4th March 2017

 

It was 5:28pm. Yoongi had woken up from his nap, delighted to be met with the scent of Seokjin’s cooking. The bed across the room was already empty and made, confirming his gleeful suspicions.

 

With slowed movements, he stretched out his arms and legs, his back arched deliciously. He relaxed with a sigh, staring at the ceiling for a while longer before shoving the blanket to the side. The cold nipped at his skin and he hurried to sit up, shaking off tangled earphones before reaching for a hooded jumper hanging on the bedpost. As soon as it was slipped on, Yoongi huddled into himself, rubbing his hands on his arms and waited the few seconds for warmth to take hold. It was then he noticed how loose it felt and, as he stood up, a little longer than how he usually preferred. He didn’t mind as much; they were a group of seven sharing living space and, sometimes, clothes travel. It was thick enough to keep him warm and that was all that should matter.

 

But, he had also picked up on the small, inconspicuous rips on the hem and the sides, sewn back together with a simple stitch. He knew for sure this was Hoseok’s. The only person who insists on keeping damaged clothing that can be salvaged with a quick, DIY fix. He remembered the dancer had worn it a couple of nights back, when they had crashed in his bed after an arduous dance practice. It must not have made it back to the other's room. Or, in fact, the laundry.

 

Yoongi grimaced, the thought of all that sweat stewing on the very fabric wrapped around him. He tugged at the collar and walked to the drawers. Instead of pulling it off, however, he sniffed at it, as discreet as he could.

 

Eh. It’s already on. Of course, he wouldn’t want to be cold again, and - he reasoned - he needed a shower anyway. This was acceptable. He needed a beanie, too, and he rummaged through the drawers for that one. No, not the blue, not the grey. Black would fit much better and hide his messy bed hair. That one.

 

Yoongi strode out of his room, a contented smile threatening to break out but he schooled his expressions to look nonchalant. Now, his feet padded across floor and took him to the left, the opposite direction of the kitchen. Just as he wondered if Hoseok had eaten, a strained sound emerged from inside the dancer’s room - almost a whimper. It stopped him in his tracks, taking a peek through the crack of the door left ajar. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered how wrong this must have looked like but that was overridden by the curiosity; the risk of walking in on something he shouldn’t have.

 

From the deep and low laugh, he could tell it was Taehyung. The mischievous grin on his features meant he was up to no good. But, Yoongi’s mouth soured as he saw Hoseok in a writhing mess; shirt rising up to put his skin on display, limbs spread out and looking like a pretty picture. Or it would have been, if not for the hands that travelled freely on his body. Shameless. Guiltless.

 

It doesn’t bother him, he thinks. It shouldn’t bother him. Kim Taehyung is quite the free spirit, more or less. There's not really any barriers that could stop him from stepping over boundaries, Yoongi is quite certain that word isn’t even part of the younger’s vocabulary. He’s learned that himself; no matter how thick the ice wall, Taehyung passes through as if it was never there. So, it does not bother him, he tells himself.

 

It would, maybe, bother Jimin. Or, Jungkook - he’s not really sure, but he guesses one of the two is bound to be irked. It was the sounds Hoseok made that he really thought would have someone bothered. High pitched squeals and infectious laughter, filling Yoongi’s ears and asking for a smile in return. Instead, his scowl deepened.

 

Playing was not out of the norm in this household, they were closer than family. But, if someone else had been where he was, what would they think of it? What if Jimin walked in - because it was his room, too - what would he think of this? Yoongi was only worried for Jimin, you see. Ignoring the fact that he knew the boy would probably join in as well, Jimin could very much be just as disgusted by the sickening display of affection as Yoongi is at that moment.

 

There was the possibility that he may be thinking too much into it but that thought was fleeting, passes as soon as Hoseok’s laughs died down. Yoongi craned his neck to see movements, bodies shuffling closer together and voices lowering into hushed whispers. Taehyung’s laid his head atop Hoseok’s shoulders and it looked every inch a domestic scene. Yoongi thought he might have tasted bile in the back of his throat.

 

That does look comfortable. If I was there inste-

 

He stood upright all of a sudden. Confused at his own train of thought, he looked down at his hands clutching onto the sleeves of the jacket and seemed to have realised where he was. He does not let his conscience catch up to realise what he had been doing and pivoted on his heel, speed-walking to the kitchen in an internal fluster. His face was the mix of bewilderment and just plain mad. Mad at what? he wondered, it’s not your place to be mad.

 

“Oh, you’re up.”

 

Yoongi startles for a fraction of a second, feared that his previous activity has been outed, until the warmth of cooked spices caressed his face. Behind the countertop island was Seokjin, chopping vegetables on the board with almost frightening precision as he greeted with a smile. Clocking the other’s expression, he attempted to question with a frown, but, it was already gone, scrunched into a ball and thrown away, leaving behind an impassive look towards the pot on the stove.

 

“Don’t worry, no more help is needed,” with a flurry of his hands, the remaining ingredients were poured into the pot. Seokjin beamed at him over his shoulder as he stirred, probably putting down Yoongi’s odd behaviour to woken-up crankiness. “This will be done in a few. We’ll call the others in ten minutes, yeah?”

 

Yoongi huffs in reply, leaning his forearms on the counter and letting his eyes rest on Seokjin’s broad shoulders. After leaving a lid on the pot, the older man started clearing the kitchen of used tools, bits and pieces, here and there. All Yoongi could do was watch, his mind wandering a little too far. Seokjin asked him questions, small talk as he cleaned systematically. How did he sleep? Was he tired from practice this morning? But he answered only in minimal words. Any particular reason as to why he was wearing Hobi’s jacket?

 

“What?”

 

Seokjin was wiping the counter now, levelling his gaze on Yoongi’s own perplexed look, “I don’t think that’s been washed.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled under his breath, but cleared his throat when Seokjin responded with a quirk of his eyebrows, something of a tease playing on his lips. “Just the first thing I could reach.”

 

He reached for a piece of lettuce that missed Seokjin’s reach, fiddling with it in his hands and trying very hard not to meet the other’s stare. The way it fell limp in his fingers and crumpled onto the surface pathetically reminded Yoongi of his current feeling.

 

“Mhm. Isn’t that his beanie, too?”

 

“Didn’t notice,” his hand reached up to touch it, as if wanting reassurance that it was still there, and that prompted a hearty laugh from the older man; the kind that sounded remotely of window wipers. Yoongi just blinked back, unsure of how to move this situation along. There really was no reason behind his outfit choices today, nothing more to the fact that it was accessible. Anyway, he promised Hoseok that he would throw this in the wash for him, might as well use it once before it goes through; didn’t smell too badly, yet. And this beanie, well, there were a lot of black beanies lying around the dorm, it could be anyone’s really.

 

“Alright, I don’t need an elongated explanation,” Seokjin let the last of his giggles dissipate as Yoongi clamped his mouth shut. The urge to defend himself was still lingering but he thought it would just make the mockery in Seokjin’s voice worse. Muttering a ‘whatever’ and shrugging on the facade that he could care less, he headed for the cupboards and reached for plates, setting them on the table before the older man could ask him to.

 

With a smile of approval, Seokjin followed his lead, utensils clattering in the drawer and into his hand as he sets them down beside the plates, “Are you excited?”

 

Yoongi is carefully sliding down the last two dishes when he finally meets the other’s eyes, anticipating his answer, “For what?”

 

“Your birthday, silly,” Seokjin almost rolls his eyes but does not bother. He gestures for the other to sit himself down before heading to the fridge where small containers of side dishes greet him. With one hand, he stacked them against his chest and passed it to Yoongi, who places them down obediently. “Already talked it out with the rest, we're taking you to dinner the night before.”

 

They start opening the containers and placing them in small bowls, laying out the table in what feels like simple routine. Yoongi only grunts in confirmation and focuses on the task at hand, the silence between them settling in comfort between the clinks and clangs of metal on plate, “Just not too late, I have to get the train to Daegu in the morning.”

 

Truth be told, he was quite excited. So much has happened in the past year that he had almost forgotten the fact that he's growing up. He could only be thankful for Namjoon and the rest of s for pleading his case that their tour begin after Yoongi’s birthday. As much as he loved the stage, he doesn’t think he could give up time with his family on special occasions. Then, he recalled with a saddened heart, the one other member who had done just that.

 

The whole month had been packed tight with promotions and the time in between was spent practising. Yoongi ponders that ever since debut, Hoseok had spent his birthday not with his family but with a new one. It was a little bittersweet, he thinks, and there would not be any other time for Hoseok to meet with his family until after their tour. He frowned at that thought, nose scrunching up and eyes narrowing because of how stubborn the dancer could be; refusing to compromise schedules even though he deserved it the most. It was difficult to see Hoseok work himself so hard and still have the strength to plaster on a smile when he video calls his parents or his sister. Sometimes, when he sees Hoseok’s exhaustion hidden in his cheerful eyes, Yoongi steps in and talked for him. He always promised that Hoseok was being taken care of, that he’s doing well and that Yoongi can call them, too, if he ever needed anything.

 

It was just like them to be so warm and welcoming and Yoongi is sure it was probably hereditary. He’d  come to view them as family, too, and he thinks he can just about remember his sister’s phone number. Absentmindedly, his fingers started picking on a loose thread on the jacket’s paw, mind ticking with something too small to be referred to as an idea. But, the action of untangling that knot stopped in its tracks when he felt something smooth and cold upon his lips.

 

He looked down to see a slice of pickled radish seated on a pair of chopsticks. His mouth opened, the offer accepted, and felt the soft crunch in his jaws as he chewed. It was then he realised that Seokjin had been speaking to him. Yoongi picked up his own pair and reached for a piece of zucchini, feeding the older man as both a thank you and an apology before giving him a queried look to repeat what he had said.

 

“Why don’t you take someone with you?” Seokjin did not seem to mind, continuing to pick at the food. He had always been wary when it came to members travelling alone, stuck to his phone and adamant on checking in every hour just to make sure they are safe and sound. This particular conversation had occurred thrice between them already.

 

“Who?” Yoongi knew that they are all busy and tired and he does not want to be an inconvenience. But, that small knot in his mind began to unravel again and as he was fed a piece of cucumber, he knew what would come out of Seokjin’s mouth.

 

“Hobi.” Of course Seokjin glowed with pride at his own suggestion, placing his chopsticks down to stack the empty containers back on his hand and off to the sink, a slight spring in his steps. From where he sat, Yoongi could hear the tap hissing behind him and Seokjin’s singsong voice, “He’s a good man to bring home.”

 

A roll of the eyes was what Yoongi replied with, taking a glance in the direction of Hoseok's room. He chewed on his food carefully, seemingly in thought, “Why do you keep forcing him on me?”

 

“You don’t usually reject it when I do.” That was factually correct. Their conversations always diverged towards the topic of Jung Hoseok, someway somehow. It was a tease at first, Seokjin zoning in on the only thing that made Yoongi's cheeks flushed. But, one unfortunate side effect of sharing a room with Kim Seokjin was the comfort of a psychiatrist. Sometimes, Yoongi found himself slipping up on the attempt at not-feeling and though he tried to play it off, his roommate is smart enough to connect the dots.

 

Yoongi heaved a sigh; deep, slow and long-suffering.

 

“What’s got you in a rut?”

 

Silence was his safety blanket and Yoongi always retreated back into it. Seokjin knew better, allowing it to drag long and thin as he rinsed the dishes and waited. He thinks to himself that he should invest in a chaise lounge, one of those therapy couches because Yoongi finally utters something low under his breath, “He’s probably too busy with Taehyung to care.”

 

It was confusion at first, and Seokjin snorted just from the utter ludicrous statement. “Huh?” The washing up done and the tap turned off, he risked a glance at Yoongi, burning a hole through the wall and refused to meet his eyes.“Min Yoongi, are you…?”

 

“Am I what?”

 

An angry gurgle directed their attention towards the stove, the pot lid shaking and tiny droplets of water spilling out onto the hob with a fizzle. Seokjin hurried towards it, a dish towel for makeshift gloves as he lifted the lid. “Never mind. Go call the others.”

 

The unsettling conversation forgotten, Yoongi did not need to be told twice. He pushed his chair back, trudged towards the nearest bedroom door and kicked with the heel of his foot as a way of knocking. It was effective enough and a moment later, the door clicked open. Out came three slouched figures, eyes glued to the phone in their hands. They walked towards the kitchen in one single file and Yoongi thinks it’s an eery parody of a hivemind but doesn’t complain. Three down, two to go.

 

He doesn’t really want to make the journey towards the other room where he knew they would be and called out first. One curt shout of “Food!” in their direction and then, waited. Another and then, waited. Yoongi clicked his tongue, his already sour mood clearing way to annoyance. A part of him wants to feel bad, because there isn’t even anything to be mad about. Just two friends lying on the floor, snug and comfy in each other’s company.

 

Yoongi shouts again. He heard Seokjin’s voice in the background shouting orders which probably goes unnoticed and Yoongi has drowned it out, too. Hands s into his pockets and eyes focused ahead as he made his way towards the door he peeked into just minutes ago. There, on the slight crack of the door, he sees the bothersome sight once again (Hoseok’s head now cushioned on Taehyung’s lap, fingers playing with his soft hair) but, he does not allow his eyes to linger and he does not let himself get mad. Because you don’t have a right to be, Yoongi.

 

In theory, he’s calm and level headed. But, the execution in practice is never how he theorised it would be. The door opens wide for him when he shoved it with a foot with a little too much force, a loud bang when the knob hit the wall. He sees both Hoseok and Taehyung startle, the older of the two jumping up and almost immediately looked guilty. Taehyung, on the other hand, settled into a look of examination, eyeballing him from head to toe. Then, promptly bursting into winded laughter.

 

Disturbed, Yoongi pulled on a scowl. He felt the words trickle out before he could stop them, sounding much harsher than he meant to. “We’ve been calling for five minutes.”

 

“Sorry, didn’t hear,” the meekness in Hoseok’s voice shot a pang of guilt into him. But, it got them up and off the floor so Yoongi kept his silence. He turned and began the walk back to the kitchen, ears honed in on the footsteps behind him. He waited for something else, anything more - looked down at his chest and glanced behind him. Hoseok followed with his head down and he almost cringed. But, Taehyung’s eyes were on him again, his hand covering his mouth attempting to muffle giggles. It only riled him up more and he’s forgetting how to calm the fire before he spoke again.

 

“Jin’s pissed, the food’s cold and you two were just canoodling on the dusty floor.” His voice carried over and above the noises of clutter in the kitchen. Yoongi ignored the daggers shooting out of Seokin’s eyes and sat himself down, pulling out the chair beside him absentmindedly. His skin prickled, feeling both Seokjin and Taehyung’s gaze on him but he couldn’t care less as Hoseok settled on said chair.

 

Yoongi does not hear much else after that because he’s back to waiting. The food is served, Seokjin is mouthing him a question and his empty plate begs for attention. He grinds his teeth when Taehyung laughs but Yoongi waits.

 

It was Hoseok’s turn to get his servings, food stacking up on his plate and his smile already animated. Yoongi found the corner of his own lips tugging upwards and he does not bother to pull them back down when Hoseok turns to him, the tip of his tongue asking if Yoongi needed help with getting food. But Hoseok stopped and stared at his chest, and Yoongi is almost giddy. Almost.

“Oh, hyung…?” Yoongi straightened his back, mood restored back into that of silent comfort. His earlier actions seemed so silly now, because Hoseok’s eyes are smiling at him and asking wordlessly, Is that mine?