Your hand in mine

They're backstage waiting for their turn to perform. The night is almost over and they feel thrilled after winning yet another award and wanting to repay their fans for such amazing support. 

Yoongi is sitting at one of the plastic chairs pushed against the wall of the dressing room, away from where s are talking loudly and animatedly to each other, immersed in the buzzing and jittery feeling only year-end shows can provide. 

He sits with his head low, arms extended in front of him, hands resting on his knees. 

His palms are turned upwards, fingers relaxed, and he takes his time to map out all of the fine lines running across his skin, the veins in his wrists, his carefully done nails, like a cat getting distracted by looking at itself in a mirror for the first time. 

From the comer of his eyes he sees Jungkook approaching him and taking a seat next to his, finally tired of the ruckus the other members are creating not too far from them. He doesn't acknowledge the younger's presence, knows Jungkook won't mind, knows Jungkook is well aware he likes his moments of silence (knows they're similar in that aspect too). 

Jungkook rests his head against the wall, eyes closed. He turns slightly to the side, opens one eye and silently observes Yoongi. 

He inhales, has both eyes opened now, and his gaze is intently focused on Yoongi's palms. 

The elder remains oblivious to his companion, back at entertaining himself by playing with his own fingers, and he misses when Jungkook reaches out, takes one of his hands in his and lets them rest on top of Yoongi's thigh. 

The extra weight has Yoongi staring back at him, mouth slightly open in question. 

Jungkook smiles, small and fond, nose scrunching, and Yoongi does the same, intertwines their fingers and squeezes.