to apologise again, but instead he says, “who was the guy?”, voice tight with accusation.

yoongi shrugs, swallows down the “what's it to you?” and takes a bite of dubeokki. “no idea.”

“hyung,” namjoon starts, and from the inflection in the tone yoongi can sense the beginnings of a lecture.

“it doesn't matter,” yoongi interjects, quick and sharp.

“doesn't matter,” namjoon echoes, and his voice sounds hollow.

“it doesn't mean anything,” yoongi says, because it doesn't, none of them do.

something flashes through namjoon's eyes, too quick for yoongi to put a name to, then he's shifting closer, until their shoulders touch, turning around and pressing their foreheads together.

and yoongi lets him.

“this doesn't mean anything,” namjoon murmurs against yoongi's lips, face flushed and breathing heavy.

this doesn't mean anything , yoongi reminds himself, as he parts wind-chapped lips and grants namjoon access, just as he always has.

“i missed you,” namjoon sighs against yoongi’s throat, as though missing yoongi is now a thing of the past, as though he won't be missing yoongi anymore.

you're here and i still miss you, yoongi doesn't say.

instead, he tilts his head back and gives, doesn't resist because he never has, doesn't know if he even can.

it doesn't mean anything .