Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Some would argue that the best thing about working for BigHit is constantly getting invited to events; concerts, shows, cabarets, big launch parties, personal house parties, award shows…all sorts of things. At least once a week emails circulate the office with another invite to an event, either extended to the company or to a few people in particular.

Yoongi would argue that it’s the worst part of his job. He doesn’t like going out to weird avant garde galleries and he doesn’t like weird parties with his co-workers, and he’s certainly not into when a local burlesque group uses music he produced and invites him to sit in the complimentary lap dance chair. Which is why he’s adamantly refusing the ticket his boss his shoving at him.

“No,” he says for the umpteenth time, “no way.”

“Come on,” Dawon says, clutching the ticket in her perfectly manicured fingers, braces flashing as she smiles. “Someone has to go represent the company and I know you never have plans.”

“I do too have plans.”

Dawon folds her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow. Her long hair is tied in a bun on the top of her head, and somehow it makes her look imposing coupled with her high waisted pencil skirt and corset-like top, even though she usually looks like a fairy with her petite frame.

“I love Holly but sitting on the couch with your dog does not count as plans,” she says firmly, and Yoongi deflates.

“Do I have a choice?”

She smiles and holds out the tickets, and he rolls his eyes up to the ceiling as he huffs but takes them.

“Wear something nice,” she says as she turns to walk back to her office. “Business casual. And you get one free drink.”

“Oh, great,” Yoongi mutters as he glances at the ticket.

Ferdinand: A Boylesque in Two Parts

“Um, Dawon,” he calls after her. “I think there’s a typo.”

She smirks at him from the doorway of her office. “Oh, no. You’re reading it correctly.”

“That’s not even a word!” he shouts as she closes the glass door. He stares down at the ticket again and groans. He had planned a nice evening; him and Holly, a long walk in the nearby doggie park that they both liked, an actual home cooked meal (a steak that had been marinating for over a day already), and a well-earned marathon of all the Harry Potter films - at least, as far as he could get. He hadn’t had a night for himself - actually for himself, not just coming home from work and going to sleep - in too long.

He packs his things, thinks of the marinating steak, thinks about how disappointed Holly is going to be in him for not sticking up for the break he’d been dreaming of for weeks. And for getting jipped from his walks. Again.

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“Alright guys, when I said ‘take a break’ I meant take a break,” Namjoon says drily from where he stands at the edge of the stage. Hoseok glances over at him, and when he takes his focus off of the freckle on the tip of Taehyung’s nose his balance goes.

“Shit,” he curses as he tumbles, Taehyung’s arms thankfully ready to catch him - one of the many reasons Hoseok loves to be partnered with him. What Taehyung lacks in balletic grace he makes up for in acrobatic strength and an affinity for staying in tune to his partner that Hoseok hasn’t found in anyone else. He imagines that Taehyung is probably amazing in bed - though that is something he’d never want to try finding out for himself. It’s hard enough having to be so intimate with each other on a nightly basis without the added stress of sex in the mix.

Taehyung helps Hoseok straighten, large hands gently resting on his biceps. That was another thing about Taehyung, he loved touch, loved to hold hands and hug and sometimes just rest his palms somewhere on someone else’s body. It had taken Hoseok some time to get used to, surprising because he generally knew no boundaries when it came to personal space, but after years of working together Taehyung’s hands on him hardly faze him at all.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks, puppy eyes wide and concerned, and Hoseok nods.

“Fine, fine.” He turns to Namjoon, hands on his hips and Taehyung’s adjusting their hold so that they instead rest on Hoseok’s shoulders. Namjoon raises an eyebrow, elbow perched on the edge of the stage and chin resting in his palm.

“Don’t bitch at me,” Namjoon says, though his lips are turned up in a soft smile. “You guys have been going at it for hours and we’ve rehearsed for over a month. I know it’s opening, but trust me, you’ve got this.”

“Exactly Joon, it’s opening.” Hoseok isn’t normally one to argue with his stage manager, he is by no means a diva, but this is also one of the most physically demanding shows he’s ever been in. “It’s opening and last night the timing on this was all fucked up-“

“And you think it’s gonna get better when you don’t eat and rehearse yourself to exhaustion before there’s even an audience?” Namjoon shakes his head when Hoseok opens his mouth. “Babe, you’re already shaking.”

Hoseok looks down, sees that his hands are indeed trembling, and now that he’s paying attention he can definitely feel the muscle jumping in his thigh. He grins sheepishly at Namjoon, who nods and accepts the smile for what it is: an apology for being a bit of a queen. He feels Taehyung’s arm snake around his waist, a comforting safe guard now that he is aware of how depleted he actually is.

“We’re gonna get dinner,” Taehyung announces.

“Good,” Namjoon says, climbing the stairs to the stage with a broom in hand. “Get off my stage so I can mop the damn thing.”

Hoseok and Taehyung both scurry off the stage. At one point early on in rehearsals the director asked Namjoon to postpone cleaning the stage after a run through so they could get more work done in notes, and instead Jimin slipped  while getting into his splits and seriously strained the muscles around his groin. Much of the show had been put on hold since Jimin could no longer perform about eighty percent of the routines, but it did mean that all of his less-demanding scenes as “El Matador” looked amazing.

“Hey,” Namjoon calls before they can fully leave the theatre. He smiles big enough to show his dimples. “Relax! Tonight is gonna go great.”

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“Tonight is gonna suck,” Yoongi grumbles to himself as he stands outside of what looks like a hole-in-the-wall dive bar. Not only had Holly given him the hurtful “I’m disappointed in you daddy” look as soon as he realized he was not going to the doggie park as promised, it had started raining as soon as Yoongi parked at the ‘venue.’ It isn’t a heavy rain, just misting really, but still - his hair is beginning to frizz and he hates feeling damp. He gets up to the door only to be stopped by a guy in skin tight leather pants and a fishnet top. His ice-grey hair is styled off of his forehead and his dimpled smile is disarmingly soft when compared to his outfit.

“ID please.”

Yoongi blinks. He’s practically thirty; he hasn’t been asked for an ID to enter an establishment in years. Maybe he looks a little young in his oversized black hoodie and ripped jeans, but he’s still offended.

“Seriously?” He says, and the door boy’s smile doesn’t even falter.

“Rules are rules.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m older than you, kid,” Yoongi grumbles as he digs in his back pocket for his wallet.

“Probably are,” the guy says as he takes Yoongi’s ID. “Old man.”

It takes Yoongi entirely too long to realize he’s been insulted, and at that point he can’t respond without looking like a ridiculous asshole. He tucks his ID back into his wallet and the guy nods toward the open door.

“The boys will help you find your seat,” he says even as he turns to the next person in line, just leaving Yoongi to stare into the dark abyss beyond the doorway.

“Um, how will I know what boys?”

The girl behind him is already passing over her ID; she’s wearing a pleated pink mini-skirt and a rhinestone encrusted bra, blonde hair done in loose curls. She looks at Yoongi and laughs.

“You’ll know,” the guy says without looking up from her ID. “Trust me.”

Yoongi resists scowling; instead he starts compiling a list in his head of all the things to complain about when he goes back to work in the morning - the weather, the rude boy at the front door, the overwhelming smell of incense inside, the way he’s just expected to know-

Oh.

A guy clad in only a gold thong, a chest harness, and a crown of antlers smiles at him, big and boxy. There’s a table behind him, or maybe it’s an altar, filled with candles and those seat card holders that Yoongi has only seen at dinner parties hosted by Dawon to make sure she has complete control over the seating arrangements. There are also bones, antlers, and scattered flowers, like they’re setting up for some voodoo vigil.

“Can I help you find your seat?”

The guy’s voice is impossibly deep; Yoongi doesn’t know why he’s so surprised considering how tall he is and how broad his chest is, but he still has to make an effort to swallow, and then has to remember how words work.

“Um…yeah? Thank you?”

The guy just smiles wider even though Yoongi sounds like a pathetic teenage boy. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

“Name?”

“Uh, Min. Yoongi? Yoongi Min. Min Yoongi.”

The guy chuckles softly as he pulls a card from one of the holders. “Ooh, you got a nice seat. Center, right in front of the stage.” The guy holds the card out and Yoongi is proud of himself for taking it without dropping it on the floor. “And you get a free drink.”

“Y-yeah. Uh. Thank you. D-do I just-?”

But the guy is already talking to the girl that was behind him, and Yoongi decides to just follow the other wandering people deeper into the fog-filled room. The narrow hallway eventually opens, and Yoongi sees a bar tucked away next to a modest stage, red curtain down and hanging lights glowing a deep amber. The floor is filled with high backed chairs and the occasional love seat. It’s cute, a bit sexy, and with the openness of the room the haze doesn’t bother Yoongi nearly as much. He’s jostled by someone passing by and he presses himself against the bar.

“Hey hot stuff,” a voice coos close to his ear, and he jumps. The guy behind him laughs softly, his eyes crinkling up into little crescent moons. He wears something that looks like half of a corset, it only covers his stomach with black brocade and lace, his firm pecs leaving nothing to the imagination. He also wears a crown of antlers.

“Um,  h-hi,” Yoongi stutters out, cheeks flushing. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly reducing to his thirteen year old self; it’s not like this is the first burlesque show he’s been to. But, it is his first boylesque show, and he suddenly feels so stupid for not putting the meaning of the name together sooner. The cute bartender laughs again, leans in a little closer, and Yoongi can see the smear of sparkle around his eyes, the hint of gloss on his full lips.

“What can I get you?” he asks, quickly darting his butt out and bumping another bartender, this one taller and all muscle despite his baby face. It must be a regular occurrence, because baby face bumps back and ignores the cute bartender when he gives an over-exaggerated moan. Yoongi takes the moment given to try to decipher the menu, but all he can make out is something with rose petals.

“I’ll have the one with the roses?”

Cute bartender raises his eyebrows and smiles wide. “A man of class,” he says brightly as he pours various liquids into a small glass, “we always love that.”

Yoongi shouldn’t be surprised when there are actual rose petals in his drink, but he is. He stares into the liquid.

“I can…eat these. Right?”

Baby face leans over cute bartender’s shoulder, and Yoongi tries to not think about how they are probably cock to ass behind the counter.

“Yeah, the flowers are edible,” he says, and Yoongi makes out big front teeth as he talks. Cute. He holds his glass up in a mock ‘cheers’ before he turns to look for his seat, which isn’t hard because the center seat at the front of the stage has no chair beside it on either side, like a throne. Yoongi feels his cheeks flush, and he’s glad for the red-tinted lighting to help protect his dignity. He weaves through the maze of chairs and plops down in his, the seat plush and velvety. His chest is right at stage height and he can feel the heat of the lights on his face. He tries to not think about how awkward he feels and takes a too-big sip of his drink, burning his throat and choking on a rose petal.

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“I would let him choke me any day,” Jimin swoons, watching the flustered short guy as he tries to cough surreptitiously into his sleeve even though it’s clear that the bite of gin caught him by surprise. Jeongguk follows his line of sight and snorts.

“Dude, he’s totally the one that wants to be choked.”

“Did you see his hands, though?”

Hoseok pops up in front of the bar, adjusting his own chest harness. “Who are we checking out?” he asks absently as he tries to tighten the buckles. Jimin automatically reaches over the bar, tiny fingers working the small clasps. “Thanks Chim.”

“Jimin is checking out the dude that got the center seat,” Jeongguk says drily, preparing an absinth drink for a woman who has been to every show since the “boylesque” conception. Hoseok peers over his shoulder, then snorts and looks back.

“Him? He looks like he’s sixteen. How did he get in?”

“You didn’t see his face,” Jimin says shortly, patting Hoseok’s chest and straightening up. “Trust me. Ten out of ten would fuck.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes with a fond smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“How’s the left side?” Jeongguk asks brightly, leaning over the bar and wiggling his butt in the air so that the heart-shaped cut-out is visible. Hoseok pouts and looks to the other side of the theatre where Seokjin is manning the other bar, wowing the giggling group of bachelorettes as he tosses cocktail shakers into the air and then pours with expert ease.

“Jinnie is showing me up,” Hoseok admits. “It was too depressing to stay.”

“Good thing we’re ready to get started,” Namjoon says, smoothly sliding beside Hoseok and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Taehyung is rounding up everyone to their seats, I’ll take over bar, and-“

“Y’all bitches can get into places,” Jimin and Jeongguk parrot before Namjoon gets a chance to speak. Namjoon smiles and nods.

“Exactly.” He pats Hoseok’s bare butt softly and winks. “Now scat.”

They obediently start to make their way backstage, Hoseok trying to catch a glimpse of Center Chair Guy as he goes past. The guy has half of his face covered by the oversized sleeve of his hoodie and Hoseok shakes his head. Jimin has weird taste sometimes.

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Yoongi doesn’t know if he can breathe. He feels like the gin in his drink has burned through his throat, has disintegrated his esophagus and is now working on eating through his stomach. His entire body feels like it’s burning up and he’s pretty sure that if he moves his hand from his mouth he can breathe fire. His eyes are even watering, and he’s got a weird taste in his mouth from the gin soaked rose petals. 

He honestly wants to go home. Hot guys aside, he’s already made an ass of himself, stuttered all over the place, and now can’t stop coughing because apparently he forgot how to drink. He doesn’t really care how hot the guys are anymore, he wants to cuddle his dog and eat some steak and watch Harry Potter until he gets the vision of perfect asses in lacy jockstraps out of his mind.

He’s about to stand up and do just that when the lights dim, and he’s stuck for a moment, trapped halfway between sitting and standing as the amber lights continue to go down. A guy that Yoongi didn’t notice from before walks out on stage, all long legs and impossibly broad shoulders. He is in heels, maybe all of them had been in heels and Yoongi just didn’t pay attention, and he wears cute black panties and a collar like the one Baby Face was wearing earlier. His lips are full, teeth perfect, hair delightfully tousled, and he holds up a large fan where the word “Ferdinand” is projected in big white letters. It’s a little cheesy, but Yoongi is left wondering how much attention he’s supposed to pay to the words on the fan when he’s got a straight view of a hot guy’s crotch. And when he realizes he’s staring, still hovering in his seat, he promptly sits down and covers his heating cheeks with his hands.

It doesn’t get any easier. The music shifts into a track that Yoongi is intimately familiar with, weird electronic sounds mixed with club bass and an occasional Latin flair. He watches, mouth open, as five guys dance and gyrate and contort against each other, making sinuous pictures with their bodies that Yoongi only just manages to figure out as the image dissolves into something else. It’s painfully erotic, all of them in some sort of ass-exposing black neglige coupled with harnesses, garters, collars, and masks. One wears gold, and Yoongi recognizes him as the guy who gave him his seat number despite the glittery gold mask complete with a huge bull nose ring covering his face. Yoongi can tell when the song starts winding down, and all he can think is ‘thank god’ over and over again because the final ‘dance’ seems to be all five men simulating an orgy until the final notes hit.

His eyes lock with one of the dancers, this one with thin garter belts lacing around his waist, ass-less underwear, and a chest harness that makes Yoongi’s mouth go dry. Or maybe it’s because his mouth is still dropped open. Fuck. Yoongi quickly snaps his mouth shut, and dancer with the honey skin and heart-shaped smile immediately smirks. Yoongi blushes even more.

He’s surprised when another song that he worked on filters in over the speakers; it’s like the burlesque troupe heard his music and decided to write a gymnastic porno to go along with it. Yoongi sits in the center chair and clutches the armrests as he tries to keep his mouth closed and hide the fact that he’s blushing so hard his entire body feels like it’s on fire. He feels overstimulated in a way that he hasn’t felt since…ever really. Maybe since he was actually sixteen and figured out just how nice it was to have his prostate massaged. And thinking about that just makes him blush even more.

He doesn’t know where to place his focus. On the guy in gold who can flip and walk on his hands, and somehow cartwheel but make it look sexual? On Baby Face and Broad Shoulders when they come out dressed in red, half tulle tutus sticking up behind them like fanned out peacock feathers, red ribbon tied around their chests shibari style? On who he thinks is Honey Skin, coming out in a black and gold corset and a bustle that looks like it’s made of thick wire so that it can be fashioned into a stinger, fencing mask painted gold over his face? He recognizes Flight of the Bumblebee hidden among the disco style of the music, and he grins as he watches Honey Skin pirouette and leap across the floor, being doted upon by the boys in red as he teases and entices en pointe.

Yoongi finally feels himself calming down; maybe it’s because there’s no one blatantly eye-fucking him during this dance - all the focus is rightfully on the Bumblebee, or maybe it’s because while provocative, it’s the least sexual dance he’s seen so far. It’s beautiful, elegant, and he finds himself breathless as he watches the Bumblebee dance around on the tiny stage. But then the music shifts, turns into something heady, something syrupy and rolling that Yoongi vaguely remembers working on at some point in the beginning of the year when he was sexually frustrated and had (embarrassingly) turned to Grindr. He watches as the boys in red, the Flowers he’s figured out, strip the Bumblebee until he is dressed in nothing but his sparkly gold and black thong.

Honey Skin locks eyes with him again and smirks wide as the two Flowers lock in a pole right in front of where Yoongi is sitting. Yoongi stares at the pole, feeling lost, until Honey Skin grips it and begins parading around it. Yoongi feels his face heat when Honey Skin launches himself into the air, spinning and contorting and gyrating against the pole. He feels like he’s twenty-one again and at his first strip club, overwhelmed and horny with no idea what to do with his hands, his mouth, his tongue. He knows his mouth is dropped open, but he can’t figure out how to get it closed again.

Honey Skin slowly slides down the pole, inverted so that he’s going face first, and he pauses when he is eye level with Yoongi. His eyes are dark, and this close Yoongi can see that Honey Skin has a freckle on his top lip. Maybe Honey Skin notices that he’s staring, maybe it’s part of the routine, but his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and then he blows a kiss, so close that Yoongi can practically feel it.

Yoongi’s entire face feels like it catches fire, his jeans get uncomfortably tight, and he realizes right then that if he stays any longer, he’s going to have the most problematic boner from watching this show, or at least from Honey Skin who slides the rest of the way down and then humps the stage as he gets onto his knees. Yoongi watches for half a second more before he does the reasonable thing; he stands abruptly, nods at Honey Skin, and hightails it out of the venue so fast he’s pretty sure he knocks knees with more than a few patrons.

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Hoseok has to remind himself to not let his mouth drop open as Center Chair bolts up and leaves. He’s never seen that before; in all of his years of performing never has he had someone leave during a show. Intermission, fine, but right in the middle of Hoseok dancing for them? Unheard of.

He’s actually quite offended, especially when the little shit nods at him before he leaves, like him leaving was a mutual agreement, but above all things Hoseok is a professional. He doesn’t let his expression falter; he focuses instead on some of the other patrons, and maybe it’s because of what just happened, but everyone in the audience seems to be extra generous in their cheering and clapping.

He finishes his routine on the pole and immediately jumps into Taehyung’s arms, completes their arc as the raunchy “bulls and the bees” (and they do it perfectly because Hoseok refuses to fuck up just because that guy left; he has too much pride for that), and then the lights come up for intermission. He slips backstage while Jeongguk and Seokjin come back on stage, their underwear fitted with roosters on the front for the intermission “cock fight.”

“Can you believe that shit?” He shouts once he’s in the dressing room and safely tucked away from any listening audience members. “The guy left. He actually got up and walked out.”

“No way,” Jimin says, Namjoon helping to dress him in his matador costume - a singular red sleeve made of tulle and fishnet that buckles around his chest to hold it in place, bright red and bejeweled underwear, and thigh high boots.

“I’m not kidding. I slid down the pole and he just stood up and fuckin’ bolted.”

“That’s kind of weird,” Namjoon says, clasping the buckles that are too high up on Jimin’s shoulder for him to reach.

“I know!” Hoseok complains, dragging a comb through his hair and patting himself dry with a towel. “No one has ever walked out on my pole routine before!”

“No, I mean that’s Min Yoongi. The guy who did our music. That’s why he got the center chair. We comped him in.”

Hoseok stares at Namjoon; he knows his mouth is hanging open but he can’t help it. He feels doubly offended now; what was it about him or his routine that made the person who wrote the sex music need to leave? Was it the way he looked? Was there something so grotesque in his appearance or the way he contorted himself that freaked the guy out? Or worse, had the guy felt unsafe, maybe worried that Hoseok was going to kick him in the head as he spun? He’d practiced constantly with different guys in the center chair to make sure no one felt uncomfortable, but maybe he had fucked up.

“Hey,” Namjoon says sharply, and Hoseok pulls his focus back from where he’d been zoning out in his dressing room mirror. “Stop that. You were great. And that part with Tae, fuckin’ nailed it.”

Hoseok gives a grateful smile, and he turns back to the mirror to re-apply his makeup.

“Hell yeah we fuckin’ nailed it,” Taehyung says from the table next to Hoseok, and he gives a wink as he applies fresh eyeliner.

“So don’t worry about our sad little virgin music guy. We’ll get someone else in the chair to drool over you.” Namjoon pats Hoseok’s shoulder reassuringly and Hoseok places his hand over Namjoon’s.

“You are the best SM a boy could ask for,” Hoseok says as wistfully as he can manage, and Namjoon snorts.

“Thanks,” he says drily. “You’ve set my heart all a-flutter.”

“As you deserve,” Jimin pipes up, wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s waist from behind.

“We’re a go in five,” Namjoon says, peeling himself away from their grasping fingers. “Let’s give them a show to fuckin’ remember.”

“Hell yeah!” Hoseok shouts with the rest of them, but he keeps it to himself how the cat-like eyes and cute button nose of Min Yoongi is emblazoned in his memory. He keeps it to himself that he wishes Yoongi can’t forget him either.

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Yoongi almost turns his car around and goes back to the burlesque once he hits the first stoplight - not only because he feels like a complete ass for bolting during the show, but because he can’t get the way Honey Skin looked at him out of his head; the way his coy smirk had morphed into shock and hurt before it settled on cool indifference. Despite that, Yoongi keeps driving, the uncomfortable hard-on more of a convincing argument than turning around and sacrificing even more of his dignity.

He manages to get home in one piece, even though Holly is clearly still disappointed in him for not taking him to the park (Holly barks happily when Yoongi comes in, but when it’s clear no long walks are to be had he slumps to his doggie bed with woeful eyes.)

Yoongi strips out of his slightly damp clothes and puts on his pajamas, Honey Skin’s hurt expression still haunting his thoughts. He groans and falls back onto his mattress. It’s not fair; he shouldn’t be this affected by some cute guys in thongs. He thinks of having to face Dawon in the morning, of having to say ‘yes the show was great’ and ‘no, I wasn’t reminded of my lack of a sexual life and the fact that my pent up hormones have me feeling like I’m thirteen.’ He groans again, creating a bemoaned symphony at this point that Holly is still unimpressed with, tosses around on his bed, and then dials the only person he knows that might be marginally sympathetic.

Yijeong does not sound happy when he answers the phone.

“Do you know what time it is?”

Yoongi glances at his bedside clock- 12:28.

“Uh. No?”

“It’s after midnight, Yoon.” Yijeong’s voice is a little scratchy from sleep, and he coughs to clear it. “It’s already tomorrow.”

“It’s Friday,” Yoongi says, voice a little meek.

“Yoongi,” Yijeong says, his voice deadpan, “I work in the same building as you. You know I don’t have tomorrow off. Today, now.”

“Stop doing that. It’s too late.”

“Or is it too early?”

Yoongi sighs and rolls onto his stomach. Across the room Holly stares at him reproachfully.

“This is really important Yijeong.”

Yijeong snorts. “Did Holly take a shit and you realized you didn’t bring your eco-friendly dog poop bags?”

Yoongi flushes, and Holly’s ears perk up like he knows he’s being talked about. “That was one time,” Yoongi grumbles. “When are you going to let that die?”

“Never,” Yijeong says easily. “What kind of best friend would I be if I let you live that down? I’ve already got my best man speech planned.”

“Revoked. You are no longer invited to my wedding.”

“Gotta get engaged first.”

Maybe Yijeong knows how bad that statement stings as soon as he says it. Maybe he can inherently feel when Yoongi flinches, because Yoongi knows that behind those words is the unsaid fact that in order to get engaged he has to be in a relationship that lasts longer than the time it takes to roll on a condom. He didn’t always used to serial date, well, serial fuck, but when his last boyfriend dumped him a year and a half ago after five years that Yoongi was sure meant something, he hadn’t quite put in the effort to try for anything else.

“So,” Yijeong says when the silence starts to border on uncomfortable. “If it’s not the poop bags, what is it?”

“I, um,” Yoongi clears his throat. He needs to stop thinking about how pathetic he is so that he can tell the story that will reiterate how pathetic he is. “I went to a burlesque tonight.”

“So? You go to those all the time?”

“Yeah, but this time it was all guys.”

“Oh-kay?” Yijeong says, sounding confused. “I think I’m missing something here.”

“Guys, Yijeong,” Yoongi says, maybe shouts. “Hot guys in those ass-less undies that they use in porn and - and harnesses and collars-“

“Woah, woah, woah. Yoon, are you going through some weird mid-life BDSM thing?”

Yoongi can hear the hint of a smile in Yijeong’s voice, like he’s laughing at him. Yoongi huffs, his bangs rising off of his forehead from the burst of air and then coming down over his eyes.

“No,” he says firmly. “I mean. I don’t think so. But the problem wasn’t the collars-“

“Lemme guess,” Yijeong interrupts. “You popped a boner during one of their role play dances.”

He says it as a joke; Yoongi knows he says it as a joke, but he still whines on reflex because it’s so goddamn true and he feels pathetic. Worse than pathetic. Yijeong stops laughing abruptly.

“Wait,” he says, all trace of humor gone. “I was right? That’s seriously what happened?”

Yoongi buries his face into his mattress; it’s even more embarrassing when he has to verify that yes, as dumb and ridiculous as it sounds, that is what happened.

“Holy shit Yoon,” Yijeong says, a hint of laughter back in his voice. Or maybe it’s just disbelief. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh man, but oh my god.”

“It gets worse,” Yoongi mumbles, half hoping Yijeong won’t hear him, half wishing he had never called in the first place and had just been left to wallow on his own.

“Worse? Worse how? Oh shit, you didn’t break the no touching rule, did you? Do I have to bail you out of jail?”

“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Yoongi grumbles.

“I’m being serious,” Yijeong says, even though he sounds anything but. “They take those no touch rules very seriously. As they should.”

“I’m calling you on my cell, asshole. Obviously I’m not in jail.”

Yijeong hums noncommittally, and Yoongi sighs as he sits up; they’ve been friends long enough that Yoongi knows Yijeong’s not going to admit that what he just asked was idiotic.

“I didn’t touch anyone. But I did leave in the middle of someone’s dance.” Yoongi winces as he says it; it sounds so much worse out loud.

“You did what?”

“I know.” Yoongi covers his eyes with his hand like that can somehow protect him from the judgement in Yijeong’s voice.

“In the middle, like, at intermission?”

“Before.”

“Yoongi.”

“I know. But - but you don’t understand. This guy, he’s got like, honey skin and perfect teeth and he does ballet and he also - also pole dances and he blew a kiss at me and Yijeong I don’t think I’ve ever blushed so hard in my entire life.” Yoongi moves the hand covering his eyes down to his cheek as he gulps fresh air. “I’m still blushing!”

“Sounds like you’ve got a crush,” Yijeong says pointedly. He doesn’t bother trying to hide how loaded that statement is; Yoongi hasn’t had a crush in almost six and a half years.

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees before he really thinks about it.

“Too bad he probably thinks you’re a giant asshole for leaving.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says again, a little bit glum. “You’re right.”

.

.

.

“He’s an asshole,” Hoseok announces, holding his tequila shot up as he gives his spur of the moment toast. They’ve been drinking for hours at this point, but that doesn’t matter.

“Hell yeah he is!” Jimin shouts from somewhere on the makeshift dance floor, and the rest of the guys holler and cheer as they lift their own glasses.

“Min Yoongi makes good music but he’s an asshole of the first degree!”

“Wooh! Say it, girlfriend!” Taehyung cheers, and Hoseok isn’t surprised when Jeongguk immediately chimes in with the next line from “The Gospel Truth.” Their corner of the bar becomes a rowdy chorus of disjointed harmonies as everyone tries to finish the verse of the Disney classic, ending “the guy was too type A to just relax” at a nearly deafening pitch and volume.

“And that’s the world’s first bitch,” Seokjin hollers, holding his shot glass up (and sloshing some over the rim and onto his wrist.) Hoseok slut drops, then pops back up and snaps his finger with an elaborate arm wave. Suffice it to say he is pretty thoroughly smashed.

“Anyway,” Hoseok continues, dimly aware that his shot glass isn’t as full as it was at the top of his speech. “He’s an asshole but that doesn’t matter cos we danced the fuck outta that show!”

Everyone cheers, even people who are just randomly in the bar who may or may not have seen them perform. It feels good to shout all of this because it’s true. Even though Min Yoongi left, Namjoon had upgraded another audience member to center chair (and he was infinitely more into it than Yoongi was), and they did everything perfectly. In terms of opening nights, Hoseok doesn’t think he could say he’s ever had a better show. Hoseok holds his shot high above his head.

“Fuck Min Yoongi,” he cries, and there’s a chorus of ‘fuck Min Yoongi’s shouted back at him all over the bar. He knocks back his tequila shot and shoves a wedge of lime into his mouth as the tequila burns its way down to his stomach, and another comforting layer of fuzz clouds his brain. 

But as the night goes on it becomes clear that there isn’t any amount of alcohol that will get Min Yoongi’s face out of his head; his fluffy dark hair, his beautiful cat-like eyes, his cute button nose and full, pouty lips. Maybe Hoseok had been playing it up too much during his routine on the pole, because he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted Min Yoongi to notice him. He hates how Jimin is always right; Yoongi had looked young and unassuming when he was hidden by his hoodie, but once Hoseok saw his face, his cute flush cheeks… He hates that he can’t get that look Yoongi had out of his head as he was leaving, the way his cheeks were still flushed so prettily but his expression was…disgusted? Scared?

It doesn’t matter how well the rest of the show went; Hoseok somehow grossed out an audience member, a really cute audience member, and that, that makes him feel like shit.

.

.

.

Yoongi wakes up with a raging headache and a foul taste in his mouth. He feels like absolute shit, and such simple morning routines feel like they require an enormous amount of energy that he just doesn’t have - things like taking a shower, making coffee, putting his jeans on. Holly pulls on his leash with an air of judgement the entire walk around the block, and when Yoongi finally drags himself into the office (two painkillers and four cups of coffee later) his stubborn dog and stubborn headaches have all but cleared the embarrassment of the night before from his mind.

“Office,” Dawon says as soon as he gets settled at his desk. “Now.”

Yoongi holds in his groan as he follows her into her office. She wears a pink blazer over a tee with a jean skirt and sparkly heels, and for some reason the sight of her shoes bring memories of the burlesque flooding him all at once. He closes the door behind them; it’s times like now that he hates the fact that Dawon’s office is all glass doors and floor to ceiling windows so that everyone can witness him getting reamed.

She sits at her desk, arms folded, and even though he has the height advantage he still feels very small.

“You left,” she states bluntly, and he nods. “What are the rules, Yoongi?”

“Dawon, listen-“

“One, you show up,” she interrupts, holding up a finger for each point she’s making. “Two, you stay the whole time. Three, you keep all negative shit to yourself at the venue. Three rules Yoongi, and I think they’re pretty fucking simple.”

“They are simple, last night was just-“

“I don’t care!” He flinches at her raised voice; Dawon never usually loses her temper, and he can’t figure out what it is about him leaving this burlesque that has her so up and arms.

“Dawon,” he says, trying to make his voice as calm and placating as possible even with a headache brewing behind his eyelids. “Look, I’m really sorry-“

“What I care about is my brother calling me up close to tears because some asshole was too disgusted to sit through his entire routine!”

Yoongi blinks. Dawon’s round cheeks are tinged pink and her nostrils are flared out. They stare at each other for what feels like a solid few minutes but could realistically only be a few seconds. 

“What? Your brother?”

“Yes,” Dawon says, a little petulantly. “My little brother. Who listened to some of your music and created a whole piece for it - which is good publicity for you too, by the way because they’re starting to sell out.”

“Wait.” Yoongi shakes his head. Dawon starts to say something but he doesn’t register anything. “No, I need to sit down.”

He sinks into one of the plush chairs in front of Dawon’s desk and runs his fingers through his hair. 

“You sent me to a burlesque with your brother in it?”

“Yes.” Her voice is softer now, a little hesitant. He can’t meet her face, keeps his eyes focused on the holes in his jeans.

“That’s…that’s so inappropriate Dawon.”

“He created an entire show around your music, Yoongi.”

“Yeah, including dancing on a stripper pole with his ass in my face!”

Dawon looks slightly embarrassed when he’s finally able to look up and meet her gaze. She sighs and takes her top knot down, fluffs out her hair so that it falls in soft waves about her shoulders.

“You’re right. I should have told you and I’m sorry for yelling at you.” She leans an elbow on her desk and rubs her forehead in small circles.

“You shouldn’t have offered me the tickets at all,” Yoongi says, digging his fingers into his eye sockets. “Isn’t that a work conflict?”

She shakes her head, gives a small smile. “It’s my brother, Yoongi. He’s not affiliated with the company.”

“You sent me to his strip show.”

“A burlesque. And I didn’t expect - I mean, you’re gay.”

“Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I fall for every guy I see!” His voice raises as he talks, gets close to shouting levels. Dawon looks at him with wide eyes.

“No, no, I didn’t - Yoongi that’s not what I meant at…” she trails off, and her eyes narrow as a slow smile crosses her features. Yoongi swallows, suddenly feels nervous. “You weren’t disgusted.”

“What?” He crosses his knees. Uncrosses them. Recrosses them again. “No, of course I wasn’t disgusted. Why would I be disgusted?”

Dawon smiles wider. “You liked him.”

Yoongi feels his cheeks blaze, and Dawon giggles in a way that is more unnerving than it should be. “No - No I didn’t, Dawon, no.”

“Tell me then.” She leans across the desk like they’re two teenagers at a slumber party. “Tell me why you ran out if not because you got a huge metaphorical boner for my brother.”

Yoongi groans and leans back against the seat, covering his face with both his hands. Dawon squeals and he peeks from between his fingers.

“I knew it. You have to go back.”

Yoongi stands so suddenly he almost tips the chair over. He scrambles to catch it, glances over his shoulder to see if anyone else on the floor is watching. If they are they’re doing a good job at hiding it.

“No. Dawon, no. I can’t.”

She stands as well, and she must be wearing shoes with a significant heel because she still looks taller than him. 

“He called me crying,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “He thought you were disgusted with him. With the way he looked. The way he danced.”

Yoongi shoves his hands into his pockets and stares out the window beyond Dawon’s head.

“I didn’t - that’s not it,” he says softly. 

“I know.” Dawon steps around her desk so she can lean against it in front of Yoongi. “That’s why I’m sending you again. You can watch the whole thing this time.”

Yoongi huffs, holds himself and twists from side to side. “You’re not a matchmaker, Dawon.”

She grins. “This is the first time I’ve seen you remotely interested in anyone in years. And,” her grin gets wider as she reaches for his elbow to stop him from twitching. “And, Hoseok kept going on and on about how cute he thought ‘Center Chair Guy’ was.”

Yoongi meets her bright excited eyes; he can’t deny that his stomach flip-flops wildly in his gut. 

“He did?” And he hates the way his voice sounds all high pitched and hopeful. Dawon’s smile grows even wider.

“See? You are interested.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Shut up. You’re the worst.”

.

.

.

“You’re the worst,” Hoseok groans into the phone as he tries to get the side door open while juggling his keys, gym bag, two coffees, and his phone against his ear. “Seriously Dawon, why did you think that was a good idea?”

“You’re the one that wanted him to come see the show,” Dawon says, and Hoseok groans as he almost falls into the building when the door swings open. Taehyung looks at him from the other side of the door with wide, questioning eyes.

“I did not. I said ‘it’d be cool if he came’ and you were like: ‘well, of course he’s going to go. We do things like that all the time.’”  Hoseok offers up one of the coffees to Taehyung, who takes it gingerly and presses a gentle kiss to Hoseok’s cheek as thanks.

“I hear no difference,” Dawon says smugly, and Hoseok groans.

“That is so not the same! I never said I wanted him!”

“You did last night.”

Hoseok almost drops his coffee, and though he doesn’t express it because his entire face seems to be frozen in place, he’s immensely thankful Taehyung grabs the coffee before it actually starts to slip out of Hoseok’s hand.

“No way. I never said that.”

“Said what?” Taehyung asks, taking a sip of Hoseok’s coffee and wincing at the overpowering sweetness of vanilla and caramel. “This is so gross.”

“You did,” Dawon says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. “You called me at three in the morning to tell me how cute he was.”

Hoseok can feel his cheeks flush, partly from embarrassment, partly because it’s so like his sister to stick her nose in places it really doesn’t belong - namely his love life.

“Saying someone is cute is not the same as saying you want them!”

“It is if you say it.”

“What- that’s - okay, just because I’m not blind-“

Dawon starts laughing and Hoseok resists the temptation to throw his phone across the room. Taehyung still watches him with raised eyebrows, both coffees in hand.

“Chill out,” Dawon says, and that just makes Hoseok feel even more not chill. “He’s coming back and he’s not going to leave this time.”

Hoseok adjusts his bag over his shoulder and takes his coffee back from Taehyung. “You shouldn’t be trying to hook me up with your co-worker, Dawon. That’s like…unethical.”

“First of all, that’s not what I’m doing.” Hoseok rolls his eyes at Taehyung as he makes his way through the maze of chairs to get to the back dressing room. “Second of all, it’s not unethical when you both want it.”

“You’re fucked.”

“Love you too, lil bro.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes as he hangs up. He dumps his bag on the ground by his section of the dressing room mirrors, slumps in his chair and runs his hands through his hair. He hasn’t put any product in it yet, so it’s a weird mix of curly, frizzy, and straight. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, which are bloodshot from how much he drank the night before. His skin is a little blotchy - he thinks he has a pimple starting near his jaw line - and he feels suddenly nervous to have Center Chair Guy - Min Yoongi - coming back to watch him. Taehyung’s face appears beside his in the mirror as he leans over Hoseok’s shoulder. 

“What’s up?”

“Dawon is sending Min Yoongi back to watch us.”

Taehyung makes a face like he smells something rotten and it makes Hoseok snort.

“Well I’m just gonna bone your ass extra hard on stage today,” Taehyung says pointedly, wrapping an arm around Hoseok’s chest and squeezing. Hoseok lets his mouth drop open and gives an affronted laugh.

“Excuse you, I bone your ass.”

“Not tonight you’re not. How else are we gonna get grumpy pants jealous?” Taehyung winks and Hoseok pinches his arm.

“Have you seen him,” Hoseok says, “no way he’s a top.”

“Maybe,” Taehyung says, then drops his voice so that he practically growls in Hoseok’s ear, “but I bet he’s got a power complex. Trust me. He’ll be jealous.”

Hoseok contemplates, thinks about how Yoongi reacted throughout the night before; Dawon always says that she and Yoongi have more of a partnership as opposed to a boss/employee relationship. He could see Yoongi being the type that liked control. He meets Taehyung’s gaze in the mirror and nods.

“Fine, but we’ve got to rehearse it first.”

“Of course.” Taehyung straightens up with a wide, boxy smile. “I’m nothing if not a professional.”

.

.

.

“Okay, chill the fuck out Yoongi,” Yoongi mutters to himself. He’s dressed more nicely today - actually went for business casual instead of wearing his ratty ‘it’s my day off’ hoodie. He wears trim black slacks and a white button-up with a leather jacket over it. He has his hands shoved deep in his pockets, ID already gripped in his fingers. “It’s strictly professional. You’re here as a professional watching other professionals. It’s fine.”

He gets to the door, the same guy from last time managing the line. Today his hair is styled differently, bangs brushed over his forehead and stylishly mussed. He wears a black shirt that has been ripped into a crop top and black jeans, and he smiles all cute and coy when Yoongi presents his ID before he even asks for it.

“I saw you just yesterday dude,” the guy says, “I know you’re legit.”

Yoongi flushes, fumbles as he tries to shove his ID back into his wallet. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

The guy laughs, and as hard as he tries not to Yoongi still blushes. “Taehyung will give you your seat ticket.”

“Right,” Yoongi says, and his attempt to sound unbothered just makes him sound like an asshole. He resists facepalming as he walks into the dark building. At least he’s prepared to see the boxy-smile guy, Taehyung, in his thong and harness. Taehyung smiles when he walks in, less bright than the last time. It’s darker, a little more seductive. Or maybe Yoongi is just losing his mind.

“Min Yoongi,” Taehyung says softly, his voice deep and smooth like honey. He holds out Yoongi’s ticket, and when Yoongi takes it their fingers brush. Yoongi swallows, wants to ask if it was on purpose, but it’s possible that it was just an accident and he doesn’t want to look like a flustered schoolboy. He did that last time. He’s here as a professional, a professional, damnit.

“You’re in the center chair again,” Taehyung continues, and Yoongi nods as he pockets the ticket. He follows the familiar route through the hallway into the actual theatre space and beelines to the right hand side bar. Crescent Smile and Baby Face are working behind it again, and when Crescent Smile notices Yoongi at the counter he grins slow and pretty.

“Hey again, hot stuff,” Crescent Smile says, and Yoongi smiles back. He can almost ignore the black panties with the heart cut out in the bum, can almost ignore Baby Face’s collar. “You left before my big moment last night.”

Yoongi’s smile falters and he feels his cheeks get hot. “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry. I was unwell.”

Crescent Smile hums and traces his finger along the countertop in slow figure eights. “Well, maybe I can forgive you.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Yoongi hates how hopeful he sounds when he says that, but maybe it’s worth it for the way Crescent Smile grins at him. 

“So, want anything to drink tonight, sexy?” Crescent Smile leans over the counter so that he and Yoongi are almost nose to nose, and when he does so Baby Face smacks his ass so hard that Yoongi can hear it. Crescent Smile hardly flinches, his hips jump slightly but other than that he keeps staring at Yoongi. Yoongi has a moment where he completely forgets where he is or what he’s doing.

“Uh, yeah, um.” He clears his throat. “Do you just have whiskey?”

“Single or double?” Baby Face asks.

“Double. On the rocks?”

Baby Face nods before he grabs the bottle of Jameson and starts to fix Yoongi’s drink. Crescent Smile leans even farther over the counter.

“That’ll be twenty bucks.”

Yoongi almost chokes on his spit and Crescent Smile laughs so hard he almost slides off of the counter - would have if it wasn’t for Baby Face using his own leg as a barrier to keep him from falling backwards.

“Seriously?”

Crescent Smile nods. “No free drinks for you tonight, sugar plum. We take cash and card, no checks.”

“Who still uses checks?” Yoongi grumbles as he digs for his wallet.

“I do.”

Yoongi jumps, and when he looks to the right and sees Jung Hoseok standing next to him he almost jumps again. It’s almost worse to know his name, to not be able to distance himself by calling him Bumble Bee or Honey Smile.

“Wow,” Crescent Smile says as he takes the gold card that Yoongi holds out. “What are you, eighty?”

“A lot of people use checks, Jimin,” Hoseok says, then turns to pointedly look at Yoongi. His gaze is hard, but there’s still something about him, something that makes him effortlessly sexy. It’s intimidating, and Yoongi feels himself getting more than a little flustered.

“No, I’m sure,” he says, proud of himself for not stuttering. He opens his mouth to continue but Hoseok cuts him off.

“So how are you feeling? I heard you tell Jimin you were “unwell” last night.”

“I’m…better. Thanks.”

“Do half naked guys on a pole make your stomach turn?”

Yoongi blinks, has the weird urge to push Hoseok and shout at him that he’s gay, and also to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He does neither.

“No,” he says as calmly as he can. Hoseok smiles, teeth radiant and perfect and Yoongi thinks his heart might actually skip a beat.

“That’s good. Try to stay for the whole show tonight.”

Baby Face covers his mouth with his hand and Yoongi is pretty sure he hears a muffled “ooh, burn,” but he can’t be positive over the sound of the music and rising swell of voices as audience members fill the theatre. Hoseok smirks and gives a finger wave as he walks to the other side of the room where there is another bar that Yoongi hadn’t even noticed the first time around.  He hears a deliberate cough behind him, and he turns to face Jimin holding out his card in one hand and drink in the other.

“Hobi is out for you,” Jimin says with a wink. “Be careful hot stuff.”

“Uh, yeah,” Yoongi says, his tongue suddenly feeling too big for his mouth. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Jimin winks, then turns around so that Yoongi gets a full view of the heart cut-out before he peeks over his shoulder. “Have fun.”

.

.

.

“Having fun?” Seokjin asks as Hoseok sidles back up to his side of the bar. Hoseok huffs, blows his bangs out of his eyes. He leans against the counter and watches as Jimin practically waves his ass in Yoongi’s face, watches the way Yoongi turns with a very obvious blush that he tries to cover with one hand as he makes his way to his seat.

“Do you think Jimin is actually going for him?” Hoseok asks instead of answering. Seokjin shrugs before he vigorously shakes his cocktail shaker.

“Jimin’s always thirsty, you know this.” Seokjin tilts the lid of the shaker to strain the liquid into a glass and passes it to the young woman at the counter. “Sixteen fifty.”

She doesn’t complain, just passes her card over with a shy smile. No one ever complains when Seokjin charges them for a drink, not when he provides a whole show and is insanely good looking. It’s why Hoseok usually just provides backup, places the ice into the shakers, preps the glasses - just moves out of the way while Seokjin does his thing. Hoseok looks back over at Jimin who is now chatting up another cute guy, then flicks his eyes to Yoongi who sips at his whiskey with his eyes lowered.

“Relax,” Seokjin says after he blows the girl a kiss as she walks to her chair, “Jimin isn’t going to go for him. He knows how much you like him.”

Hoseok snaps his head around so fast that he feels a sharp twinge in the back of his neck. He winces and rubs at it with his fingers. Seokjin sighs and offers his hands, and Hoseok obediently turns around so that Seokjin can massage him.

“I don’t like him,” Hoseok says stubbornly. “Why would I? He walked out last night.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, thumb pressing right into a particularly sore spot. “And you cried about it all night long. Then you bitched about it all this morning. And then you got that faraway daydreamy look on your face where you write down your guys’ names in your brain with hearts all around-“

Hoseok steps out of Seokjin’s grasp, waving his hands. “Okay, fuck off. That is totally not true.”

“I’m just giving the facts as they happened.”

Hoseok huffs, rolls his head on his neck. “So I bitched. Doesn’t mean I like him.”

“So why are you worried about Jimin, then?” Seokjin says with a smug smile, and Hoseok feels his cheeks flush.

“Cos I don’t want Jimin to hook up with an asshole,” he says, but he knows it doesn’t sound convincing.

“More like you want him to pound your asshole,” Seokjin says with a squeaky laugh. Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“You’re not funny.”

Seokjin pouts, and Hoseok sighs before he steps on tiptoes and presses a kiss to Seokjin’s cheek.

“Aw, thanks babe,” Seokjin says, easy smile back on his face. He wraps an arm around Hoseok’s waist and whispers against his ear. 

“Don’t look now, but your grumpy boy-toy is totally giving me the side eye.”

Hoseok pulls back slightly so he can look into Seokjin’s perfectly handsome (even when he’s smirking) face. He wants to look over his shoulder, see if Yoongi is actually watching, but he doesn’t want to seem eager.

“Is he now?”

Seokjin hums an affirmation and slips his hands down so that he can grope Hoseok’s bare ass with both hands. Seokjin smiles, wide and sweet with just a hint of a predatory glint.

“You ready to fuck him up?”

Hoseok smirks. “He won’t know what hit him.”

“Fly like a butterfly…” Seokjin offers brightly, and Hoseok laughs, maybe leans into Seokjin for effect as he peeks over his shoulder. Yoongi is definitely watching, and when their eyes meet Yoongi takes a gulp of his drink that makes him choke and cough. Hoseok snorts and turns back to Seokjin.

“Sting like a bee,” he finishes.

.

.

.

Yoongi knows what it means when the lights start to dim, and once again he’s halfway out of his chair because he wants some water for the sting in his throat from swallowing his whiskey wrong. He’s starting to wonder if Dawon was just pulling his leg to get him to come back, because it seems like Hoseok hates him. Not only that, it seems like he’s dating the Flower with big shoulders from the way they were carrying on at the bar, and Yoongi’s not jealous he’s just…a little disappointed. Maybe.

But the lights completely go down and he sighs (more like awkwardly coughs again while trying to clear his throat) as he sits back down. The beginning number doesn’t shock him as much now that he knows what to look for; it’s still hot, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to pop a boner at any second during the Bull orgy or Flower strip tease. Even so, it does seem like he’s getting much more attention than he had the first night, and not even from just one person. It’s like he’s been dunked in some sort of essence that is drawing everyone to him, kneeling wide and thrusting their crotches into his face, sliding on the stage in front of him, blowing him kisses, biting their lip and gripping what little clothing they have as they slut drop. By the time Hoseok comes on for his Bumblebee solo Yoongi once again feels overwhelmed, and on top of that he’s still reeling from his experience with Hoseok earlier.

Hoseok strips out of his costume, honey skin glistening under the lights, and when he grips the stripper pole in front of Yoongi he instinctively grips the arms of the chair. It almost feels like a punishment; Hoseok only focuses on Yoongi, every look, every gesture, every time he humps the air or makes some lewd gesture with his tongue his eyes are boring into Yoongi’s and Yoongi can feel a familiar tightness coiling in his gut that’s a little more than embarrassing. He wants to leave, wants to go home and crawl under his blankets and jerk off until he can’t feel his hand anymore, but…but he can’t. He promised.

Hoseok’s finished pose is right in front of Yoongi’s face, legs spread so that his crotch is level with Yoongi’s mouth, arms pressed behind him and chest raised to the ceiling with his head thrown back. Yoongi feels his mouth water, and Jesus, what’s wrong with him to be sitting here drooling like he’s having Pavlovian response.

The Bull, Taehyung, reappears, and Yoongi almost whines out loud when they start into an elaborate dance of varying sex positions, ballet and acrobatics. He watches as Taehyung grips Hoseok’s ass hard enough that it leaves marks, watches as Hoseok nearly folds in half leaning over backwards, crotch pressing right against Taehyung’s. Yoongi’s skin feels too hot, feels a little sweaty, and he’s definitely got a boner starting. He tries to discreetly cross his legs, but of course Hoseok looks over at him and smirks like he knows. He’s just about to say fuck it and get up to leave - maybe not leave completely, maybe just leave for the bathroom - when the lights change and the rest of the ensemble rushes the stage to seize Taehyung. They push Hoseok out of the way as they wrestle with Taehyung, lifting him into the air in ways that Yoongi has only seen during cheer routines for Sunday night football. Hoseok starts parading around the stage, a glowing stick in his hand, and when he squats in front of Yoongi, legs spread, Yoongi realizes that it’s a fake brand.

“Kiss it for luck,” Hoseok whispers, and Yoongi feels his face get even hotter.

“What?”

“Gotta brand him with love, baby. Hurts less that way.”

Yoongi has no idea if this is actually how the show is supposed to go, but he nods and leans forward. Hoseok presses the cool, glowing metal to Yoongi’s slightly pursed lips, and for some reason Yoongi feels a little shaky with Hoseok’s dark eyes on him as he kisses the metal prop.

“Thanks, stud,” Hoseok says with a smirk, standing and waving the brand over his head so the rest of the audience can see. Then the rest of the boys position Taehyung so that his ass is sticking straight into the air and Hoseok presses the brand against his skin. The lights go out save for the fading glow of the prop, and the audience cheers.

.

.

.

“Cheers!” Jimin shouts, holding his jello shot up and tapping the small plastic cup against Hoseok’s as Namjoon buckles his Matador sleeve. Hoseok makes a ‘clink’ noise before running his tongue between of the jello and the cup. He tilts his head back, chews and swallows the mixture of strawberry jello and whipped cream vodka.

“It looked really good out there,” Namjoon says, adjusting Jimin’s sleeve and then giving him a small pat on the butt to signal that he’s finished. “We can’t keep that choreography, but for tonight it worked.”

“Speaking of,” Hoseok purrs, tossing his plastic cup and sidling up to Namjoon’s side. Namjoon gives him a look through the mirror that says he’s onto Hoseok’s seductive act and not falling for it. Hoseok keeps it up though, swaying his hips and making his voice breathy like Marylin Monroe. “Can I try something before the cock-fight?”

Seokjin and Jeongguk look up from across the room, already slipping into their special underwear with roosters sticking off of the crotch.

“Should we hold off?” Seokjin asks, and Jeongguk uses the time that Seokjin is distracted to twist his hips to the side and whack Seokjin’s rooster with his own.

Namjoon sighs. “What do you want to do?”

“I want you put on that dirty sexy mashup that we didn’t use and I want to lip-sync to it.”

“You mean you want to give Min Yoongi a lap dance,” Namjoon says dryly, and Hoseok pouts and bats his eyes.

“Maybe?”

“I won’t complain about the extra time,” Taehyung says from where he’s stretching on the floor. As soon as they had gotten backstage he had complained of a cramped up muscle and was now doing his best to hydrate and stretch it out.

Seokjin pauses in his attempt to attack Jeongguk’s rooster.

“I thought you said you didn’t like him,” he says with a smirk. Hoseok feels everyone’s eyes on him, and his skin feels like it’s buzzing. He’s always been a bit of a lightweight, but he doesn’t know if the heat he feels if from the alcohol or embarrassment.

“I don’t. But did you see how flustered he looked? It’d be so fun to mess with him. Please, Joonie?”

Namjoon sighs and looks to Seokjin and Jeongguk. “This is your time, guys. It’s up to you.”

Seokjin nods and Jeongguk shakes his head.

“Just let him be with his little grumpy cat,” Jeongguk says with a smile. 

Hoseok’s mouth folds into a little triangle and he hits Jeongguk lightly in the back of the head. 

“Ow. The fuck did you do that for? I’m trying to be on your side!”

“Doesn’t sound like it. Sounds like you’re just being a little shit.”

Jeongguk smiles sheepishly, and Hoseok can’t help but smile back. Jeongguk tries to be older than his twenty-one years but sometimes his shy, soft personality shines through. Even when he’s trying to get on people’s nerves (mainly when he tries to get a rise out of Seokjin) he’s still sweet and adorable. Jeongguk always has other people’s best interests at heart.

“Seriously though,” Seokjin says. “We don’t mind. Just cue us when we need to go on.”

Namjoon loos at Hoseok with a cocked eyebrow. “Got a specific end cue in mind?”

“Oh,  you’ll know,” Hoseok says. “Trust me.”

.

.

.

“Trust me, he doesn’t like me. At all.” Yijeong sighs on the other end of the phone.

“Yoon-“

“I’m serious. I’m pretty positive he’s dating one of the flowers.”

“Dating one of the what?” Yijeong still sounds tired, but at least now he sounds moderately amused. “Yoon, I think you’ve drunk too much. Get some water.”

Yoongi huffs and switches his phone to the other ear. “I’m not - one of the characters is a flower. Broad shoulders. Hot as fuck. They were kissing.”

“Yeah, dude. It’s a show where they strip and shit. You shouldn’t be surprised by that.”

Yoongi slumps in his chair, acutely aware of the lights changing and the background music fading out. 

“You’re literally the worst,” he starts to complain, but then this rolling baseline comes on and Jung Hoseok steps out from behind the curtain, and Yoongi almost drops his phone.

“I gotta go,” he says, and shoves his phone into his pocket, unsure if he even hung up.

Hoseok dances center stage - well, Yoongi isn’t sure if “dances” is the right word. He grinds and rolls his body, the sheer kimono-esque robe he’s wearing fluttering with his movements. He doesn’t actually sing along with the music; he lip-syncs along with the woman’s voice as she sing and moans about ‘stroking’, and he locks eyes with Yoongi nearly the entire time. Yoongi feels stuck, feels paralyzed, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. Hoseok smirks, sways his hips as he steps down off of the stage. He positions himself in front of Yoongi and smirks wider before he places one hand on the back of Yoongi’s chair and somehow effortlessly drops into Yoongi’s lap - even without that awkward shuffle that happened the last time Yoongi got a lap dance (which, granted, was when he was nineteen, but still). Yoongi holds his breath as Hoseok moves on top of him, touching without really touching, and once again Yoongi has to resist bolting up and running away because he’s pretty sure he’s going to pop a boner and he’s absolutely certain that Hoseok will feel it.

Hoseok leans forward and whispers against Yoongi’s ear during a moment of sensual instrumentation, voice barely louder than the sex noises through the speakers.

“You can touch if you want.”

But maybe Hoseok doesn’t actually say that; maybe it’s just what Yoongi wishes he would say. He keeps his hands firmly gripping the arms of the chair, but when Hoseok trails his mouth down along his neck, not even touching, just breathing, he lets his head roll back.

“You’re a gentleman, aren’t you,” Hoseok murmurs as he grinds down, this time just barely making contact. It makes Yoongi jolt, pulls a sound from him that’s breathy and embarrassing. Hoseok pauses and slides off of him, and Yoongi is mortified that he’s broken some rule, that he’s fucked up again in front of Jung Hoseok and he’ll get kicked out only to get sent back by Dawon. 

“Dance with me,” Hoseok says when he stands, and Yoongi just stares at him.

“W-what?”

Hoseok laughs , this small little giggle, and Yoongi’s never really noticed it before because he’s been focused on Hoseok’s smoldering eyes and his perfect body and his muscular ass, but when he’s smiling and laughing like this he’s cute. Hoseok holds out his hand and Yoongi shakes his head, fingers gripping even more tightly onto the arm rests.

“I don’t dance,” his voice comes out steady; if not a little quiet, and Hoseok laughs again, keeps his hand outstretched.

“Everyone can dance,” he says, and the seductive tone of his voice gives way to something brighter, a little playful.

“I don’t.”

But the rest of the audience has picked up on what’s going on, and there’s a rising wall of sound - of people clapping and cheering him on. Yoongi’s cheeks flush further - he actually hates being put on the spot; it’s one of the reasons that he makes music but doesn’t perform it.

“C’mon Min Yoongi,” Hoseok says, fingers wiggling. “You owe me.”

With an over-exaggerated sigh (mostly to hide his nerves) Yoongi pushes himself out of his chair and takes Hoseok’s hand, which is surprisingly cool and dry despite the standard heat of a room with a hundred breathing and moving bodies. Yoongi is immediately self-conscious about how hot and sweaty his hands feel, but if Hoseok is grossed out by him he doesn’t show it. He flips his slightly wavy brown hair out of his face, exposing wide eyes darkened with smoky shadow and intense mascara. His skin looks a little shimmery up close; maybe he’s wearing highlighter along his cheekbones. His smile is even brighter, radiant, and Yoongi feels drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. 

Hoseok dances a little differently, over the top, so different from the serious sensuality of earlier when he practically dry humped Yoongi into his chair. He still rolls his hips, at one point even secures an arm around Yoongi’s waist and grinds them together (much to the delight of the audience; Yoongi even gets hit with a few dollar bills). It’s a little silly but still sexy, and Yoongi allows himself to get swept up in it. He’s only got a half glass of whiskey in him, and normally that’s not enough to loosen him up, but after being wound up so tightly for over twenty-four hours, the ability to rock and bump with a man he’d love to bone but has absolutely no chance with seems too good to pass up. Hoseok spins him and the song ends with Yoongi in an elaborate dip over Hoseok’s knee. The audience claps for them, and when Hoseok straightens Yoongi up he doesn’t let go of him. Instead he leans in close and whispers in Yoongi’s ear.

“I want to talk to you.”

Yoongi blinks rapidly, wonders if this is the moment that Hoseok will go in for the kill - loosen him up with dance and then tell him that he still hasn’t forgiven him for the night before. Which would be fair; Yoongi can’t blame him for wanting to drag it out. He nods and allows Hoseok to pull him towards the back of the room near the empty bar (two were open at top of show, but only one is open now, with Front Door Guy heading it; Yoongi supposes it’s because everyone else is changing backstage.)

“You checking out Namjoon?” Hoseok asks, and it takes Yoongi entirely too long to comprehend the words coming out of Hoseok’s mouth. He wouldn’t be surprised if Hoseok thinks he’s just an idiot. 

“Who?” He asks, and Hoseok nods towards Front Door Guy.

“Namjoon. Our stage manager.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says dumbly. “No. I wasn’t.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Hoseok continues like Yoongi didn’t answer. “He’s pretty cute.”

“Aren’t you dating the flower guy?” Yoongi blurts, and Hoseok’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Flower guy?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi shoves his hands into his pants pockets and shrugs. “The guy who plays a flower.”

“Jeongguk?” Hoseok sounds incredulous and he nods towards the stage. Yoongi follows his gaze and nearly chokes on his spit at the sight of Baby Face - Jeongguk - squatting on the stage petting a rooster in between his legs. 

“No, not Baby Face,” Yoongi says. “The one with the shoulders. Who worked the bar.”

“Ah,” Hoseok says, sounding a little relieved, and Yoongi can hear the smile in his voice. “Seokjin.”

Hoseok nods over to the other side of the stage and Yoongi sees Seokjin waving his rooster in a giggling young bachelorette’s face.

“Are they supposed to be cock-teases?” Yoongi asks, and Hoseok laughs.

“Close, but not quite.”

Yoongi watches a little more until Jeongguk and Seokjin start to hit each other with their protruding roosters. Then it clicks.

“Oh. Cock fight.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Hoseok murmurs into Yoongi’s ear, his breath hot and enticing. “And no. We’re not dating.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says, because that’s all that he can think to say.

“So,” Hoseok says, leaning against the velvet curtain draped wall. “You came up with nicknames for us? That’s cute.”

Yoongi shrugs jerkily. He debates leaning on the wall next to Hoseok, but this isn’t his territory. He doesn’t want to appear too casual.

“It’s how I remember people when I don’t know their names,” Yoongi admits. “Your sister was Braces until we were officially introduced.”

Hoseok laughs at that, a bright rolling laugh that exposes his heart-shaped smile and white teeth.

“Good thing you didn’t know us when we were teenagers. We both had braces.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi says with a slow smile. “That would have made things very complicated.”

Hoseok laughs again, and Yoongi can hardly pay attention to the ridiculous cock fight on stage because Hoseok is cute, and Yoongi hasn’t thought someone was cute in a long time. Hot? Sure. Wanting someone to rearrange his insides with their dick? Absolutely. But never ‘cute.’ 

“What was your nickname for me?” Hoseok asks. “And it can’t be Bumblebee.”

“Honey Skin,” Yoongi says without hesitation. He keeps “sunshine smile” to himself. Hoseok grins at him, something slow and lovely that makes Yoongi’s insides quiver.

“You’re cute,” Hoseok says softly.

.

.

.

It’s seriously unfair how cute Min Yoongi is. Hoseok had fully intended to ruffle the man’s feathers a bit more, maybe embarrass him, rile him up a little. Instead, Hoseok ends up going backstage with his cheeks flushed and Min Yoongi’s smug (but still cute) smile burned into his retinas.  He ignores everyone when they try to ask about his one-on-one time with Min Yoongi, and instead focuses on getting through the second half of the show - which rightfully highlights Jimin.

Hoseok focuses on Yoongi more than he does the actual performance. He watches Yoongi’s face color when one of his Latin inspired songs comes on over the speakers, grins when Yoongi covers his face in embarrassment when they all participate in the short, and explicit, rap verse. When it’s Jimin’s solo moment doing incredible acrobatics on a hula-hoop hanging ten feet over the audience while singing (not rapping) another of Min Yoongi’s songs, Hoseok is drawn to the way Yoongi watches in awe; not even embarrassed to be watching with his mouth wide open.

The second half of the show is much less raunchy than the first half - there’s no denying, but Yoongi watches them like a kid in a candy store, all wide eyed and innocent. Hoseok wonders if, despite the gruff exterior that Min Yoongi presents with his music, he’s actually quite soft.

When they take their bows at the end, Yoongi is the first to stand as he claps, and Hoseok actually blushes. He’s not used to this, not used to feeling so flustered. He’s usually the one that does the flustering - that’s his job - but here he is bounding down the side steps instead of going backstage like he normally does because he wants to catch Yoongi before he leaves.

Yoongi must notice what he’s doing, or perhaps he wanted to wait for Hoseok as well, because he doesn’t move away from the center chair even as the audience starts clearing out.

“That was…something else,” Yoongi says with a small smile when Hoseok gets to him. “I never knew you could do anything like that with my music.”

“In a good way?” Hoseok asks, and he suddenly wishes he was wearing pants so that he could match Yoongi’s stance - slightly slouched wit hands in pockets.

“In a good way,” Yoongi says quickly, and then flushes. “It was incredible to watch. Thank you.” Yoongi’s voice drops into a slurred mumble, his eyes focused on the ground (or maybe Hoseok’s thighs, he can’t tell).

“Come out for a drink with us,” Hoseok says, and when Yoongi snaps his head up his eyes are wide and his cheeks are dark. “We always go out for food and a drink afterward. We’d love to have you.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says hesitantly, and Hoseok feels a wave of disappointment crash over him. “Um.”

“I promise we’re nice,” Hoseok cuts him off. “Well, mostly. But we are a good time.”

“No, yeah,” Yoongi says. “That sounds great, it’s just-“

“And Jimin would love it if you came-“ Hoseok adds, remembering how Jimin and Yoongi had clicked.

“It’s just that I have a dog,” Yoongi says quickly, “and he’s already pissed at me for taking him on short walks all week-“

“You have a dog?” Hoseok asks, his love of animals temporarily overshadowing anything else (also because he thought Min Yoongi would be a grumpy cat person). “What kind?”

“He’s a miniature poodle,” Yoongi says, and his face immediately brightens. “He’s the sweetest thing but I’ve just been so busy-“

“Then take me home with you.” Yoongi stares at him, mouth open and eyes nearly bugging out like Hoseok has suddenly grown three heads. “If you don’t mind heaving the extra company when you walk your dog,” Hoseok adds with a bright smile, and Yoongi swallows and nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

“Cool. I’ll just go get changed. Wait for me, okay?”

“Sure,” Yoongi says again, and when he smiles it’s so soft Hoseok’s stomach feels like it is suddenly exploding  with butterflies. He nods and makes his way backstage where he is immediately greeted with hoots and hollers from his half-dressed compatriots. Taehyung presses a jello shot into his hand and kisses his temple.

“To a show well done!” Jimin announces, and the rest of them cheer before they down their shots - Taehyung not managing to dislodge his properly and getting jello on his cheek. 

“Oh, allow me,” Seokjin says, and licks the jello off of Taehyung’s cheekbone while Taehyung blushes, boxy smile wide, and the rest of them laugh.

“Is Min Yoongi joining us tonight?” Namjoon asks while holding out a portable laundry bag for all of the costume pieces that need to be washed. “I’m assuming you invited him.”

“No, he’s not coming out.” The rest of the room ‘boos’ while Hoseok strips out of his underwear and jockstrap and tosses them into the laundry bag. “We’re gonna go walk his dog.”

There is a moment of pause, like the quiet before a storm, and then everyone starts to talk at once.

“We?” Jeongguk shouts. “What do you mean we?”

“He means,” Seokjin answers with a greasy smile, “that our Hoseokkie is getting laid tonight.”

“Shut up,” Hoseok says, pulling on an oversized silver sweater and attempting to fix his hair in the mirror. “You know I don’t do that.”

“So you’re really just going to walk his dog?” Jimin asks as he buttons up his pants - still shirtless. (Jimin goes without a shirt as much as he can, even though he gets shy about it when it’s pointed out to him). 

“Well, Mickey’s with my parents,” Hoseok says with a small shrug.

“Wow, Hoseokkie is using grumpy pants to get some puppy love,” Jeongguk hollers - still not dressed.

“Nah,” Taehyung says, patting Hoseok’s shoulders with a small smile. “I think our Hoseok’s got a crush.”

Hoseok blushes, swipes a little more highlighter onto his cheekbones. The rest of the room hoots their approval, and Hoseok shakes out his clothes before turning to face the room, striking a ridiculous pose.

“How do I look?”

“So sexy,” Jimin shouts.

“Totally fuckable,” Seokjin says at the same time that Jeongguk hollers “hot! You look hot!”

“Seok,” Taehyung says, fixing a few flyway strands of his hair. “You look beautiful.”

.

.

.

Yoongi doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with himself. Under the starlight (and artificial sodium glow of the street lamps) Hoseok might be the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes on. Holly had willingly given himself over to be walked by Hoseok (and Hoseok had been so sweet when he asked Yoongi for permission: “please, my dog is with my parents and I’d really love to”), so now Yoongi has nothing to do with his hands. He shoves them in his pockets, then gets nervous and takes them out again - and then feels weird swinging them back and forth so he shoves them back in his pockets. Thus the whole cycle begins again.

“Were you really sick?” Hoseok asks randomly while Holly is sniffing around his favorite bush. Yoongi startles; he had fully accepted that Hoseok was probably using him because he misses his dog - and he was content with that - that he almost doesn’t know how to formulate a response.

“Um. Not really,” he says lamely.

Hoseok nods, and when Holly does his business Yoongi quickly bends to clean it up - tying off his eco-friendly biodegradable poo bag with practiced ease. 

“I love those,” Hoseok says as they start walking again. “Worth the extra money in my opinion.”

Yoongi thinks he might be in love.

“So, why did you actually leave, then?” Hoseok asks, getting back to the original subject.

Yoongi sighs and tosses the bag in the nearest compost bin. “Do you want an honest answer,” he asks quietly, and Hoseok smiles, his bright teeth gleaming.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Yoongi sighs again and shrugs. “It was supposed to be my night off.” He glances over at Hoseok, but he doesn’t seem to be upset; he just looks like he’s listening. Yoongi clears his throat. “And I was tired and kinda… I dunno.”

“Grumpy,” Hoseok supplies. “Pissy? A grade A asshole?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi concedes, and Hoseok giggles. “That. And then. You. I don’t know, it was all a bit overwhelming.”

Hoseok stops, Yoongi automatically stopping as well and Holly looking back at them both in confused irritation.

“Did you get turned on?”

Yoongi’s cheeks blaze. “What? No, of course not.”

“C’mon,” Hoseok coos even with a shit eating grin on his face. “Did you pop one?”

Hoseok steps in close and Yoongi feels like his heart rises to his throat, pounding against his Adam’s apple

“Do I get in trouble if I say yes?” Yoongi manages to rasp out. Hoseok smiles, and Yoongi reflexively smiles back.

“You’re cute, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi blushes even more. No one has called him cute in a very long time. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?” he asks quietly, and Hoseok laughs.

“I don’t think I can hate you for getting turned on by my performance.”

Yoongi laughs as well, and Holly barks, and the rest of the walk is a bit more comfortable, more at ease. They talk about music, about what inspired Hoseok to put an entire show together based on what he heard in Yoongi’s random throw-away tracks. They talk about choreography, Yoongi gushing over the intricate pictures and intense acrobatics (“and your little matador, what was his name, Jimin? I kept waiting for him to fall off of the hula hoop!”) They get back to Yoongi’s front door too quickly. Hoseok passes Yoongi the leash, and Yoongi, for the first time in a long time, doesn’t want to retreat. He doesn’t want their time together to end. He picks Holly up and cuddles his sleepy dog to his chest.

“Um, thanks for walking my dog,” he says, almost shyly, and Hoseok smiles brightly.

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” he says, and when Yoongi tries to protest he immediately interrupts. “Seriously. I miss hanging out with fur-babies. Seokjin has two sugar gliders, but they’re not the same as a dog.”

“Do you wanna come in?” Yoongi blurts, and it’s definitely not what he wanted to say; he wanted to make some comment about animals, about cute cuddly animals. And even if he had wanted to invite Hoseok over, he didn’t want it to sound like this, all loud and desperate - a wailed demand instead of a question posed between adults. Hoseok blinks at him, and maybe he’s blushing but Yoongi can’t tell in the dim light.

“I, um, “ Hoseok says, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting on his feet. “I don’t put out on the first date.”

Yoongi tilts his head back with a breathy laugh to hide how his face is so red it feels like the skin is going to melt off. “I-is this a d-date?” He stammers out, still looking up at the sky, trying to pretend he never heard the words ‘put out’ leave Hoseok’s mouth.

“I don’t hook up,” Hoseok says - and that sounds somehow worse, so calm compared to Yoongi’s stutters, and Yoongi feels his stomach sink.

“Oh,” he says, then stupidly adds: “I don’t really date.”

“I know.” Hoseok smiles at him softly and Yoongi’s never really felt bad about his casual sex, but he does now. He feels dirty for the first time, sticky and used, and Hoseok’s not even being an ass about it. He’s not used to feeling bad about himself, and he doesn’t like it.

“Did Dawon tell you that?” He asks sharply, and Holly stirs in his arms. “Cos I don’t know why-“

“What? No, no, no, no.” Hoseok waves his hands around like a confused parent trying to do damage control when their kid says something stupid. “No, Dawon didn’t tell me anything. She keeps her work and personal life very separate. Usually.”

Yoongi blinks at Hoseok, dimly aware of his mouth hanging open. He knows that Hoseok is right; he didn’t even know Dawon had a brother until after a year of working together, and he only just found out Hoseok’s name after he walked out of the show. Yoongi tries to swallow, but his tongue feels too dry in his mouth.

“Then how-“ he tries.

“I just sort of guessed,” Hoseok says, shrugging sheepishly. Yoongi honestly doesn’t know what’s worse - Dawon spilling his non-existent dating history or Hoseok just having an inkling that he couldn’t seem to land a real relationship and just seemed the type to fuck around.

“Oh,” Yoongi says. “Right. Cool.”

“I just-“ Hoseok lifts his hands and then lets them fall back to his sides. “Dawon told me you’re always working and kind of keep to yourself. And Namjoon is like that - our stage manager, you know? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in a relationship because he’s always so busy.”

If it was any other circumstance, the way Hoseok is blabbering, stumbling over his words because he’s trying to get them out as quickly as possible would be endearing. But Yoongi is embarrassed and tired and a little hurt.

“You really don’t have to explain,” he says softly, nose once again buried in Holly’s fur and muffling his voice.

“So I just assumed,” Hoseok finishes with a sad flourish. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t- seriously. You assumed right so no need to apologize.”

“And I don’t think it’s a bad ting at all! It’s just not something I can do-“

“It’s fine, Hoseok.”

“I’d really like to sleep with you,” Hoseok says, and that shuts Yoongi up. Hoseok smiles softly and Yoongi almost can’t believe that the sentence left Hoseok’s mouth with him smiling so sweetly. “I just get really attached. That’s my M.O.”

Yoongi keeps it to himself that he also gets attached - that he puts too much of himself into his random hook-ups.

“I, um, I just meant, if you wanted to like, have a coffee, or hot chocolate or something.”

Hoseok’s face immediately flushes, so dark that Yoongi sees the blush despite the dim light from his porch.

“Oh god, I didn’t mean - usually when people ask me to come in it’s so we can fuck-“

“Well, I was asking that too,” Yoongi says with a soft smile. “But just because that’s off the table doesn’t mean you can’t come in for some hot chocolate.”

Hoseok smiles as well, his burst of nervous energy disappearing. “I’d like that.”

“I also have a guest bedroom,” Yoongi says, unlocking the door to his house. Hoseok laughs, a quiet chuckle that feels like it’s pooling right in Yoongi’s stomach. 

“Min Yoongi, I think you’re trying to seduce me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yoongi returns with a small smirk as he places Holly down. “Besides, that’s rich coming from the guy that literally shook his dick in my face.”

“Touche.”

Hoseok does join Yoongi for a mug of hot chocolate (and a mug of coffee for Yoongi; he has a problem, he admits it - it’s even leftover from the morning, microwaved back to its original scalding temperature). They don’t kiss goodnight and Hoseok refuses when Yoongi offers to give him a ride home; he orders a Lyft instead.

And even though Yoongi falls asleep as the sun is starting to shine through his curtains, unkissed and unfucked, he feels more fucked out than he can remember feeling in ages.

Chapter Text

Hoseok gets home after the sun has already risen, and when he gets up again he’s already running late for his call. Jimin hasn’t left yet; he’s still in the kitchen, dancing around in booty shorts and a mesh tank top while singing old Girl’s Generation songs into his water bottle. Hoseok turns on the hot water for tea and Jimin smirks at him, plush lips stretching wide.

“He rises,” Jimin says with a smirk, leaning agains the counter as he watches Hoseok stumble around the kitchen. “You sure you didn’t get some last night? You look totally fucked out.”

Hoseok glares at Jimin as best as he can as he pulls his favorite mug down from the high shelf (something he did on purpose because he loved torturing Jimin by having the shorter man constantly on his toes to get a mug  or glass - “I’m not the fucking ballerina” was shouted almost every morning). 

“You fuckin know I didn’t,” Hoseok grumbles as he drops a tea bag into his mug. Jimin coos, and even though Hoseok would never intentionally be late for his call time, he’s tempted to risk it if it means getting Jimin out of his face.

“Did you want to? Is that why you’re so grumpy?”

“Can I just drink my tea?” Hoseok whines , pouring water from the kettle into his mug, some splashing over the rim and onto the counter. Jimin gives an exaggerated gasp and presses himself against Hoseok, back to chest, while Hoseok is bent over the counter. Hoseok groans; it’s times like this that he wishes he had moved out instead of renewing his lease with Jimin for another year (not that living with Jimin is bad - he actually really loves it; Hoseok hasn’t lived by himself since - well, since he attempted to live on his own while Jimin studied abroad in college. He ended up having too many anxiety attacks and had to spend the whole semester sharing Taehyung’s lumpy dorm-issued twin xl mattress.)

“Hoseok, have you gone through some Freaky Friday shit?” Jimin tries to whisper in Hoseok’s ear even though he misses because he’s too short to reach, only manages to whisper against the back of Hoseok’s neck. “Is is really grumpy pants choke me daddy Min Yoongi in there?”

Hoseok makes the mistake of trying to drink his tea while Jimin talks to him; he snorts, chokes on the hot water and burns his throat. He coughs and Jimin whacks his back with his surprisingly muscular arms, still talking.

“Cos if you are, I want dirt on how Hoseok is in bed.”

Hoseok laughs through his coughing, grips the counter with his fingertips as he stretches, leading with his butt and arching his back like a cat.

“Why do you wanna know how I am in bed?” He finally manages to get out, and Jimin smiles.

“Because I can’t decide if you’re a cuddly soft boy or if you’re the type of guy that Ikes to step on people.”

That makes Hoseok laugh harder despite the ache in his throat and sides.

“You’re weird,’ he says, and Jimin shrugs with a smile.

“Can you blame a guy for being curious?” Jimin asks as Hoseok smears butter and jam on a piece of toast. “Also we have to head out, unless you wanna get your ass chewed by Namjoon.”

“Kinky,” Hoseok attempts to say around a mouthful of bread, mostly just spraying crumbs everywhere.

Jimin snorts. “Hot,” he says, and Hoseok sticks his tongue out in retaliation. “Come on. Rumor has it we’ve sold out tonight.”

Hoseok almost chokes again, just manages to swallow his food like an actual human being before he talks. “What? Where did you hear that?”

Jimin wiggles his eyebrows, arms already filled with Hoseok’s jacket and duffle bag. “I have my ways,” he says, and Hoseok rolls his eyes as he snatches his jacket from Jimin’s outstretched arm.

“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with Namjoon.”

Jimin makes affronted noises all the way from their apartment to the elevator. 

“I can’t tell if you’re being defensive or just being ridiculous,” Hoseok says after a minute has passed of Jimin making “ugh” and “ach” noises.

“Okay, first of all, fuck you.” Jimin holds his hand out and almost immediately a cab stops in front of them; that was a perk of traveling with Jimin - he could get literally anyone to give him a ride. Hoseok had been the standing victim more than once, left on the curb with his hand out as taxi after taxi drove past him. Now he usually takes the bus - but with Jimin they get everywhere so much faster.

“Secondly,” Jimin continues once they’re settled and safely buckled, “I’m surprised that you’d think Namjoon is so secretive of our sales that I’d have to sleep with him to get them. And thirdly,” Jimin smirks at him, “he just got super plastered last night and let it slip.”

Hoseok snorts, unlocks his phone and skims through spam emails and Namjoon’s prodding texts: ‘you okay?’ ‘ETA?’ ‘Hey asshole, you coming to night or am I cancelling this show?’ Jimin hums beside him, and when Hoseok turns to look at him their noses bump from the way Jimin is peering over his shoulder.”

“Maybe we should tell him we’ve been kidnapped,” Jimin says, and Hoseok laughs. “Ask for a ransom. Make him feel guilty.”

“He’s gonna know it’s us,” Hoseok says, Namjoon’s number already dialed and ringing in his ear.

“Oh good,” Namjoon says, voice crackly over the line. “You’re alive.”

“We want fifty thousand dollars,” Jimin hisses in Hoseok’s other ear, and Hoseok shoos him away.

“Sorry,” he says. “Slept in.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re on our way,” Hoseok keeps going like Namjoon never interrupted him.

“Good,” Namjoon says, voice suddenly bright. “It’d be a shame if we had to cancel tonight.”

“Why? Cos we’re sold out?”

“That’s classified information,” Namjoon says too easily, and Hoseok rolls his eyes at Jimin who mouths ‘I told you.’

“And no,” Namjoon continues. “That’s not the reason.”

“Wait,” Hoseok says, leaning forward in his seat. “Wait, if that’s not it then what’s the reason?”

“I’ll see you in fifteen,” Namjoon says. “You can only get a half hour for warm ups total. Split that how you like.”

“Namjoon, wait!”

But Namjoon hangs up and Hoseok is left staring at his phone trying to figure out what Namjoon thinks is so important.

He finds out at the top of show, when Min Yoongi is once again front and center. Suddenly Hoseok getting banned from bar duty (for his health, because he hadn’t slept, they said), everyone giving him coy smiles and little butt pats; it all makes sense when he steps on stage and sees Min Yoongi back in the center chair.

He’s dressed similarly to the way he dressed the first time - an oversized sweater that hangs past his hands, and a pair of black ripped skinny jeans. His hair is unkempt and wavy, like he just rolled out of bed (and maybe he did), and his cheeks are pink, his lips pouty, and Hoseok suddenly has the urge to pull Yoongi up onto the stage, to kiss him, to hold him down and - 

But Hoseok doesn’t do that, hasn’t done a one night stand since he was in college and put his whole heart in so many hands that it felt like it was getting shattered beyond repair. And maybe it had been, because Hoseok hasn’t had a relationship that’s lasted more than four months in a while. He’s always blamed it on his job, on the long hours and the unavailable weekends and the dancing in heels with his ass out, but maybe there’s just something wrong with him.

“Hey,” Taehyung whispers as they prepare for one of their more complicated moves. “Hey, be with me.”

Hoseok refocuses, smiles and nods before he leaps and flips over Taehyung’s shoulder. 

“That producer is really into you,” Taehyung murmurs against Hoseok’s ear in between dirty gyrating hips and elegant ballet routines.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hoseok whispers, and Taehyung just gives him a knowing smile.

Hoseok tries not to notice the way Yoongi looks at him when he dances, like Hoseok is the only person he sees. He tries to not notice the way Yoongi smiles at him, the way he covers his hands and uses his sweater paws to try and hide when he giggles.

He fails. He can’t stop noticing Yoongi. Couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

.

.

.

It’s been three weeks and Yoongi has gone to every show of Ferdinand. It’s not because he’s completely enamored by the storyline - even though the performances are amazing; Yoongi could never do the things they can do with their bodies and he knows it. He’s not enamored with the show; he’s enamored with Hoseok, and he feels like a complete creep. He initially was just going to come back one more time and ask Hoseok out after the show, but that plan had failed. He had waited outside for all of five minutes, saw so many other hotter guys also waiting outside, and left.

It’s not like he sits in the center chair every time; more often than not he sits all the way in the back, but it doesn’t change the fact that he keeps going back. Not only that, this week he waits until the last possible moment to enter the theatre so that the cast doesn’t know he’s there, like an addict trying to hide any evidence of their habit. He hasn’t snuck around like a goddamn gremlin since he was in high school and he stole his mom’s PlayGirl magazines.

Perhaps the worst of it is that there’s no way they haven’t noticed that he’s been coming, that Hoseok hasn’t noticed. Yoongi would have thought he’d be approached by now (that he would have grown the balls to ask Hoseok out by now), but he’s been steadily ignored. Well, not ignored - he’s just treated like every other audience patron. At this point he’d rather have someone accuse him of being a stalker and tell him to get lost than to just be invisible.

He sinks further into his hoodie as he watches Taehyung and Hoseok dancing together for the finale. Taehyung supports Hoseok’s calf on his shoulder as he dips him. Hoseok lifts his other leg to propel himself and flip over, but when he lands his nose scrunches up slightly, his brow furrowed like something isn’t right. Taehyung touches his low back, and Yoongi doesn’t miss the look of concern on his face. The move didn’t look any different than it normally does, but Yoongi can’t shake the feeling that something went wrong, especially when Hoseok doesn’t raise his arms as high during their bow. He beds at the elbows, a little half cheer, and Yoongis chest feels tight. Maybe he needs to take some time for some serious introspection, but it occurs to him that he hasn’t felt genuine concern for someone (including himself; he has some very self destructive tendencies) in a long while.

The men all exit backstage and Yoongi hangs back from the crowd, keeps an eye out for Front Door Guy - Namjoon, Hoseok said his name was Namjoon. He spots him after most of the audience has filed out of the theatre, pushing a broom across the stage. Yoongi navigates through the maze of chairs, and Namjoon raises his eyebrows when Yoongi gets close enough to be illuminated by the footlights.

“Hey, Min Yoongi,” Namjoon says, not pausing in his sweeping. “You can wait for the actors in the lobby.”

“Uh, yeah,” Yoongi says, then clears his throat. “I um, I was actually wondering about Hoseok.”

Namjoon pauses for just a moment, like a stutter, the expression on his face somewhere between wanting to laugh and looking physically ill.

“No,” he says, sweeping a little more aggressively. “No, sorry. I can’t be the go-between for audience members wanting to date my actors. That’s the rule, and I can’t bend it just because we used your music.”

Yoongi’s cheeks flush. He wonders how often something like that happens, wonders if Namjoon or Hoseok or anyone else in the cast think he’s an absolute creep for how many times he’s seen the show at this point.

“That’s not what I was going to ask,” Yoongi says, keeping his voice steady despite his mounting embarrassment. “I noticed - it looked like Hoseok got hurt and I wanted to make sure that he was okay.”

Namjoon stops his sweeping and leans on his broom. He stares at Yoongi for what feels like a long time, long enough for Yoongi to start fiddling with the cuffs of his hoodie. “You noticed that?”

“Y-yeah. I mean, he hid it well, but his nose kind of scrunched and…yeah. I was just worried.”

The way Namjoon looks at him, like he’s a small kitten that has been abandoned in a box out in the rain, makes Yoongi’s skin itch. He’s always the scary one, the one people don’t want to talk to. No one ever looks at him like this, all soft, and he isn’t sure he likes it.

“He’s okay,” Namjoon says. “We think he pulled a muscle. He’s gonna get it checked out, maybe take tomorrow off. But, you know,” Namjoon has a coy smile, and Yoongi feels heat rise in the back of his throat, “you could just ask him yourself.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah.”

“Trust me, he’d really appreciate it.”

“Really?” And Yoongi hates how hopeful he sounds, like he’s a love struck schoolboy. Namjoon’s coy grin turns into something else, something a little more gentle, soft around the edges, as he takes up sweeping again.

“Really. Stage door is on the side of the building. I have a feeling he’s going to forgo the lobby tonight.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says, the weight of Namjoon’s information dawning on him slowly. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks. I’ll do that.”

“Good luck,” Namjoon calls after him.

Namjoon is correct; Hoseok steps out of the stage door on the side of the building not ten minutes later, and he practically screams when Yoongi shifts off of the wall and steps into the illuminating glow of the streetlight.

“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me,” Hoseok says - yells more like, a hand clutched over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says, trying his best to sound sincere through his urge to giggle. “Namjoon said you’d come out the side door, so.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes, but a small smile betrays his light mood. “Did he.”

“Only because I was worried about you,” Yoongi is quick to add. “He said it’s not something he does often so it’s not like he - I was just…yeah.”

Hoseok chuckles softly, shifts his duffle bag, winces. “You were worried about me?”

Yoongi nods. “It looked like you got hurt. Want me to carry that for you?”

Hoseok hesitates only a moment before he nods, and Yoongi steps forward so that he can gently lift the duffle bag off of Hoseok’s shoulder.

“If you could walk with me to the bus stop that’d be great,” Hoseok says, rubbing at his shoulder. “If you don’t mind.”

“Let me drive you home,” Yoongi blurts, and Hoseok stops in his tracks. Yoongi sighs. “You’re hurt. I have a car. It’ll be faster and you don’t have to carry anything.”

“I don’t want to take you out of your way.”

“I offered.” Hoseok opens his mouth like he’s going to protest again and Yoongi takes a small step towards him. “Please. Let me do this for you.”

Hoseok smiles slowly, then nods. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, normal gruff tone back, and Hoseok laughs. Yoongi places Hoseok’s bag in his trunk, and for the first five minutes they drive in silence; well, as silent as it can be with Yoongi’s phone GPS yelling at him.

“So you’ve been coming to every show,” Hoseok finally says when they’re stopped at a red light, and Yoongi sighs.

“Was it that obvious?”

Hoseok shrugs, then grunts in discomfort. “We’re a small house.”

“Yeah. I have.”

“Is that how you caught that something was wrong?”

Yoongi knows what Hoseok is really asking; he doesn’t know if it’s because they are both in artistic professions or because he somehow has an in into Hoseok’s brain (probably the former, but the thought of the latter is nice).

“I didn’t notice because you messed up or anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says bluntly. “You scrunched your nose. And during curtain call you didn’t lift your arms all the way.” He glances over at Hoseok and flashes what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “The move was flawless.” 

“Obviously not,” Hoseok mumbles, but then he smiles. “But thanks.”

“How bad is it?” Yoongi asks, following the directions his phone is aggressively spitting at him. “Can you massage it?”

“Yeah, probably.” Hoseok sighs and sinks further into his seat. “It just aches. And it’s annoying because I can’t take anything on an empty stomach, so it’s just been achy.”

Yoongi sees a sign for a diner and turns toward it, much to the distress of his GPS, which is telling him to turn left so vehemently Yoongi actually concerned it might explode.

“What are you doing?” Hoseok asks, struggling to sit back up.

“I’m getting you food,” Yoongi says, like making a U-turn for a shitty diner is a totally normal course of action when driving a friend home.

“You don’t have to do that,’ Hoseok says with a small chuckle. “I have food at home, Yoongi.”

“You hurt yourself, what, thirty minutes ago? We’re getting you food and you’re taking some anti-inflammatory painkillers.”

His voice is gruff, the plan more of an angry demand than anything else, and Hoseok laughs louder.

“Yes sir,” he says in between gasping for breath, and Yoongi gives a relieved chuckle of his own.

“Good.”

The diner is small but clean, and since it boasts the best coconut cream pie in the world, of course Yoongi has to order a slice. Hoseok gets a hamburger and fries, along with a Sprite that has maraschino cherries floating in the bottom of the glass.

“I don’t like to eat too soon before going on stage,” Hoseok explains as he sips his drink. “Otherwise it just sits in my stomach and I get cramps.”

“I’m surprised that’s all you get,” Yoongi says, dumping too much cream and sugar into his small mug of coffee. (It’s a terrible habit leftover from when he was a child; he moved around so much and the only places left open along the highways were diners and gas stations. His parents wouldn’t let him have hot chocolate or soda late at night, so he was left with decaf coffee that he doctored with snuck packets of sugar and small containers of heavy cream. At home he drinks his coffee black, but any time a ceramic diner mug is in his hand he immediately reaches for the square packets of sugar). “I can’t even imagine doing half the shit you do, let alone on a full stomach.”

Hoseok grins. “One time Jimin ate right before a rehearsal, and when he got onto the hula hoop it pressed his stomach just right and he threw up all over the stage.”

“Hot,” Yoongi deadpans as he takes a long sip from his coffee, and Hoseok laughs delightedly.

“So why have you never stuck around to talk before?” Hoseok asks once he’s halfway through his hamburger and a thousand milligrams of ibuprofen is coursing through his system.

“I dunno,” Yoongi answers noncommittally, scooping whipped cream off of the top of his pie onto his finger and sucking it off. Hoseok snorts and fishes out an artificially red cherry from the bottom of his glass.

“Don’t lie, Yoon.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, as much from the sudden nickname as from Hoseok’s persistence. He takes a too big gulp of coffee, it hurts as it goes down his throat, and pools warm in his stomach.

“It’s not a good reason,” he says, hoping that will end the conversation. He should know better; Hoseok is Dawon’s brother, and she’s one of the most stubborn people that Yoongi has met aside from himself.

“Well, obviously.”

Yoongi sighs, plays with the cream on top of his pie. “How honest do you want me to be?”

“You keep asking that,” Hoseok muses. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”

“See, people say that,” Yoongi accuses, brandishing his spoon like it’s a dagger, “but they never actually mean it.”

“I do,” Hoseok says simply. Yoongi sighs and drops his spoon onto his plate; it clatters and falls onto the table.

“I didn’t stick around because I like you.”

“Wow,” Hoseok says with a startled laugh. “You sound so enthused.”

“Shut up.”

Hoseok grins cheekily. “So you just come and stare at me instead?”

“I-“ Yoongi sighs and picks up his spoon again, shovels some pie into his mouth. It’s a little too sweet, the coconut on the verge of being overpowering, but it’s not too terrible. “I waited. A couple of times.”

Hoseok leans forward. “And?”

Yoongi shrugs. “There’s plenty of really attractive people waiting for you after every show,” he says. “I mean, really attractive people.”

Hoseok snorts. “They’re not you, though.”

Yoongi rests his cheek on his hand, tries to hide how much that statement makes his insides flip. “I wanna fuck you,” he says abruptly, and Hoseok’s cheeks turn pink. “And then keep fucking you. I don’t think anyone waiting for you outside thought that. So I left.”

Hoseok looks confused. “I don’t understand.”

Yoongi shrugs. “They probably want to take you out. Or…I don’t know. They’re better.”

Hoseok laughs, sharp and quick. “They’re probably waiting for Jimin or Taehyung. They probably want a photo or to fuck me once.” Hoseok’s eyes darken slightly, his expression suddenly serious. “But you, you want to fuck me more than once?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi murmurs, unsure of what to do with what Hoseok has just said, all of his words swimming in his sleep-deprived brain. Did Hoseok want him to stick around? Does Hoseok like him? 

“I’m flattered,” Hoseok says with no trace of sarcasm. He picks up a fry and drags it through the puddle of ketchup on his plate, then lets it drop into the puddle completely.

“So…fucking more than once-“ Hoseok says slowly, and Yoongi cuts him off.

“Fucking is not dating,” Yoongi says defensively, and Hoseok smiles.

“I never said it was.”

“So what are you saying?” Yoongi fiddles with his cup. “Are you ready to give up your rule against one night stands?”

“If we fuck more than once is it still a one night stand?” Hoseok muses.

“It is if we fuck more than once in one night.” Yoongi thumbs through the cash in his wallet and lays some on the table before he slides out of his seat.

Hoseok laughs and pushes himself out of the booth. “Fair enough.”

Neither of them bring up fucking for the rest of the drive. Yoongi’s fingers are twitchy; he keeps tapping out random rhythms against his steering wheel, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the sudden rush of caffeine running through his veins or if it’s because of their earlier conversation. He glances over at Hoseok every so often, but Hoseok looks like he’s seconds away from falling asleep. 

Yoongi pulls into the driveway of a small townhouse, lights on in both apartments.

“You don’t live alone?” He asks, placing the car in park, and Hoseok chuckles as he shakes his head.

“Nah. I’ve shared with Jimin since college.” 

“Wow,” Yoongi says. “That’s impressive.”

“I know.”

Yoongi carries Hoseok’s bag to the front door and patiently stands while Hoseok fishes for his keys.

“I would invite you in,” Hoseok says once he gets the door open and tosses his duffle bag onto the floor, “but I’m dead on my feet.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says, masking his disappointment. “Yeah. That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Next time, though.” Hoseok smiles as he steps into the apartment, door still open. “For sure.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi repeats.

“You know,” Hoseok says just as Yoongi is turning around, and Yoongi hates how his heart jumps up to his throat at the prospect of potentially being invited in. “You’ve taken me on two dates.”

Yoongi blinks. “No I haven’t.”

Hoseok nods. “Walking your dog and drinking hot chocolate, and taking me out for dinner,” he says, ticking off a finger for each one.

“Those aren’t dates,” Yoongi defends, stepping closer to Hoseok’s entryway. “Those are just things that happened.”

Hoseok shrugs one shoulder, but there’s a small smile playing at his lips. “Sure,” he says easily. “If you say so. But hey, come here a sec.”

Yoongi steps forward and Hoseok presses a quick kiss to his cheek. Yoongi blinks dumbly; his first thought is ‘what am I, five?’ But the way Hoseok looks at him, the way his cheeks are a pretty pink and he’s biting his lip like what he did was daring, makes Yoongi’s chest and throat feel hot.

“Thanks?” He says, inflection rising like a question. Hoseok fiddles with the doorknob. Clicking the lock. Clicking it again.

“Thank you for dinner. And the ride.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, awkwardly stepping back and rubbing the back of his head with his hand. Maybe he did deserve that stupid peck, because he’s certainly acting like a middle schooler. “Anytime.”

.

.

.

[chimchim]: yo, your grumpy boyfriend is here and we told him you’re taking the night off.

Hoseok’s heart flutters in his chest at the sight of Jimin’s text. It’s annoying, like he’s back in middle school with a crush.

[chimchim]: I think hes gonna stay outta guilt

[chimchim]: want me to nudge him your way?

Hoseok looks around his living room. He’s currently laying on the couch with an icepack taped to his shoulder watching Finding Nemo. He hates not being able to perform on the best of days, and the idea of being able to spend his night with cute Min Yoongi instead of wallowing on his own makes his current loneliness seem that much more pathetic.

[seokkie]: yes pls

[chimchim]: I’ll give him your # too

[chimchim]: aw he blushed what a cutie.

Hoseok stares at his phone, imagines Yoongi getting flustered at the prospect of getting Hoseok’s number. It’s weird to think that Yoongi typically just fucks around with how soft he appears, even stranger that some if his music is vulgar and hard and intimidating. He remembers Dawon saying that Yoongi was gruff and abrupt when she first started working with him, but Hoseok has a hard time seeing it.

[unknown]: hi hoseok its min yoongi. I got your number from jimin.

[hoseok]: yeah he told me. hi!

[yoongi]: jimin said you might want some company.

[hoseok]: yes please.

[hoseok]: do you need my address?

[yoongi]: nah. magic of gps.

[yoongi]: I’ll see you soon.

Hoseok looks at the bowl of popcorn and half-eaten grilled cheese on his coffee table and groans as he forces himself to clean. Hoseok is normally a neat person, but whenever he’s sick or injured it’s like he devolves into a five year old that lacks the ability to care for himself or do dishes. He dumps the hardened sandwich into the trash, fixes the haphazard blankets and pillows on his sofa, and changes out Finding Nemo for Big Hero 6 once the credits start rolling.

When Yoongi shows up he knocks instead of ringing the doorbell, and for some reason Hoseok finds it endearing. Yoongi wears yet another too-big hoodie - this one branded with The Sex Pistols across the front, and black skinny jeans. He wears cherry colored Nike high-tops and holds a plastic bag in one hand.

“Smells good,” Hoseok says by way of greeting and Yoongi shrugs. 

“I brought you some Chinese food,” he says, staring at his shoes. “If you’re anything like me you engage in self-torture when you can’t work.”

“Guilty as charged,” Hoseok says, taking the offered food and leading Yoongi to the living room where the other man snorts.

“Big Hero 6?”

“I also watch every Disney movie I own,” Hoseok says, flopping down onto the sofa and digging into the bag. “Oh, you got shrimp fried rice?”

“Is that okay?” Yoongi asks, sitting beside him and curling his feet under his butt. “I kind of just got what I like. Sorry.”

“Oh, god no. I thought Jimin told you or something,” Hoseok babbles, digging in. “This shit is my favorite. Love of my life.”

“Well, I guess I get to give the best man speech at your wedding, so I can tell the touching story of how I brought you and shrimp fried rice together,” Yoongi says, completely serious as he unwraps an egg roll and covers it in sauce. “It’ll be the best thing anyone has heard. Tears all around.”

Hoseok laughs, just barely managing to not choke on his food. Yoongi smiles at him as he chews his food, soft and shy, and Hoseok thinks that Yoongi looks delicate like this, wrapped up in his oversized clothes, munching on an egg roll with two hands. He thinks about the lyrics that Yoongi creates, the hard and sensual songs that Hoseok used for this show, thinks of the way Dawon described Yoongi as an aggressive gremlin - but Hoseok can’t see it. Hoseok sees someone that needs to be cuddled, someone that needs his cheeks kissed and his hand held. Yoongi blinks at him slowly, cheeks flushing.

“What?”

Hoseok blinks as well, spoons more shrimp fried rice into his mouth. “What, what?”

“You’re staring,” Yoongi says, reaching for a napkin as he sucks off the sauce on each of his fingers. Hoseok watches him with rapt attention, watches the way pouty lips wrap around bony digits, the way his cheeks hollow, the way his tongue swirls. Yoongi meets his gaze again and his cheeks flush even darker.

“Seriously, what?”

“You’re cute,” Hoseok says with a bright smile, and Yoongi’s face gets so red it looks like he might explode like in one of those old cartoons, top of his head shooting off and steam coming out of his ears. Yoongi hastily grabs another container and shovels a too big piece of chicken into his mouth.

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, words muffled around his food. Hoseok grins, watches him for a moment more, but then settles into the couch and focuses on the film. They stay quiet mostly, munching on the different foods hidden in takeout containers until there is nothing left but fortune cookies, occasionally yelling at the screen (well, Yoongi occasionally yells at the screen; he’s very passionate about movies, he explains). 

“You know,” Hoseok says, fiddling with the plastic wrapper of his fortune cookie, Baymax showing old footage of Tadashi’s test videos on screen (one of Hoseok’s favorite parts), “I’ve been told I look like Tadashi.”

Yoongi snorts and holds out his hand for Hoseok’s fortune cookie. “It’s because you’re Asian.”

Hoseok passes over his cookie and Yoongi easily tears the wrapper despite it being grease-slicked from Hoseok’s fingers. “It is not.”

“Is so.” Yoongi smirks and opens the wrapper of his own cookie. “I’ve also been told I look like Tadashi. On a plane. A little girl screamed at her mom that I was. You know what her mom said?”

“What?”

Yoongi affects a high pitched voice; he sounds like a stereotypical anime witch and Hoseok has to do his best to keep from laughing. “That’s just an Asian man in a hat sweetie.”

Hoseok laughs so hard his sides hurt, and he has to be careful not to crush his cookie with how hard he’s gripping it. Yoongi snorts and shakes his head, cracks his cookie in half and pulls out the little strip of paper in the center.

“You’re kidding,” Hoseok finally gasps out, and Yoongi shakes his head.

“Not even a little bit.” He looks down at his paper and his cheeks go red. Hoseok “oohs” like he’s back in middle school and someone has gotten in trouble.

“What does it say, please share with the class.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but he clears his throat. “The, um, the one you love is closer than you think,” he mumbles, cheeks burning brighter. “Maybe right next to you.” Hoseok also feels his cheeks start to warm. “Do you know what the lucky numbers mean?”

“No idea,” Hoseok says, and his voice sounds weird, trapped somewhere in his throat. Yoongi shrugs like he can’t be bothered, like his fortune said something like “orange juice is what comes out of an orange because that’s what’s inside” instead of something that could very clearly be referring to them.

“What does yours say?” Yoongi asks, and Hoseok quickly breaks his cookie and pulls out the paper. When he reads it he laughs, partially out of startled amusement and partly from slight terror. He can’t read it out loud through his laughter, and Yoongi holds his hand out so that he can read it. Hoseok watches his eyes widen and he laughs harder.

“Okay, this has to be a fluke,” Yoongi says, digging in the bag, maybe looking for another cookie.

“M-maybe we’re just destined,” Hoseok finally manages to get out.

Yoongi glares. “I am not taking relationship advice from a fortune cookie.” He shoves the slip of paper back at Hoseok: “the one you love is closer than you think. Maybe right next to you.”

“Why not?” Hoseok asks, and Yoongi blinks at him while Hiro cries on screen.

“Why not what?”

“Why not take relationship advice from a fortune cookie?”

“Because,” Yoongi says, standing and compiling all of their trash back into the plastic bag that it came in. Hoseok waits for more, but Yoongi doesn’t say anything else. 

“Because why?”

Yoongi stares at him for a moment before he shakes his head and ties off the trash bag. “Don’t tell me you believe in that stuff. Want another ice pack?”

Hoseok sighs as he removes the now lukewarm icepack from his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you don’t believe in it,” he counters, getting up and following Yoongi into his kitchen. 

“I don’t,” Yoongi says firmly, even though the tips of his ears are red. “Those messages are manufactured on a mass scale. They’re not personal.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Hoseok says. He grabs a new icepack from the freezer and Yoongi helps him to secure it over his shoulder.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Yoongi says firmly. “It’s a fluke.”

“I don’t believe in those either.”

“So what,” Yoongi says, his voice rising in pitch and volume. “You’re going to fall in love with me because a cookie told you to?”

Hoseok snorts, grabs Yoongi’s hand before he can make his escape out of the kitchen. Yoongi’s fingers are trembling in his grip and Hoseok squeezes his hand lightly.

“No,” he says softly. “But I can admit that I maybe have a crush on you. And you could admit that you should maybe ask me out.”

Yoongi doesn’t look at him. He stares at their clasped hands and Hoseok watches the way his shoulders rise and fall with each breath.

“I don’t date,” Yoongi says at last, barely above a mumble.

“Yoongi, this is like, our third date.” Yoongi finally looks up at him, eyes wide and teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“I don’t…” Yoongi starts, but then he trails off, pulls his hand out of Hoseok’s grasp. He shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets and almost seems to shrink into himself. 

“Why not?”

Yoongi shrugs. “It just…doesn’t work out for me.”

“Can I ask,” Hoseok starts, then leans against the counter as he tries to figure out how to word his question. “Have you been in a relationship before?”

Yoongi’s face looks pale, almost like he’s sick. “Yeah. For five years.”

Hoseok feels like he’s going to choke; he has to focus very hard on not coughing or acting too surprised. He shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair. “I haven’t had a relationship last longer than four months,” he admits softly. “So really, relationships don’t seem to work out for me.”

“That’s not,” Yoongi says. “I didn’t mean — I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Epic music is coming from the film in the living room, and they stand in the kitchen, close but still too far apart, looking at each other and then looking away, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Listen,” Hoseok says, voice still soft. Yoongi looks up at him through his bangs. “I still don’t - I know I’m considering this our third date and everything-“ Yoongi snorts at that. “But I can’t fuck without commitment. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi shrugs. “You don’t need to apologize for that.”

“I can kiss, though,” Hoseok continues. “Maybe. If you want.”

Yoongi shrugs, but Hoseok can see the tug of a smile on Yoongi’s lips. “Okay,” he says. “Sure.”

“Only if you want,” Hoseok says, stepping forward. Yoongi nods, looks up at him with dark eyes.

“I want.”

“Cool,” Hoseok says.

“Cool, Yoongi echoes.

Yoongi’s lips are chapped. His lips are chapped and their mouths are both a little bit greasy from the Chinese food that they ate, and it tastes like Shrimp Fried Rice and Sesame Chicken and Duck Sauce, but Hoseok loses himself in it. Loses himself in the sensation of his tongue brushing alongside Yoongi’s, of their lips moving together, of Yoongi’s broad hands spread along his low back, warm and comforting. He tunes out the battle sounds from the living room and focuses on the wet sounds of their kissing, of Yoongi’s soft moans and panting breaths.

The fortune cookie still lingers in the back of his mind. Maybe right next to you.

.

.

.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just go for it,” Yijeong says, holding up the small slip of paper from the fortune cookie between two fingers. Yoongi had laughed about it, written it off when he’d gotten it, but it didn’t stop him from hiding the slip in his pocket. He didn’t want to admit that a part of him was afraid of losing it, or throwing it away, in case it destroyed whatever good juju powers were wrapped up into it.

“I can’t,” Yoongi says, holding Holly above him and wiggling his dog in the air. Holly yips in annoyance, and Yoongi carefully lowers him back onto his chest. “You know I can’t.”

“Yoongi,” Yijeong says softly, sitting up from where he was reclining sideways in Yoongi’s recliner (one of his most prized possessions, found at a yard sale the day he bought his house after his breakup, almost brand new, brown leather and already worn-in). “You guys split almost two years ago. You’re allowed to date someone else. Shit, he’s already married.”

Yoongi tries to pretend that it doesn’t hurt, but he can’t help the grimace that covers his face. It’s not like he doesn’t know, he’d seen the pictures all over instagram six months ago. Then it had made him cry so hard he’d thrown up. Now it just makes him feel a little nauseous, makes his stomach cramp up a little.

“I know,” he says, but his voice sounds strangled.

“You don’t still love him, do you?”

Yoongi sits up, Holly automatically adjusting and curling into a ball between his legs. Yoongi sighs, rubs at his eyes.

“No,” he admits, because it’s true. He doesn’t still love his ex. He just…he misses it sometimes. Misses the easy intimacy they had. Misses all of the things they had planned together - the house, the family, their own production company. He misses feeling like he knows someone inside and out, misses feeling like someone knows him inside and out. Even though they never really did; in hindsight it’s clear to see that they really knew nothing about each other.

He’s not still in love with his ex, but the final fight they had still burns in his memory, emblazoned on his frontal cortex and decimating everything he thought he knew about himself, about relationships, about love and happily ever afters.

“Okay,” Yijeong says, also sitting up and adjusting so that he sits with his legs spread and hands clasped, leaning forward like he’s a hip professor about to give an ultimatum. “So you don’t love him. You and Hoseok clearly like each other - I seriously don’t see the problem.”

“You’re being insensitive,” Yoongi whines, and Yijeong rolls his eyes.

“I’m not being insensitive. I’m being realistic.”

Yoongi groans and falls back down so that he’s laying face-up on his carpet. Holly yips excitedly and jumps on top of Yoongi’s stomach, and Yoongi gives an over exaggerated groan as he ruffles Holly’s fur. He doesn’t say out loud the sentiment that flashes through his mind (that he often coos at Holly when they are alone) ‘at least you still love me. At least I know you will always pick me.’

“You don’t understand,” is what he says instead.

“You’re right,” Yijeong says, his words extending as he stretches. “I don’t.”

Holly brings his rope toy over and Yoongi half-heartedly plays tug-of-war while he tries to gather his thoughts and explain himself. Yijeong wasn’t there for the end of his relationship; he saw the aftermath of course, but Yoongi had almost completely closed off as he and his ex were falling apart, as he had seen them spiraling towards a terrible end and tried desperately to fix it. He wasn’t there when Yoongi found the second cell phone, wasn’t there for the countless arguments or the endless disappointments. 

And while Yijeong had caught on to the changes Yoongi was making (a random drink after a month of cancelled plans- the careful, forced casualty of “you’ve lost a lot of weight, Yoon. It’s been so long I hardly recognize you”), he wasn’t in the house with Yoongi while he was trying to turn into the person his boyfriend was sleeping with. He wasn’t there for the placating sex in positions that he didn’t enjoy or the constant dieting. He wasn’t there when Yoongi swallowed his disappointment so much that he gave himself an ulcer. He wasn’t there for the final blow: the emptied apartment and a note. He wasn’t there for the phone call - “really Yoongi, this is just pathetic”. He doesn’t know how to articulate all of the things that Yijeong wasn’t there for, doesn’t know how to explain how he feels like he lost a fundamental part of himself. He doesn’t know how to admit that he’s terrified - terrified that he’s lost the ability to love, the ability to be loved. He’s terrified that he never had it to begin with.

“You’re too much in your head, man,” Yijeong says, and belatedly Yoongi realizes that Holly had given up playing with him and gone to his doggie bed. Yoongi gives a tired smile to Yijeong, who gives a tired smile back.

“Tell me about it,” Yoongi says, sitting up and scooting back to lean his back against the couch. Yijeong snorts and shifts his position in the recliner to something a bit more relaxed, one leg tossed over the arm of the chair.

“I know you’re scared, Yoongi,” Yijeong says after a moment, and Yoongi makes a non-comital sound. “But really, I think you should go for it. I mean, what do you have to lose?”

“Everything,” Yoongi says automatically, even though it’s not true. Yijeong doesn’t even respond; he just raises his eyebrows. Yoongi sighs and lets his head fall back onto the sofa cushion.

“Shut up,” he groans.

“Didn’t say anything,” YIjeong says. 

.

.

.

Hoseok’s shoulder heals in time for closing weekend, and his subsequent Instagram announcement (Jimin’s really, a picture of the two of them in costume with the caption: “he’s back BITCHES”) has boosted their ticket sales into overflow.

“You should tell your boyfriend,” Namjoon says during the break of his pickup rehearsal, and Hoseok feels the tips of his ears go red. “We don’t have room for walkups.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hoseok says defensively. He hasn’t seen Yoongi since the night he came over with Chinese food. Hoseok had the feeling that Yoongi was avoiding him because of the kiss, even though Yoongi assured him that wasn’t the reason.

“I’m swamped at work,” the texts said. “Maybe another time.”

Hoseok had gotten his fair share of similar texts throughout his life, and had been struggling with swallowing his disappointment that Min Yoongi was writing him off because of a kiss on the cheek and one make-out session that didn’t even get close to second base.

“You should text your hookup,” Namjoon says, grunting as he finally gets the gel frame off of the light.

“He’s not my hookup. Come on, Namjoon.”

Namjoon glances at him as the too small red gel flutters to the floor and he replaces it with a larger square.

“Either way, you should text him and let him know.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes and grabs his water bottle from the stage before he sulks out of the side door. He knows that Namjoon is trying to be supportive in his own way, but Namjoon hasn’t been left on read for the majority of the day. Hoseok steps out of the theatre and into the cool damp of a misty evening and inhales deeply. He doesn’t call Yoongi. He calls his sister.

“What’s up baby bro?”

“Tell Yoongi that we’re sold out this weekend.”

He hears a clattering over the line, and he may be crazy but he swears he hears Yoongi say ‘what.’ Hoseok groans.

“Did you have me on speaker?”

“Sorry,” Dawon says, even though it’s clear from her voice that she isn’t. Hoseok hears Yoongi again; he can’t pick out any words but he hears the distant rumble of his muted baritone. “It’s my default phone setting. So, what was that again?”

“We’re sold out this weekend,” Hoseok grumbles.

“Haven’t you been sold out?”

“We’re over-sold. Like, no walkups will get in over-sold.”

“That’s great - Yoongi, back up, he called me - Hoseok, that’s great, but why are you telling me?”

Hoseok feels the tips of his ears get hot again. He should hang up, but deep down he wants Yoongi to know that Hoseok is going around him; he wants Yoongi to want to see him, to call him back and try to get a ticket.

“Could you let Yoongi know?” His voice is so quiet that he isn’t sure Dawon hears him.

“He coulda just called me,” Hoseok hears Yoongi grumble, clear as day, and Hoseok feels the heat from his ears travel across his cheekbones and down his neck.

“I’m still on speaker, aren’t I?”

“Seriously Hoseok,” Yoongi says. “You could have called me.”

“Really?” Hoseok snaps. “Would you even have picked up?”

“Sure I would have,” Yoongi says defensively, and Hoseok snorts. 

“You’ve left me on read all day.”

Yoongi sputters over the line. “I’ve been busy.”

“Been awkward, more like,” Dawon interjects, and Yoongi makes a noise of frustration.

“Whatever,” Hoseok says. “Either way we’re sold out this weekend so if you want to see the show you’ll have to probably suck someone’s dick.”

“Can’t he just suck yours?” Dawon asks.

“Christ, Dawon,” Yoongi says at the same time Hoseok manages to stutter out something about appropriate workplace conversations. “Hoseok, are you performing this weekend?”

“It’s all over Instagram,” Dawon says before Hoseok can answer. “Don’t you follow them?”

“Do I look like a person that keeps up with Instagram?”

“Yeah, I’m back on,” Hoseok says. “If you responded to my texts, you’d probably know that.”

It’s awkwardly quiet over the line and Hoseok tries not to feel guilty over his lack of filter.

“Hoseok I -” 

“You guys are at work,” Hoseok says abruptly, cutting Yoongi off. “I just wanted to let you know. In case you were planning on coming.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi says, and he sounds disappointed - maybe a little sad. Hoseok wonders if he should have bothered calling in the first place; maybe he should have let Min Yoongi fade away into the recesses of his forgotten text messages.

“I’ll see you tonight, Hoseok,” Dawon says cheerily.

“Cool. See you Dawonnie.”

“Kiss kiss,” she says, and then hangs up.

.

.

.

“So,” Dawon says, folding her hands and glaring at Yoongi from across her desk. The strict bun on the top of her head adds to the effect; Yoongi feels like he’s about to be berated by his elementary school teacher. “What’s this about you ghosting my brother?”

Yoongi sighs and rubs his hands over his face; his skin feels scratchy; he didn’t get a chance to shave that morning. Did he shave yesterday? They’ve been working on promotional material for one of their artists, and while Yoongi hates promos — they’re not even part of his job, technically - the fact is that he and Dawon are close to being partners at this point. He feels like he hasn’t slept in a week, maybe longer. 

“Dawon, this isn’t exactly a work-appropriate conversation.”

“It’s my brother.”

“Which is exactly why it’s not appropriate.” Yoongi rests his elbow on her desk and props his cheek on his fist. “He doesn’t work here, so technically my sex life or lack thereof is not up for discussion.”

“We’re not talking about your sex life,” Dawon says, matching his posture. “We’re talking about you ghosting my brother.”

“I’m sorry Dawon, but it’s really none of your business,” Yoongi says, straightening and grabbing the packet of promotional materials in front of him. “Anyway, have you had time for any personal shit while we’ve been dealing with this promo?

“Yes,” Dawon says, voice calm and steady. “My husband and I have one meal a day together. Last night we saw a movie.”

“Good for you,” Yoongi grumbles. He always forgets that Dawon is happily married. “Must be great to have the time.”

“I don’t have the time,” Dawon says pointedly. “I make the time. There’s a difference.”

“Well, I don’t have anyone worth making the time for,” Yoongi snaps. Dawon’s eyebrows furrow together.

“Excuse you?”

“Dawon, don’t.”

“My brother isn’t worth making time for?” Dawon says through her teeth. “Is that what I just heard you say?”

“Again,” Yoongi says, voice starting to rise. “It’s none of your business.” They stare at each other for a moment, but Dawon’s hostile glare makes more words bubble out of Yoongi’s mouth. “Besides, I told him it would be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this. No time, no commitment. I don’t do that shit.”

“Yoongi,” Dawon says, and her voice is calm, careful, too close to the way she talked to him when his boyfriend walked out. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

“Dawon, I really don’t want to talk about this.” Yoongi drops the packet back on her desk. He knows that he won’t be able to focus now that he’s stuck thinking about his ex. His ex who’s now married and adopting a kid according to social media. His ex who said he wasn’t interested in traditional relationship conventions - “I don’t believe in marriage; I don’t want kids” - except he was interested, just not with Yoongi.

“Look,” Dawon says, standing and smoothing down her blue and white patterned dress. “If you don’t want to be in a relationship, that’s fine. It’s your choice. But you should let Hoseok know. Don’t string him along.”

“I did,” Yoongi says, but Dawon shakes her head. 

“Not clearly enough. And ghosting doesn’t count.”

Yoongi sighs and sinks back into the chair so that his head rests on the top edge, the curved wood digging into the base of his skull. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He bites his lip, thinking. “Think I can get in if I get there early enough?”

“I can get you in,” Dawon says with a small smile. “If you really want to.”

“You have tickets?” Yoongi asks, sitting up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Dawon smiles at him. “It was going to be a date night with my husband, but I’m willing to make a sacrifice for you.”

There’s a part of Yoongi - a rather large part, actually - that knows he shouldn’t go, that knows he should call Hoseok and just…what? Can he break up with someone he was never dating in the first place? It’s the easier option; the better option. No risk of either of them getting hurt, no inevitable arguments and disappointments, no devastating breakup. But the other part of him, the sad, lonely, romantic (or desperate; Yoongi isn’t sure if he can actually tell the difference anymore) part of him doesn’t want to give up. There’s a small part of him, a small but significant part of him, that hopes something could work out between them.

.

.

.

“Is that a female Hoseok I see?” Jimin shouts across the room, and Hoseok immediately looks up and follows Jimin’s line of sight. His sister is walking through the entryway carrying her ticket and a small bouquet that Taehyung had made especially for her. (“She’s your sister,” Taehyung had explained. “She’s basically one of us.”) Dawon is dressed in a simple black dress with lace cap sleeves and five inch heels  with studded stilettos. Her hair is up in a severe bun, but her expression is light and carefree. 

“Hoseok,” Jimin coos, stepping out from behind the bar so that he can hug Dawon. Between their heels, they’re almost the same height, Jimin coming in a couple of centimeters shorter. “God, I knew you’d look hot in a dress, but you’ve really outdone yourself.”

“Ha-ha,” Dawon says. “That joke never gets old.”

“I’ve been trying to get Hoseok in a dress for ages,” Jimin says, holding up his and Dawon’s joined hands so that he can spin her. “I mean, you’re living proof of how sexy he would be.”

“Noona has a better build than me,” Hoseok says, stepping around a patron so that he can hug his sister. “Hey sis.”

“Hey baby bro.” She presses a kiss to his cheek, then rubs at the tacky lipgloss left behind with her thumb. He swats her hand away and grabs a napkin from the bar to clean it off himself. “I’m loving those heels.”

“Thanks.” He pops one of his feet to show off the strappy shoe; red, black, and gold crisscrossing over his toes and ankles.

“They make your legs look hot,” Dawon praises, and Hoseok blushes. While his family has always been supportive of him and his sexuality, it had taken Hoseok a good while to be comfortable with himself. Compliments still make him shy, still make him want to automatically deny them.

“Can you please tell him how hot a skirt would make his legs look?” Jimin whines, leaning against the bar and kicking his legs. He increases his pout and bats his eyelashes.

“Jimin, you’re not gonna get me in a skirt,” Hoseok says. “You’ve been trying since college. Give it a rest.”

“Besides,” a deep voice adds, and Hoseok nearly trips over his feet as he turns and catches Yoongi’s eye. “Why do we need to see him in a skirt when we can appreciate his legs like this?”

Hoseok can’t say anything; he didn’t expect Yoongi to show up, not just because of their earlier conversation, but because he’d hounded Namjoon about the tickets available and whether Yoongi had called to try to get in. Hoseok had been prepared to resign himself to being ghosted by Yoongi for the rest of his natural life.

“Min Yoongi!” Jimin shouts, pushing off of the bar and rushing at him with arms outstretched. “I knew you would come back.”

Yoongi accepts the hug, his eyes still locked with Hoseok’s. Jimin must notice because he grips Yoongi’s jaw so that his cheeks squish and his lips pout. 

“I’ll have you know that I’m very jealous,” Jimin croons, leaning in so close that Hoseok can see his lips brush against Yoongi’s cheek. “Not visiting us after all this time? And then ignoring me? What’s a girl to think?”

“I-“ Yoongi’s eyes are wide and a little panicked, and Hoseok just shrugs. “I’m sorry?”

Hoseok knows that Jimin isn’t actually interested in Yoongi beyond something purely superficial, but he also knows Jimin well enough to know that he doesn’t like to be upstaged. Jimin still holds Yoongi’s jaw as he nuzzles his nose against Yoongi’s ear, and Hoseok bites his cheek to keep from laughing at the way Yoongi’s Adam’s apple visibly shifts as he swallows.

“How are you gonna make it up to me?” Jimin says, putting on his deep purr that he usually saves for bachelorette parties. Hoseok looks over at Dawon who’s watching this whole thing unfold with an expression that makes Hoseok think she wishes she had started filming it.

“Um,” Yoongi says. “How - how do you want me to make it up to you?”

“You can give me a kiss,” Jimin says, puckering his lips. Yoongi’s eyes flick to Hoseok’s, and even though Hoseok has no right to Yoongi, even though he knows that Jimin is teasing and the kiss would be obnoxious and not mean anything, he shakes his head hoping that Yoongi will deny the request.

“I’d…I’d rather not, Jimin,” Yoongi says. “What else have you got?”

“Hmm,” Jimin hums, finally letting go of Yoongi’s jaw and instead trailing his small fingers down Yoongi’s chest, pausing at the top button of his loose-fitting shirt as if he’s debating whether or not to pop it. “Well you also had Hoseok worried.”

“Jimin,” Hoseok says, the warning he’s trying to convey sounding more like desperation. “Don’t drag me into your little scheme.”

“But it’ll be so fun,” Jimin says. “Min Yoongi, during intermission I want to pull you on stage-“

“What is it with you guys and giving me lap dances,” Yoongi says, also sounding a little desperate. Jimin clucks his tongue.

“Who said anything about a lap dance? No no no, I want to strip you on stage with Hobi’s help.”

“What?” Yoongi says, taking a step back. Jimin’s finger hooks under the top button of his shirt, and it pops the button open as he does so, exposing more pale, smooth chest than Hoseok knows what to do with. “You want to strip me?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “Not completely. Just down to your undies.”

“No,” Yoongi says, buttoning his shirt back up. “Absolutely not. You are not stripping me on stage.”

“Boo,” Jimin pouts. “You’re making this very hard for me.”

“First kissing and then public humiliation?” Yoongi continues. “That’s not even worth the same amount. In terms of punishment the second is infinitely worse.”

“You’re hot,” Jimin says, looking at Hoseok. “Isn’t he hot, Hobi? Don’t you think everyone would love to see him?”

“We can’t strip him on stage, Chim,” Hoseok says, even though he kind of desperately wants to get Yoongi out of his clothes. He wants to pop every single button of his shirt open with his teeth, and mark that pretty skin up until it’s blushing pink and covered with purpling hickeys.

Jimin sighs and crosses his arms. “Well, I suppose a lap dance can suffice. But I want it on stage.”

“Fine,” Yoongi says. “For you, Jimin, a lap dance. Because I think you’re darling and I’m sorry for making you worry.”

Jimin giggles, a tittering sound that means he’s playing it up and laying it on thick, but Hoseok can tell that Yoongi is still charmed by it.

“Oh, Yoongi,” Jimin says, hitting Yoongi’s shoulder. “You make a girl blush.”

“Could that blushing girl possibly help me with some drinks,” Jungkook shouts from the bar. “Y’know, like she’s paid to do.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, but he finger waves at Yoongi before he darts through the growing line to help Jungkook behind the counter. Yoongi finger waves back, and when he looks back at Hoseok, his expression is sheepish.

“Hi,” he says, shoving both of his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” Hoseok says.

“I wanted to -“

“Places.” Namjoon’s voice is close to his ear and Hoseok jumps. He nods at Namjoon and waves at Yoongi.

“I gotta,” he says, gesturing to the stage.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “Yeah, of course.”

“But, um, I’ll see you at intermission,” Hoseok says. Yoongi’s cheeks seem to get darker despite the dimming lights. 

“Right,” Yoongi says. “Break a leg - or, don’t actually, um.”

Hoseok chuckles. He blows a kiss and takes his place backstage, firmly pushing Yoongi to the back of his mind. It’s their final weekend and he’s been itching to get back on the stage. He doesn’t care how cute Yoongi looks with his tousled hair and his pink cheeks and his shy, gummy smile; he has a show to put on.

.

.

.

Coming with Dawon was a bad idea, Yoongi thinks, shifting in the velvet padded chair that they placed center stage just for him. The entire show Yoongi’s felt like the entire company has been out for his blood; maybe it’s all in his head, but he swears they’re all focusing on him, grinding in his face and reaching out their beckoning gloved fingers at him. By the time intermission rolls around and Jungkook is leading him onto the stage for his very public lap dance in front of his boss, Yoongi is mildly horny and questioning all of his life choices.

“Hey sugar,” Jimin coos, his voice amplified by the mic that’s taped to the side of his cheek. Up close Yoongi can see that his face is damp with sweat, eyeliner smudged and glitter rubbed off into his hair and down his neck. He’s still beautiful.

“Hey,” Yoongi says, shifting in the seat.

“Everyone,” Jimin says, even louder, clearly talking to the whole room. “Tonight is a very special night, because the creator of all the wonderful music you’ve been listening to is here!”

There is wild applause and cheers, and Yoongi covers his face with his hands. Through the spaces of his fingers he sees Hoseok going around with a tray full of drinks, still in his bumblebee outfit, black and gold and positively sparkling.

“He works so hard,” Jimin says with a clear pout, leaning into Yoongi’s space. “We decided to thank him by helping him to loosen up!”

More cheers at that; this time they are filled with a certain energy, a buzz that is infectious. Yoongi’s clothes seem to instantaneously get tighter at the realization that this room of people are going to see him get serviced, and that they want to see it.

“So you just relax, Min Yoongi,” Jimin coos, close enough that Yoongi can feel the tacky stickiness of his lipgloss against his jaw.

“You got it,” Yoongi says. His voice is shaky, and in the front row he sees Dawon laughing into her hands. He resists making a slashing movement across his throat.

The music changes, another familiar track, but one he hasn’t heard them use before. It’s much more playful than the track Hoseok had used when he decided to give Yoongi a lap dance, but Jimin still owns the stage. As he bends over in front of Yoongi, shaking perfect cheeks right in Yoongi’s face with a coy smile at the audience, Yoongi thinks that Jimin is made for this song. He moves as if the music is coming from him, sensually dancing around Yoongi with gentle touches that make Yoongi feel like he’s getting shocked with static electricity. It’s as much a show for the audience as it is for Yoongi, more about showcasing Jimin than it is about anyone getting aroused, but even so, when Jimin finally drops in Yoongi’s lap Yoongi feels like he might burst into flames.

“Hold my waist?” Jimin says, breathless, and Yoongi immediately grips the soft skin of Jimin’s small waist. His skin is hot and sweaty, and for a brief, horrible moment as Jimin leans backwards in Yoongi’s lap, Yoongi is afraid he’s going to drop him. He doesn’t. He clings to Jimin as Jimin mimes sucking cock while upside down, the audience cheering and throwing cash and change onto the stage. Jimin pulls himself up with remarkable agility, wrapping one hand around Yoongi’s shoulders as he rolls his hips, grinding in Yoongi’s lap. 

Jimin is mesmerizing, even as he constantly looks around to check the audience’s reaction, and even as Yoongi looks around to check in on Hoseok. When Jimin stands up and places one heeled foot against Yoongi’s shoulder, he catches Hoseok’s eye over the heads of the audience. Hoseok is laughing with Seokjin by the bar, shaking his head as Jimin slowly stretches himself into a standing split. Yoongi runs his hand up Jimin’s calf and the audience cheers as Jimin giggles, nearly tripping over himself as he pulls away.

“Naughty boy!” Jimin shouts, holding out his hand and pulling Yoongi up. “Oh, I like you. Take me home later?”

“We’ll see,” Yoongi says, which just makes the audience cheer harder. They both bow, and Yoongi is happy to relinquish the stage to those who really belong up there. Dawon pulls him back into his seat before he can make his way to Hoseok.

“I’ve never seen Jimin like that,” she says, face bright with excitement. “He’s got a crush on you.”

“No he doesn’t,” Yoongi says. “I think he’s just a flirt.”

“Uh-huh,” Dawon gives him a knowing smile, and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“Weren’t you trying to hook me up with your brother?”

She shrugs. “Jimin is better. I’m not related to him.”

But at the end of the show, Dawon doesn’t try to pull Yoongi away to take a cab home with her. She gives him a one armed hug and pecks his cheek.

“Tell Hoseok I love him, but I’m beat,” she says, and Yoongi nods. He leans against the bar as everyone files out. He makes eye-contact with the stage manager once, but the guy doesn’t tell him to scram so Yoongi just waits. When Hoseok finally emerges, dressed in loose bright orange joggers and a pink sweatshirt with a ripped collar, Yoongi is beyond fidgeting.

“Hey,” Hoseok says brightly.

“Hi.” Yoongi wants to pull Hoseok in for a kiss. He wants to hug him. He wants to take him home and cuddle him on the couch with Holly, and he hasn’t wanted to do anything like that in such a long time that for a moment he’s paralyzed. Hoseok’s heart-shaped smile drops.

“You okay?” Hoseok asks, and Yoongi nods. He shoves his hands in his pockets. Takes them out. Runs them through his hair.

“Jimin really outdid himself with that lap dance,” Hoseok says after a few moments of awkward silence. “I thought I was going to have to fight him off of you.”

He laughs, bright and loud to show that he’s joking, but Yoongi catches something underneath it, a tinge of something bitter. Worry. Jealousy. Hurt.

“You wouldn’t have had to,” Yoongi says. Hoseok tilts his head.

“No?”

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

Hoseok snorts and shakes his head. “I’ve lived with Jimin for years,” Hoseok says. “Trust me. He’d fuck you in a heartbeat.”

“Sure,” Yoongi says, and Hoseok snorts again. “But he doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him, so.”

“I thought you only did casual,” Hoseok says, his voice a little sharp, and Yoongi’s cheeks color. “That’s perfect isn’t it?”

“Um,” Yoongi says, staring down at the floor. There’s a sticky stain of alcohol right where he’s standing, and he shifts back and forth, focusing on the way one of his shoes sticks and he has to peel it off of the ground like a bandaid. “About that. I um. I’d like to take you out.”

Hoseok doesn’t say anything, and when Yoongi looks up, Hoseok’s eyebrows are furrowed.

“What?”

“I…I want to take you out.”

“On a date?” Hoseok asks, and Yoongi nods. “I thought you didn’t do that.”

“I don’t,” Yoongi says. “But I want to with you.”

The crease between Hoseok’s brows smooths out, and the wide smile blooms again. It makes Yoongi breathless, makes his heart beat double-time in his chest.

“You do?” Hoseok’s voice is soft, so soft and delicate, and Yoongi is terrified of it. He’s terrified of this soft, trembling thing, terrified that he’s going to fuck it up like he fucks up everything, but he still nods. Still takes his hand out of where he shoved it into his pocket and holds it out to Hoseok like a peace offering. Still twines their fingers together, still walks Hoseok to his car, still drives him home, and still kisses him goodnight on the front porch.

Yoongi is terrified of a lot of things, but he wants to try.

.

.

.

“I don’t know if it’s even worth trying,” Hoseok says, glaring at messy flowchart he’s been working on.

“It sounds great,” Yoongi says. They’re laying in Hoseok’s bed, ignoring Jimin’s obnoxiously loud sex sounds in the room over. Yoongi has his oversized headphones on with one ear free, face illuminated by the blue light of his laptop, and Hoseok wishes he had oversized headphones as he sketches out costume ideas in the margins of his notebook

“Are you sure?” Hoseok asks over Jimin’s I know you can go harder than that. “It just seems like a lot.”

“It seems like he’s not getting enough,” Yoongi mutters, and Hoseok hits him in the shoulder. Yoongi whines and rubs his arm, finally looking away from his computer and pouting at Hoseok. “What?”

“The concept. Not Jimin’s date.”

“Sorry.” Yoongi rubs his eyes under his glasses, and for a moment Hoseok feels like he’s having an out of body experience. Yoongi, in his bed in a ratty old t-shirt that’s faded and holey and hanging off of his shoulder, his honey blonde hair long and messy and sticking out in tangled knots, pink on the tips of his ears and the tip of his nose - it almost seems unreal.

They’ve been dating for three weeks, and this is the first time Yoongi’s stayed over Hoseok’s place. It’s been…messy, from Jimin shamelessly flirting both with Yoongi and the guy he brought home, to them figuring out a nighttime bathroom routine with four people in the cramped space. 

“He’s distracting,” Yoongi says, right as Jimin’s voice reaches a piercing G5. Hoseok pats Yoongi’s thigh in sympathy. “Why couldn’t you stay at mine, again?”

“Because I need to be here in order to make sure Jimin doesn’t get murdered.”

“Right,” Yoongi says. Through the wall Jimin says something about just lie back and let me and Yoongi groans. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Hoseok shrugs. “I’ve been living with him for basically my whole life.”

“So you have the ability to tune him out. You’re used to his sex sounds.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Are you getting turned on?”

“No,” Yoongi says, voice deadpan even though his cheeks are flame red.

“You are!” Hoseok yells. “Oh my god, you’re getting off on my best friend’s sex noises!”

“What? No! No I am not!”

Yoongi tries to smother Hoseok’s loud accusations with the pillow, and Hoseok continues to shout, flailing arms and legs and laughing while Yoongi hits him with the pillow and yells at him to shut up it's not like that. It shouldn't be surprising that in the scuffle his computer clatters to the floor. Hoseok stills, eyes wide and hands flying to his mouth as Yoongi peers over the edge of the bed.

“Oh my god,” Hoseok says. “I’m so so-“

But his words are cut off because Yoongi crawls on top of him and kisses him, mouth hot and wet and demanding. Hoseok’s eyes flutter closed and he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s neck. He can feel the bulge of Yoongi through his sweatpants, and his lips tug up into a smile because despite his denial, Jimin’s sex sounds definitely riled Yoongi up, riled him enough to not even care about his very expensive laptop whirring under his bed.

“Shut up,” Yoongi grumbles, nipping at Hoseok’s lip.

“I didn’t say anything,” Hoseok says. Yoongi rolls his hips and Hoseok gasps, warmth pooling in his gut hot and sudden. They’ve made out a few times since they decided to actually start dating, but Hoseok’s never felt Yoongi against him like this. He feels like he gets hard so fast that it makes him lightheaded.

“Wanna,” Hoseok gasps as Yoongi kisses down his throat. “Wanna see you.”

Yoongi raises his head slightly, looking at Hoseok through his overgrown bangs.

“You’re looking at me,” Yoongi says, rolling his hips down hard, and Hoseok bites back a moan. He doesn’t want Jimin to tease him in the morning; breakfast is going to be awkward enough as it is.

“You know what I mean,” Hoseok whispers. Well, tries to whisper, but with Yoongi pressing his thigh in between Hoseok’s legs, his own dick pressed hard against Hoseok’s hip, most of his words come out sounding like broken whimpers. “Please?”

“Don’t want to-“ Yoongi cuts himself off with a bite to the junction of Hoseok’s neck and shoulder, and Hoseok bites his lip to keep from crying out. “Don’t want to stop touching you,” Yoongi says, his voice rough and desperate, and when his broad hand slips under the waistband of his briefs and grips him, rough and hot, god so hot, Hoseok can’t even remember what he’d asked for.

He hasn’t come in his pants since he was a teenager, but with Yoongi working him, quick and rough and so desperate, bitten off words and promises gasped into his ear between bites and licks and aching kisses, Hoseok can’t hold back. He comes with a choked off whine, Yoongi’s tongue in his mouth and his fingers tangled in Yoongi’s hair. Yoongi doesn’t overwork him, doesn’t push Hoseok to give more than he can. He grips Hoseok’s hip with his sticky hand and ruts against his hip. Yoongi is quiet when he comes, lip trapped between teeth as his hips stutter and his breath chokes and stops. He’s beautiful, Hoseok thinks, so, so beautiful, with his cheeks flushed and his hair sweaty and his lips bitten and bruised. Yoongi’s eyes flutter open, and he smiles at Hoseok, slow and a little lopsided, and Hoseok laughs, a bubbling delicate thing that he has no control over. They lean their foreheads against each other and laugh and laugh until the discomfort of being covered in jizz forces them out of bed and into the shower.

“I can’t believe we got off to Jimin’s sex noises,” Hoseok says as he shampoos his hair.

“We didn’t get off to his sex noises,” Yoongi says, lathering himself up. Yoongi’s cock, when it’s soft, is a delicate pink, and Hoseok can’t stop staring at it. “We got off to each other. His sex noises were just…there.”

“Uh-huh,” Hoseok says, yelping when Yoongi smacks his ass. There’s a flare of arousal, something surprising, and Yoongi smirks at him.

“Interesting.”

“Shut up.”

.

.

.

He gets the postcard in the mail, one of those generic photo cards, matching sweaters and matching fake smiles. His ex, his ex’s new husband, and a red faced potato of a child in a red and green onesie, looking like it’d rather be literally anywhere else than in a fake manger.

May Your Holidays Be Bright

Yoongi stares at the card for a long time, stares at it until his eyes go unfocused, and when he’s finally able to function, slowly blinking back into himself, he calls Yijeong.

“I need you to come over,” he says as soon as Yijeong answers, and his voice must sound as desperate and shaky as he feels because Yijeong doesn’t ask why.

Yijeong doesn’t knock; he doesn’t ring the doorbell. He uses the spare key that’s under the welcome mat (“it’s a stupid fucking place for a key, Yoon, you’re gonna get robbed”) and lets himself in. Yoongi is still sitting at the dining room table, butt numb from not moving. Yijeong sits across from him and Yoongi pushes the photo card across the table towards him. Yijeong’s eyebrows raise as he takes it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Yoongi shrugs. Yijeong glares at the photo, and when he looks at Yoongi his eyebrows are still drawn in a scowl.

“How’d he get your address?” Yijeong says, and the tone of his voice has Holly whimpering and curling around Yoongi’s legs. “Has he been stalking you?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I might’ve texted him. When I first moved.”

“What?” Yijeong says, loud enough that Yoongi winces. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi snaps. “Maybe because he was the love of my life and I was drunk and desperate and lonely! Sorry I’m such a fuck up!”

Yijeong’s expression immediately softens and he sighs. “Yoon, that’s not what I meant-“

“I already know that it was stupid but-“

“Doesn’t matter,” Yijeong says. “You moved here two years ago. Him sending you this - that’s just - he’s the one that’s fucked up, Yoon. Not you.”

Yoongi deflates. All of the tension that had held him upright, shoulders up to his ears and back ramrod straight, suddenly wears off and he slumps in his chair.

“It’s weird,” Yoongi says. “It…It sucks, right? But I’m not…” he sighs, trying to get his words together. “I’m not as sad as I feel like I should be. And I feel…wrong for not feeling sad.”

“Hey, no,” Yijeong says, reaching across the table and taking Yoongi’s hand in his. “That’s not wrong at all. It’s been years. Your ex was an asshole. Shit, he's still an asshole!"

Yoongi smiles slightly at that, a quick twitch of his lips. Yijeong keeps going. "You’ve got a great boyfriend. If you were still hung up over this piece of shit I’d think there was something seriously wrong with you.”

Yoongi laughs, a quick burst that morphs and cracks until he’s crying into his hands. He’s not crying because he’s sad, or because he wants his ex back, but because he had spent so much time thinking that there was something seriously wrong with him. That he didn’t know how to fuck right, or look right, or love right; that he wasn’t boyfriend material, husband - father material, and that was why his ex had slept with someone else and left. He spent so long thinking that the only reason anyone could possibly want to be around him was because they pitied him. He feels Yijeong’s arms wrap around his shoulders, and he presses his face against the side of Yijeong’s neck.

“Fuck him,” Yijeong keeps saying over and over, until Yoongi finally stops crying. 

“I’m good,” Yoongi says, pushing Yijeong off of him. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

Yoongi wipes his eyes and nods. He eyes the card, the image of something that he had wanted so desperately and never thought was attainable. He runs his finger along the edges, then lifts the card and rips it in half.

“Ah, hell yeah!” Yijeong shouts, pumping his fist in the air. Yoongi chuckles, a bubble of delight bursting from his throat. “Rip it again!”

Yoongi does. He tears and tears until there’s nothing but confetti paper in red and white and green on his table. Yijeong is cheering, running around the table, and Holly yips as he chases after him.

“You should burn it!” Yijeong cheers. “Burn it on the stove!”

“I might ruin the stove,” Yoongi says.

“Worth it.” Yijeong scoops Holly into his arms, and Holly willingly flops, tail wagging as Yijeong rubs his belly. “C’mon. Let’s burn it.”

Yoongi scoops the scraps of paper and puts them on a baking sheet, then steps onto the back porch with his long-handled candle lighter in hand.

“Would you like to say any last words?” Yijeong asks. His breath fogs in the cold winter air.

“No,” Yoongi says, and sets the lighter to the small pile of paper. It ignites fast and burns out just as quickly, but Yoongi feels like he just witnessed a huge bonfire. His skin feels warm, tingling all the way to his toes. Yijeong nudges his shoulder, and Yoongi grins so wide that he feels like he might burst from it.

.

.

.

The Nightmare Before Nutcracker Extravaganza feels like a dumpster fire. Hoseok thought that combining the Nightmare Before Christmas and The Nutcracker into one burlesque show was biting off more than he could chew, but living with Jimin means that he often makes bad creative decisions.

It doesn’t help matters that Yoongi is the same way, always pushing Hoseok’s wildest ideas forward even if there is no feasible way for it to happen. And Hoseok had believed him, like a fool, which is how he is where he is right now, somehow herding more dancers than he’s ever worked with to please run this routine just one more time, while Yoongi is sitting off to the side pinning Taehyung into his lingerie.

“Babe,” Yoongi calls through the pins in his mouth. “Relax. Namjoon’s got it.”

“Namjoon doesn’t got it!” Hoseok yells.

“Actually, I do,” Namjoon says from behind him, and Hoseok would be embarrassed, or even feel bad for vocally doubting Namjoon’s abilities, but he’s just so hyped up and so nervous and they’ve never performed in front of an audience before and there are going to be reviewers and they still haven’t managed to run the finale as many times as he’d like. Namjoon rests a large hand on his shoulder, and something about the gesture calms him down, makes him take a deep, shaky, breath.

“I’ve got this,” Namjoon says again. “Yoongi’s got Taehyung. Seokjin’s ready to go and Jimin’s fine and Jeongguk's getting laced up as we speak. All we need is for you to get into your costume.”

Hoseok looks over at Yoongi, who smiles wide and gives Hoseok a thumbs up. When he places his hands back on Taehyung’s ass, though, Taehyung practically jumps through the ceiling. Hoseok can vaguely hear Yoongi’s deep voice, a soothing “sorry sorry” that somehow calms Hoseok even more despite the fact that he just stabbed his main dancer in the ass with a sewing needle. 

“Trust us, Hoseok,” Namjoon says, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “It’s gonna be great.”

“See, you say that -“

“You remember your last opening?” Namjoon says, placing both of his hands on Hoseok’s shoulders now so that he can hold him in place. “And you almost practiced till you dropped?”

Hoseok bites his lip sheepishly. Namjoon grins and leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Hoseok’s forehead.

“Sometimes your stage manager knows best, yeah?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, but he smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“Go get dressed.”

“Just…” Hoseok gestures to the gaggle of dancers on the stage. “Have them run it one more time? Just to make sure they hit their marks?”

Namjoon points towards the dressing rooms and Hoseok goes, stopping by Yoongi and Taehyung just to press a kiss to Yoongi’s cheek.

“Break a leg!” Yoongi calls after him. “Except, don’t!”

It’s infinitely calmer in the dressing room. Jimin is dressed in a dazzling tutu, silver and black tulle studded with gemstones, and a corset that is all bone and no fabric giving him a skeletal appearance. His skin is painted a galaxy blue, the paint fading into a shimmery silver from his neck to his chest, and his smile is extended with black stitch marks. Jeongguk is behind him, lacing Jimin’s corset while Seokjin wraps Jungkook in purple velvet ribbon, tying intricate knots as he loops around Jungkook’s chest and arms.

“Hey, Oogie Boogie,” Jimin says, flashing a wide smile.

“I’m feeling more like Jack right now,” Hoseok groans, flopping into his chair and setting up his makeup, white face paint and black eye shadow and lipstick. He pushes his hair off of his forehead with a cat-eared headband and dabs his cheeks with primer.

“Don’t stress,” Jeongguk says. “Oh, that’s a bit tight, Jin.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Seokjin says, loosening the knot he’s just tied. He’s dressed in a fiery red ensemble, a half bustle in various shades of red hiding the gemstone-studded thong underneath. He’s in red fishnets and sharp red stilettos with trident shaped heels. His long black gloves and elaborate devil mask sit at his station, sparkling and gorgeous. 

“It’s hard not to stress,” Hoseok says as he paints broad strokes of white over his skin. “I’ve never put together a whole show before.”

“It’s a great show,” Jimin says.

“So you say,” Hoseok says.

“So the audience will say, too.”

Hoseok sighs and doesn’t respond. He focuses on doing his makeup, painting an extended smile with black face paint, and covering his eyes with black paint as well. His costume consists of spider pasties that glow in the dark, and a burlap capelet and hood that cover his face until he rips it off during his routine. Taehyung and Namjoon help to cover his body in UV paint, words of The Nutcracker and the Mouse King winding up and down his arms and over his chest. By the time he pulls on his ripped fish nets and buckles on his burlap half-sleeves, he feels less like Jung Hoseok, nervous wreck who’s first full length burlesque performance will be judged by writers for the Times, and more like just a dancer, someone about to play Oogie Boogie on a small stage. 

“You ready?” Taehyung asks after they get the call for places. When he smiles Hoseok can see his bright pink tongue flash from between his black and white face paint. Hoseok peeks out of the side curtain. Yoongi is front and center as he promised he’d be, talking animatedly to the guy next to him who Hoseok vaguely recognizes as the best friend they had dinner with a few nights before. As if he has a sense that Hoseok is staring at him, Yoongi looks up and catches Hoseok’s eye. He smiles, wide and gummy, and then blows a kiss. Hoseok pretends to catch it, and then places his fingers in front of his lips.

“Ready.”

.

.

.

“You ready?” Yijeong murmurs into Yoongi’s ear. Yoongi pats the square shaped lump in his pocket and nods. Earlier in the night, when Seokjin had cornered him and demanded whether he really needed to put a halt to his entire New Years Eve party for one announcement, he’d been a little hesitant. The butterflies that had settled into his stomach as soon as he picked out the velvet box flew up into his throat and he’d almost said no. Almost. But now, now he’s got two glasses of whiskey in him and he feels loose and carefree.

“Yeah,” he says.

“You sure?”

Yoongi looks at Yijeong and smiles wide. He nods once and Yijeong smiles back, pulling Yoongi in and pressing a wet kiss to his cheek.

“Alright,” Yijeong says. He waves at Seokjin, who pulls the plug on his impressive radio system and plunges the party into sudden quiet. Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung each hold up a flashlight and aim it at Hoseok, who squawks and shields his eyes. Yijeong smacks Yoongi’s ass.

“Go get your man.”

The look on Hoseok’s face when Yoongi steps into the beam of the flashlights is a mixture of confused and endeared.

“What is this?” He asks, and Yoongi almost fumbles the box as he pulls it out of his jacket pocket. Hoseok’s eyes widen and takes a step back. “Wait. Wait wait wait.”

“Jung Hoseok,” Yoongi says, and Hoseok is looking all around the room now, trying to gauge whether or not it’s all a joke. “I have something to ask you.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Yoongi drops to one knee hard enough that he knows he’s going to feel it for a few days, and he opens the velvet box to reveal a silver key.

“Will you slowly move into my house with me?” Yoongi asks. Hoseok stares at him, jaw dropped and eyes wide, and then his mouth spreads into the most beautiful smile that Yoongi has ever seen. Hoseok drops to his knees as well and cups Yoongi’s cheeks with both of his hands, long fingers soft and cool against Yoongi’s heated cheeks.

“You want me to move in with you?” Hoseok asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Yoongi bites his lip and nods, and when Hoseok kisses him their nose bump and their teeth clack and they’re both smiling too wide but Yoongi never wants it to end.

“I’d love to,” Hoseok says against his mouth, kissing him over and over again. “Yes. Yes.”

“A thousand times yes!” Taehyung shouts, and through his closed lids Yoongi can still see the crazy waving of flashlight beams. The room cheers and Seokjin plugs his sound system back in, drowning them all in ABBA at maximum volume. Yoongi doesn’t bother trying to get off of the floor, content to hold Hoseok against him and kiss him until the night rolls over into another year.

There are many things that Yoongi doesn’t like: Mondays, when his dog poops on top of bushes or in other inconvenient, hard to reach places, and comp tickets to boring shows that he as to sit through on his day off.

But he thinks that he may love Jung Hoseok. Love his bright sunshine smile and his honey skin and the way his legs look when they’re dressed in fishnets and supported by five-inch heels. As he kisses Hoseok on the floor of Seokjin’s amazing rent-controlled apartment, Yoongi thinks that maybe, maybe he could be loved too.