Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hoseok doesn’t know why Yoongi does it.

From what he’s seen, the man looks… collected. He shows up well-dressed, like he’s going to a business meeting instead of… well, where he’s actually going. His hair is a little long, just barely grazing the side of his neck, but it’s always neat. Black and clean. It makes him look serious.

And okay, he has to admit, the man is gorgeous. His skin is pale, maybe too pale, but some people are into that. His chest is kind of big for someone his size. His biceps too, oh yeah, no, that’s confirmed.

Hoseok learned about Yoongi the day he got properly introduced to the world of porn. And while it was made very clear that the guy was successful—really successful—Hoseok still couldn’t figure out why he did it.

Hoseok, on the other hand, does it because he’s beautiful.

He’s always been kind of fond of his own appearance. He takes care of his skin, trims his hair regularly, keeps his body in shape. Puts effort in. Maybe gets off to his reflection once in a while—anyways.

He knows he’s beautiful. And if he thinks so, and his sexual partners think so, and his hyung Seokjin—who runs a surprisingly successful but questionably legal business—thinks so (enough to push the idea onto him), then why shouldn’t the rest of the world agree?

And god, did they prove him right. The first check was a pretty number. Enough to make him want to go again. The second check was even better. And by the third, (when Seokjin asked him to shoot two extra days that week) Hoseok was sure, people thought so too.

And it was nice. Hoseok was young, Hoseok was fun, and frankly, getting paid to have sex with rather attractive people wasn’t something he was against.

The way he got popular in his first three months? Nice. The way he’d become friends with the guys he blew? Also nice. The way the actors fucking him were always kind and lighthearted before and after shooting? Surprisingly nice.

But with Yoongi… it’s not the same.

Taehyung was in charge of the pairings. Taehyung was young, a few months younger than Hoseok, actually, but Taehyung had vision . And he was very strict about it, too.

One thing about Taehyung, he refused to pair the more ‘popular’ actors with what he called “the newbies.”

According to Taehyung, the expert apparently, they had to build themselves up, earn their spot, before getting paired with anyone established. Otherwise, people would only watch them because of who they were filming with in the first place. Ridiculous, but whatever Taehyung says goes.

But Hoseok doesn’t attract people because of who he’s filmed with. He knows that.

So really, he built himself up.

And apparently now… he’s built himself up enough to be paired with Yoongi.

And Yoongi is… not what Hoseok expected.

He’d never really met the guy. Just greeted him in hallways sometimes, saw him in the makeup room. So when the day finally comes to shoot with him, Hoseok expects to actually meet him. Maybe have an awkward conversation about the weather, like he usually does when it’s with someone he’s never worked with before.

Except… he doesn’t.

Yoongi greets him when he walks in. Smiles, polite, calm. Then he walks off and sits somewhere else while the camera crew starts setting up.

And Hoseok freaks out.

Because that’s weird, right? Right ?

Everyone else thought it was weird. That’s why they always talked first, chatted a bit, made some small talk, got at least a little comfortable before getting straight to it.

Like yes, Hoseok understands. It’s just porn. They’re just coworkers. It’s meaningless sex.

But would it kill the guy to at least ask him how his day is?

“Are you excited, hyung?”

Hoseok looks up. Taehyung is standing in front of him, eyebrows wiggling, a wide grin stretched across his face. “Be ready,” he says, in a sing-song voice. “If this heads in the direction we want, which I think it will, Seokjin hyung’s gonna be requesting you a lot more often.”

Hoseok smiles, his gaze flickering, unwillingly, stupidly, to the other side of the room. To where Yoongi’s sitting.

Taehyung turns, follows his line of sight, and says, “Don’t worry so much about Yoonie hyung. He’s a bit quiet, but he’s pretty gentle.”

It doesn’t help.

But Hoseok is in control for this shoot. It’s soft, really. Some ridiculous plot he doesn’t care about. All he knows is, for the majority of it, he has to ride Yoongi .

So yeah. He’s in control. That makes it better… right?

They’re just about to start filming, already in front of each other, when Yoongi finally speaks.

“Let me know if I’m too far forward when you start,” he says, calm and low, looking at the director but tilting his head just slightly toward Hoseok. “I can adjust.”

It’s the first full sentence Hoseok’s ever heard him say.

And fuck , of course his voice is deep. Of course it’s nice. A little quiet, like he knows exactly what he’s doing even though he seriously doesn't.

Hoseok nods, maybe a little too quickly, and then immediately wants to evaporate into the floor.

Up close, Yoongi is worse. His skin is clear, his lashes are dark, and his neck is so distracting that Hoseok almost misses the cue to get in position.

He’s in control. That’s what he tells himself.

It’s fine.

It’s so fine.

Hoseok comes five minutes before he’s supposed to.

It hits fast, a loud gasp, his whole body twitching, and Yoongi feels him shiver. Hoseok sees the way Yoongi’s eyes widen, just slightly (god, he hopes the camera didn’t catch that), because yeah, Yoongi knew what was gonna happen.

Hoseok is embarrassed. Extremely embarrassed. But luckily, Yoongi keeps going, like he’s supposed to, because he hasn’t come yet, and the closer he can get to Hoseok’s timing, the better.

Yes, the entire film is ruined. But yes, it still has to be completed.

Hoseok hides behind Yoongi, wraps his arms tightly around his neck, mostly to cover his own face, because wow, he wants to die. 

He can see Taehyung back there, hand clamped over his mouth. Seokjin’s bent down with his hands on his head.

When Yoongi finally comes, Hoseok holds on a little tighter. Because it’s good for the shoot. Not because he’s actually kind of scared of what they’re going to say to him.

Definitely not that.

But when their breathing settles and Seokjin yells cut from behind the cameras, Hoseok’s heart starts racing all over again.

He climbs off Yoongi, but they’re still close, still undressed, when Seokjin walks toward them, and for a second, Hoseok seriously considers running.

“Are you sixteen?”

Seokjin is smiling, but Hoseok knows he’s mad. His throat tightens. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Hyung, it’s not—” Yoongi starts.

“No, Yoongi. I’m not talking to you.” Seokjin doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay fixed on Hoseok.

“Hoseok… are you, or are you not sixteen?”

Hoseok is scared. But he answers anyway. “No.”

“Then why the fuck did you just cum like it’s your first time having sex?”

Seokjin isn’t smiling anymore. And Hoseok can’t talk.

Taehyung shows up fast, robes in hand. He throws one around Hoseok, the other to Yoongi. Hoseok pulls it closed quickly, grateful to be covered.

“Hyung, it’s fine,” Taehyung says. “We got enough footage, I think we can still save it.”

Seokjin turns to him. “And disregard the entire plot?”

“The plot was shit, hyung. You know no one cares about the plot.”

They’re not looking at him anymore. And Hoseok can’t stop the tear that slips out. Maybe it’s from embarrassment. Maybe because Seokjin called him out. Maybe because he knows he did bad. He’s not sure. But he doesn’t move to wipe it away. If no one’s noticed he’s crying, he can’t risk making them notice now.

Yoongi rubs his back, gentle. It startles Hoseok, and when he turns, Yoongi’s already looking at him.

“C’mon, hyung,” Taehyung says, grabbing his hand. “Let’s get you dressed.”

He pulls Hoseok off the set.

And thankfully, no one noticed.

Except Yoongi.

In the dressing room, Hoseok hasn’t said a word to Taehyung, who’s putting clothes back on hangers and prepping for the next round of pairings.

He’s been in and out a couple times already, and it’s been ten minutes since Hoseok got permission to leave, yet he still can’t bring himself to walk back out there and face Seokjin.

He sits in front of the mirror, sipping through a straw from the water bottle in his hands.

“Is hyung still mad?” he asks quietly.

Taehyung turns, ignoring the clothes now, and stands behind him, watching him through the mirror.

“He’s being ridiculous. Just ignore it, hyung. He’ll get over it tomorrow.”

So… that’s a yes.

“Besides,” Taehyung smiles, and Hoseok furrows his eyebrows, suspicious. “If I’m being honest… it was kind of hot.”

He drops into the chair beside him. “I don’t know what it was, but from the beginning it was very sexy. And the end? Even better.”

He pauses. “It was strange, yeah… you came in a way I’ve never seen you do before… but it was hot.”

Hoseok turns red. Taehyung, of course, uses his hands to describe it rather than just words, and somehow that makes it worse.

But still, it gives Hoseok a sense of hope. Like maybe… maybe what Taehyung’s saying is true.

“I think hyung got so mad because the shoot was good. Like… it was actually sexy. And now he’s pissed it had to be cut short.” Another pause. “I think it’s gonna do better than he thinks.”

He flashes Hoseok a grin before leaving the room. Hoseok smiles back, just barely.

–––––––

When Hoseok walks in two days later, no one’s acting weird. Which is kind of weird… honestly.

He was fully prepared to be ignored, or worse, pitied. Maybe someone would snicker behind his back. Maybe Seokjin would tap a clipboard at his head. But instead, someone from lighting says good morning , the girl at the desk offers him coffee, and Taehyung waves at him from across the room with both hands like he’s not about to ruin Hoseok’s life again.

So yeah… weird.

He sits in the corner with his phone out, half scrolling, half anxious, trying not to think about the way Yoongi definitely saw him cry the other day. Maybe if he acts normal for long enough, everyone else will too.

And then Taehyung appears. Practically throws himself into the chair beside him.

“Hyung,” he says, way too excited. “I was right.”

Hoseok looks up. “Huh?”

“Your shoot with Yoongi hyung is our most viewed video of the year, and it’s only been up for twenty four hours… oh, also it’s trending on Twitter.”

Taehyung shoves his phone in Hoseok’s face. Hoseok sees a clip. The clip. His clip.

He shoves the phone down immediately. He does not need to see that.

“So… hyung’s not mad anymore?”

“Oh, he’s far from mad. He wants you to shoot again tomorrow. With Yoongi.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen. His heart’s already beating too fast, because, what if it happens again? Surely Taehyung won’t agree.

“And I think,” Taehyung adds, “for once I’ll agree with him. So you’ll be shooting with him tomorrow.”

Fuck.

“Taehyung,” Hoseok says, already pulling his hoodie over his head, the room suddenly way too hot. “I’m not mentally prepared to have sex with Yoongi again.”

Taehyung blinks. “Hyung, I don’t think anyone is ever mentally prepared to have sex with Yoongi. That’s why it works.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I’m just saying, it’s part of your appeal. You looked absolutely wrecked.”

Hoseok whips his head toward him. “I came too early.”

“Yes. But beautifully.”

Taehyung says it like it’s a compliment. Like he’s talking about a sunset.

“Tae…”

“You’ll just have to get over it, hyung,” Taehyung says, already standing. “Besides, use today as a warm-up. Get used to… your body again. Or whatever the fuck.”

He flashes one last smile before leaving the room, completely unbothered.

Hoseok stays seated.

It’s fine. He’s fine. It’s just another shoot. He’s had sex on camera like, what, twenty times now? Thirty? It’s not new. It’s not scary. And Yoongi is just a coworker. A very experienced, very attractive coworker who for some reason made him come too early.

Still. It’s fine. He’ll drink some water. Do some stretching. Act normal. Totally fine.

Definitely not spiraling. Definitely not gonna come early again.

…He should probably avoid eye contact, though. Just in case.

When he’s back the next day, Hoseok stays in the dressing room a little longer than usual. He could be waiting by the set already, like he’s supposed to, but the truth is he doesn’t want to see Yoongi. Not yet. Not really. If Yoongi’s not going to talk to him until they’re on the bed about to fuck, then maybe it’s better not to see him until he has to.

Today’s shoot is simpler. Yoongi’s supposed to be his hot older boyfriend, experienced and sweet and completely in control. He’s supposed to know exactly how to take care of him.

Hoseok isn’t sure how he feels about that.

His foot taps restlessly against the floor, knee bouncing up and down like it’s trying to release the nerves on its own. He takes a sip of water. Wipes his palms on his pants. Counts backwards from ten. He’s not even due on set for another few minutes, but the anticipation’s making it worse, this quiet time alone, with nothing to do but wait and think and panic a little.

The door opens.

And Yoongi walks in.

Hoseok freezes, still facing the mirror. He can see the reflection just fine, Yoongi’s walking like he always does, easy and steady, with that unreadable expression that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. He’s in casual clothes for now, hair slightly tousled like someone’s already run a hand through it. He looks good. Of course he looks good.

Hoseok considers pretending he didn’t notice him walk in, which is harder when they’re the only two in the room. Still, he keeps his eyes low, forcing his knee to still, like that alone might make him invisible.

But Yoongi doesn’t go to the other side of the room. He walks over and takes the seat beside him.

Hoseok’s heart feels like it might trip over itself. He doesn’t look up until Yoongi speaks.

“Hey.”

He glances over, managing a faint smile. “Hi.”

There’s a brief pause. Hoseok thinks that might be it, just a greeting, no big deal, but Yoongi stays beside him, gaze gentle, voice even softer when he speaks again.

“Have you talked to Seokjin hyung?”

Hoseok blinks. “Not today. Talked to him yesterday.”

Yoongi nods, thoughtful, and another pause stretches between them. Hoseok almost hopes it’ll end there. He could survive that.

But then Yoongi says, “Are you uncomfortable at all? Is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

Hoseok wishes, more than anything, that Yoongi hadn’t said that. He doesn’t want comfort. Doesn’t want understanding. Especially not from him. Yoongi is older, more experienced, and so calm it’s almost infuriating. He’s probably had to deal with people like Hoseok before, too sensitive, too nervous, too emotional for this job.

Hoseok feels his throat tighten as he replies. “No. No, I… I don’t know why that happened. It won’t happen again. Promise.”

Yoongi doesn’t look annoyed. He doesn’t look smug or detached either. He just shrugs a little, voice steady.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. It happens sometimes. And everything worked out, right? So don’t be so nervous.”

He smiles at him, casually, like he’s not about to fuck his brains out in front of three cameras. Like this really is just a normal day at work.

And somehow, against Hoseok’s better judgment, it helps.

He lets himself smile back. It’s small, but it’s real. Then Yoongi pats his knee, just once, light and familiar, and Hoseok’s eyes follow the movement without meaning to.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even let himself think it. 

When they leave the room together, Hoseok walks a little slower than usual.

The set is too warm, honestly. Hoseok doesn’t know if it’s the lighting or the way his pulse is already working overtime, but his skin feels tight and over aware. The bed looks freshly made, the soft kind of neutral they always use for these shoots, and he already knows how this one starts, Yoongi sitting behind him, slow kisses to the neck, hands on his waist. Gentle. Intimate.

He’s trying not to think about it too much. Trying not to think about the way Yoongi’s voice sounded earlier. Or the way his hand felt on his knee. Or the fact that it’s about to happen all over again, but closer.

Taehyung’s standing near the back with a headset on, clipboard in one hand, stupid grin on his face. He gives Hoseok a big thumbs-up when their eyes meet.

That does not help.

If anything, it makes it worse, the way Taehyung looks like he’s watching a season finale unfold in real time. Like he already knows how this is going to go.

Hoseok exhales slowly and climbs onto the bed. Yoongi follows, settling in behind him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of their clothes. His thigh brushes against Hoseok’s. His arm rests just behind him.

Hoseok can hear the crew shuffling behind the cameras, low voices confirming sound and lighting. Someone counts down from ten.

Yoongi leans in slightly. Not touching him yet, just near enough to feel.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

Hoseok nods without turning. His heart is beating too fast, too loud. He tells himself it’s just nerves. Just work.

From somewhere off to the side, Taehyung’s voice cuts in, chipper and unforgivable.

“Try not to fall in love this time!”

Hoseok doesn’t look back. He just closes his eyes for a second, prays for strength, and hears someone call,

“Action.”

Hoseok is not a good actor.

He genuinely is a good tease, yeah, maybe he’s good at faking a few expressions, maybe he moans a little louder than he normally would, but really, he’s not that good of an actor.

Fortunately for him, everyone else seems to think he is.

When his face scrunches, when he whimpers, when he arches his back just so, he catches Taehyung smiling in the corner of his eye. And he knows exactly what it means. Taehyung thinks he’s acting better than ever.

But Hoseok does not like the way Yoongi’s hands feel on him, at his neck, at his back, on his waist.

Or rather, he does like it. Which, in this particular scenario, is worse.

So when he shuts his eyes tightly and arches higher than Seokjin ever told him to, when he lets out a real sound instead of a rehearsed one, Hoseok is not acting.

But at least this time, he doesn’t come too early.

It’s close. Closer than he wants to admit. It takes everything he has not to lose it again. So when he finally can , and Yoongi’s right on top of him, and Hoseok’s arms are wrapped around his back, Hoseok doesn’t mean to scrunch his hands up. Doesn’t mean to scratch.

But he does.

The scene cuts with Hoseok still lying back, chest rising and falling, trying to catch his breath. And of course, of course , Seokjin is already walking onto the set.

“Hoseok-ah!” he calls, dragging his name out like he’s annoyed. Taehyung is already behind him, robes in hand, stepping in to inspect Yoongi before he covers him.

“Sorry,” Hoseok manages, still breathless. “Sorry, Yoongi-ssi.”

Yoongi just shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“No! It’s not fine,” Seokjin snaps, clearly gearing up for a monologue. Taehyung cuts in.

“It’s fine. It’s not—okay, maybe it’s a little deep.”

Hoseok doesn’t see it. He doesn’t want to.

But Taehyung has a tissue in his hand, and while it’s not a lot of blood, there’s enough. Enough for a few careful dabs, enough to know it’ll leave a mark for at least a few days.

God. Can Hoseok do anything right?

By the time Hoseok makes it back to the dressing room, his robe is sticking slightly to his skin, and he still feels too warm, like the lights followed him all the way out. His legs are a little shaky, but he tells himself that’s normal. It was a long scene. It was fine.

He sits down in front of the mirror and exhales slowly, trying not to look at himself. His hair’s a mess, the robe’s slipping off one shoulder, and there’s a faint red mark low on his neck that he’s not ready to acknowledge.

He hears the door open behind him.

He doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

Yoongi walks in quietly, no fanfare. He doesn’t say anything right away, just moves to the rack where his clothes are hung and starts to change, careful and unbothered, like he’s done this a thousand times.

Hoseok doesn’t mean to watch him in the mirror. But he does.

After a minute, Yoongi glances over, just once, catching his reflection. Noticing, maybe. Not commenting.

“I didn’t mean to scratch,” Hoseok says, voice low.

Yoongi meets his eyes. “It’s okay.”

“I mean—sorry. Again.”

He half-smiles, still a little breathless, eyes drifting back to the floor. He wants to say something else, anything, but his throat feels too tight. Yoongi, of course, just nods and keeps buttoning up his shirt like none of it was a big deal.

“You did good,” Yoongi says, once his collar is fixed and his sleeves are smoothed down. His voice is calm, the same as earlier, steady, soft, almost too casual.

Hoseok looks up, blinking. “Huh?”

“The scene,” Yoongi says. “You were good.”

Hoseok stares at him.

“You’re surprisingly really good at it,” Yoongi continues. “I’ve watched some of your earlier shoots, you know, just to prepare. I knew you were good. But I guess it’s different seeing it first-hand.”

Hoseok feels the blush creep up his neck. He’s glad Yoongi isn’t looking at him now.

“My usual pairings are terrible actors. It surprises me people are into it sometimes,” Yoongi adds, almost like an afterthought. “But I guess I can see why you got so popular so fast.”

And he says it so simply, like he’s just stating a fact. Then he picks up his bag and turns toward the door.

Just before he leaves, he pauses. Looks over his shoulder.

“I hope you’re not too sore.”

Then he’s gone.

Hoseok stays seated, hands in his lap, unsure whether to laugh or scream into his water bottle.

–––––––

The second video does extremely well again, and Taehyung, armed with new data and zero shame, tests pairing them together for a third, and then a fourth time. The numbers don’t drop. If anything, the views only seem to be getting higher, and the comments more... specific. People like them together. The chemistry, the way Yoongi holds him, the way Hoseok looks at him. There’s a thread on Twitter dedicated entirely to the shape of Hoseok’s mouth when he comes… odd 

This is how Hoseok starts getting to know Yoongi, and not just his body.

Because after a month of working side by side, with no different pairings in between, things begin to feel routine. Hoseok shows up, changes into whatever minimal outfit wardrobe gives him, and ends up in Yoongi’s lap, or arms, or bed. 

But in between takes, Yoongi talks to him like a friend. Not just quiet nods or polite smiles, but actual conversations. Jokes. Comments about how stupid the scripts are. Recommendations for restaurants Hoseok should try. He learns Yoongi has a degree in computer science, that he works from home as a software engineer when he’s not filming. That this was only a fun side job.

Somewhere in all that, Hoseok starts calling him hyung.

And yet, the shift doesn't make things easier. It only makes Hoseok more flustered. Because Yoongi touches him casually now, his shoulder, the small of his back, the side of his face to fix a strand of hair, and it always feels like more. Like too much. He can’t shake the tightness in his chest, the way his heart stutters when Yoongi laughs with him… or fucks him. It’s never just acting. Not for Hoseok.

He knows he’s not supposed to feel this way. But he does.

It’s not a problem. He doesn’t act on it. Sure, sometimes he’ll wink at Yoongi when he’s peeling off his shirt during parts he knows will get cut, and Yoongi will laugh, but he never actually knows what Hoseok is feeling.

And it’s fine. Really, it is.

Until today, at least.

The setup is different. They’re boyfriends again, like that one time, only this time, they’re supposed to be in love.

And when Taehyung leaves the set, when the cameras start rolling, and it’s just him and Yoongi under the lights, Hoseok kind of… forgets.

Forgets it’s a scene. Forgets Yoongi’s not his. Forgets, for a moment, that the whole point is to fake being in love.

Because Yoongi knows him. Knows what part of him to touch to pull those sounds from his throat, where to press his mouth to make Hoseok’s back lift off the sheets. Yoongi knows his body in a way no one else ever has, not just how it works, but how it responds.

So when Yoongi whispers I love you , just part of the script, soft and steady like it’s always been planned, Hoseok says it back.

And the worst part is, he kind of means it.

When the director calls cut, Yoongi doesn’t move right away.

Neither does Hoseok.

He’s still lying there, limbs heavy, robe half-draped over his hips, chest rising and falling in slow, unsteady breaths. The lights are still dim, the set quiet now except for the shuffle of someone turning off the camera.

Yoongi leans in just a little, eyes skimming over his face. “You okay?”

He’s too close.

Not too close, not really, just, close enough that Hoseok can see the faint sheen of sweat on his temple, the way his lashes dip when he blinks. His voice is low, familiar now, and Hoseok hates that it makes his heart skip in that stupid way again.

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh to cover it. “Yeah,” he says, eyes half-lidded, gaze darting away. “Just got really tired all of a sudden.”

And it’s not a lie, he is tired. But not entirely from the scene.

Mostly from keeping his hands to himself.

Yoongi nods like that makes perfect sense. His voice is soft when he speaks again. “You were great.”

Hoseok blinks up at him. “You say that every time.”

“That’s because it’s true every time.”

That makes him smile. He lets his eyes close for a second, then opens them again, catching the way Yoongi is still looking at him.

Still close.

Still not moving.

“Are you working later?” Hoseok asks, voice quieter now, more casual, but not really.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Nope. I’m off the rest of the day.”

He hesitates for just a second, and then,

“Wanna go get food?”

Hoseok’s head lifts a little. “With you?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, playful. “No, with Jin hyung. Yes, with me.”

Hoseok laughs, and it sounds easier this time. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

And when Yoongi offers him a hand to help him up, Hoseok takes it.

Too quickly, maybe. But he doesn’t let go.

The restaurant Yoongi picks is quiet, tucked between a laundromat and a flower shop. The floor tiles are slightly uneven, the light overhead a little too yellow. Hoseok kind of likes it.

They take a seat by the window. Yoongi orders for them both like he’s been here a dozen times Hoseok doesn’t argue. He’s still adjusting to the idea that this is actually happening, them together outside of set.

Yoongi sits across from him, relaxed. One arm slung casually over the back of the chair, fingers idly brushing the wood.

It should feel normal, just two coworkers getting food after a long shoot. But Hoseok keeps fidgeting with his sleeves under the table.

Yoongi pours them both water. “You always get so quiet after.”

Hoseok looks up. “After?”

“After shoots,” Yoongi says. “You go all quiet and thoughtful. I used to think you were uncomfortable, but I’m starting to think it’s just your thing.”

Hoseok shrugs, unsure of how to answer. Maybe he is uncomfortable. Maybe that’s the problem.

“Do I talk too much?” Yoongi adds, smirking a little. “You can tell me if I talk too much.”

“You don’t,” Hoseok says, and he smiles, because he means it.

The food arrives a minute later, steam curling up between them. Hoseok picks up his chopsticks and tries not to think about how nice it feels, being here like this. Like it’s something they’ve done before. Like it could happen again.

“It’s funny you say that… my friends usually say I’m the one who talks too much.”

Yoongi falls quiet for a second, like he’s trying to picture that version of him, Hoseok louder, looser, maybe not constantly biting his own tongue. The pause makes Hoseok wish he hadn’t said anything at all.

“I guess I’ll just have to spend more time with you outside of set,” Yoongi says eventually, and smiles.

But Hoseok keeps thinking.

“Hyung… when did you start working in entertainment?”

Yoongi finishes chewing, then nods once. “Mmm, I must’ve been twenty one. It’s only been two years.”

Hoseok nods too, pretending to focus on his bowl.

“How was that for you? Was it weird at all?”

Yoongi leans back slightly, chopsticks resting on the edge of his plate. “Not really… I was pretty cocky back then. It felt like I was putting on a show for everyone. I guess now I’m just used to it.”

Hoseok thinks about that. He was cocky too, not that long ago. But somehow, Yoongi had stripped that confidence from him without even trying.

“How’d you start anyway?” he asks. “I mean, you have a great job.”

Yoongi laughs, low and real, and Hoseok raises his brows, more intrigued than before.

“You have to promise not to judge.”

Hoseok grins. “Now I have to judge.”

Yoongi glances around, then lowers his voice just slightly. “I hooked up with Jin hyung once. Apparently, he liked my performance enough to beg me to try it out.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen, and for a second it makes Yoongi laugh again, that same surprised, amused kind of laugh that makes Hoseok’s heart flutter.

“ Jin hyung?”

Yoongi groans, half covering his face. “Yeah… I was pretty drunk and… yeah. It was a one time thing. Never happened again.”

“It can’t have been that bad,” Hoseok says. He’s smiling, teasing, maybe imagining it for half a second, not because he wants to, but because his brain does that sometimes.

“No… the opposite, actually,” Yoongi says, tone a little more playful now. “You have to admit, Jin hyung’s pretty hot when he shuts the fuck up.”

Oh.

“It was great sex,” Yoongi adds, like it’s not a big deal. “Getting to know him is what makes you not wanna do it again.”

He laughs lightly. Hoseok does too, automatically, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Because suddenly, he doesn’t find it funny.

And maybe it’s stupid, but he feels… jealous, almost. Not because Yoongi had sex with Seokjin, that’s whatever, but because that sex was real . With Seokjin, it wasn’t for cameras. It wasn’t fake.

With Hoseok, it’s been at least a dozen times now. But none of that was real.

And Hoseok wants Yoongi. He wants Yoongi, and he wants Yoongi to want him back, and he’s going to try… he just doesn’t know how yet.

There’s a pause. His hands are warm where they rest on the table. His tongue is dry. But he pushes forward anyway.

“Hyung.”

Yoongi looks up, raises his brows like he’s ready to listen.

“You should come over,” Hoseok says. He tries to keep his voice steady, casual. “We could have a few drinks. That’d be fun, no?”

Yoongi nods once, easy. “Sure.”

And that’s all he needs.

Yoongi shows up around nine.

Hoseok answers the door in sweatpants and a tank top, a little too aware of how casual he looks, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind. He holds up two bottles of soju like it’s a peace offering.

“I brought backup, just in case yours sucked.”

“It does,” Hoseok grins, stepping aside. “You’ve saved the night.”

They settle on the couch with the lights dimmed low, music playing softly from Hoseok’s speaker, something smooth and forgettable, just enough to fill the silence they never really fall into. The drinks flow easy. So do the stories.

Yoongi is funny. Not the kind of funny that tries to be, just the kind that naturally happens, a single word in the right tone, a dry glance over his glass. Hoseok laughs more than he means to. Feels hotter than the soju should make him.

They don’t talk about work. Not for a while at least.

And when Yoongi laughs, really laughs, head tipped back slightly and nose scrunching, Hoseok feels it all over.

He feels like he could sit like this forever.

And it scares the hell out of him.

They’ve gone quiet again.

The new bottle between them is nearly empty, the glasses long abandoned on the table. Hoseok’s curled into the corner of the couch, one leg pulled to his chest, eyes drifting between Yoongi’s profile and his hands. 

“Hyung…” he says, barely above the music. “Do you like working with me?”

Yoongi turns his head a little, brow raised. “What kind of question is that?”

Hoseok shrugs, eyes skating down to his hands. “Just wondering.”

Yoongi studies him for a beat too long. “…Yeah. I do.”

Hoseok doesn’t look at him. Just nods once. “No, I mean… do you like doing it. With me.”

The words land heavier this time, and he watches them register.

Yoongi blinks, caught. His ears tint red, he’s been drinking, but Hoseok knows that look. That pause. That sharp breath.

“Well… yeah,” Yoongi says, voice quieter now. “Of course I do.”

There’s a thud in Hoseok’s chest, and he can’t decide if it’s excitement or dread.

He leans forward slightly. His voice drops, careful, slow. “Do you ever wonder… what I’m like when it’s not being recorded?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drifts lower, Hoseok’s mouth, his collarbone, the space between them.

This time it’s definitely not the soju.

“Hoseok,” Yoongi says.

And Hoseok doesn’t stop. He can’t.

“I like you, hyung.”

Yoongi looks up at him, eyes wide. “I… I like you too, Hoseok—”

“No,” he cuts in, voice trembling just slightly. “I like you… like you, hyung.”

It hangs between them, thick as the silence that follows.

Yoongi stares. Mouth parted like he wants to say something. But before he can, Hoseok is already moving.

He leans in fast, closing the space between them, one hand curling against Yoongi’s shirt. His mouth meets Yoongi’s without hesitation, desperate, unpracticed, completely unfiltered.

And Yoongi doesn’t pull away, not right away.

Hoseok kisses him in a way Yoongi’s never seen him do. It’s desperate but it’s sweet and soft. And for a second, Yoongi kisses him back. One hand finds Hoseok’s waist, the other curling into the fabric at his shoulder, like maybe he wants this too.

But then Yoongi pulls back, not sharply, but firm enough.

“Hoseok.”

Hoseok tries to chase him, lips brushing his again, but Yoongi’s hand comes up to his chest, steady and unshaking.

“Hoseok, we can’t.”

“Why not?” Hoseok’s voice cracks on it. His hands are still touching Yoongi, fingers brushing his sleeve. “Are you… are you not attracted to me?”

Yoongi exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a second too long. “Hoseok, it isn’t—”

“Then why?” Hoseok’s voice is small now, softer. “Why not?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer at first. His hand lingers where it’s pressed between them, like a barrier he hates having to keep. His eyes are heavy when he finally meets Hoseok’s again.

“Hoseok… you’re still young… you’re confused and you think you like me, but it’s not just about fucking, Hoseok.”

“I never said it was.” His voice wavers, just barely.

“No, but you—clearly you don’t know how to separate your feelings from work.”

Hoseok flinches, shoulders stiffening. “I… I do know how to separate feelings and work,” he says, quieter now, like he's trying to convince himself too. “I just… I want you because you’re you , not because we’ve had sex.”

Yoongi watches him.

And Hoseok looks so small under his gaze, arms folded like a shield, eyes rimmed pink, his chest rising just a little too fast.

“Hoseok… you’re too young for me.”

“I’m turning twenty in three weeks…” Hoseok says, and his voice catches at the end, like he wasn’t planning to say it out loud. “I’m not—”

“And I’m turning twenty-four next month,” Yoongi replies, softer now. “It’s different.”

“Four years is nothing , it’s nothing. Why does that matter? That’s a stupid excuse.”

“Hoseok.”

There’s that pause again.

And then Hoseok kisses him again.

Hands in Yoongi’s hair, mouth warm, mouth wanting , like he’s trying to prove something without saying it. Like he’s giving him every answer Yoongi won’t ask for.

And Yoongi, Yoongi almost lets him.

His hands move on their own, pulling Hoseok in, gripping his waist tighter than the first time, kissing back just once, just to remember how he tastes when he means it.

But then Yoongi forces himself to break the kiss again, breath ragged, forehead resting against Hoseok’s.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t make me want this.”

“I want you to.” Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper, but Yoongi hears it like a plea. Their faces are still close, too close, and Hoseok’s breath fans warm against his mouth.

Yoongi swallows. His hands tighten briefly at Hoseok’s waist before he lets them drop. “Don’t ruin this, Hoseok.”

And maybe it’s the way he says it, not angry, not cold, just tired , that makes Hoseok lean in again anyway. Like if he just tries one more time, Yoongi will stop fighting it.

But this time, Yoongi catches him by the shoulders. Gently, but firmly. Keeps him still.

“I should go.”

Hoseok’s lips part, eyes wide. “Hyung.”

“It’s late,” Yoongi says, already standing, brushing his hands down his shirt like that could steady him. “You should go to bed, Seok-ah.”

The nickname shouldn’t sound so final.

Yoongi doesn’t look at him when he leaves. And Hoseok just stands there in the middle of his apartment, heart pounding, warmth still on his lips, wondering what exactly he did wrong.

–––––––

Something changes after that night.

It’s not dramatic. Hoseok doesn’t block his number or cry in the shower. But the next time they're on set together, something’s different. Yoongi smiles more subtly when they pass in the hallway. Hoseok doesn't smile back. 

He doesn’t care if Yoongi thinks it’s rude.

Because Yoongi got to walk away. Yoongi got to say “Don’t ruin this” and then leave like Hoseok hadn’t just bared his feelings in the quietest, most terrifying way he knew how.

So no, he’s not going to play nice anymore.

Their scenes are different now. Taehyung doesn’t notice, if anything, he seems thrilled. “The tension between you two is insane lately.” Hoseok almost laughs when he hears that.

But it’s true. There’s tension.

Because Hoseok isn’t scared anymore. He doesn’t blush when Yoongi touches him, doesn’t flinch when their bodies line up. He keeps eye contact, even when he’s undressing, even when he’s grinding down into Yoongi’s lap, even when he comes with his mouth parted and his hand fisting the sheets.

And Yoongi knows. Of course he knows. His expression flickers every time Hoseok looks at him like that, steady, unreadable, almost daring him to say something.

He never does.

So Hoseok keeps pushing. If Yoongi wants to pretend he doesn’t feel anything, then fine. Hoseok can pretend too. He can make Yoongi feel everything and still walk off set like none of it mattered. Two can play.

But it still hurts.

That’s the part Hoseok doesn’t say.

It’s been a week.

A week of Hoseok keeping his distance, showing up to set with his script memorized, eyes clear and unreadable. He hits every cue, every beat, every moan like a professional, like nothing about it touches him at all.

When they wrap for the day, Yoongi is still pulling his shirt back over his head when Hoseok starts to leave, already halfway off the set before anyone can say cut .

He’s done this every day this week, gets up, walks out, doesn’t even glance back.

But this time, Yoongi follows.

“Hoseok—”

He catches up just outside the back corridor, fingers circling around his wrist before Hoseok can slip away again.

“We should talk,” Yoongi says, voice low. Careful.

Hoseok’s eyes flick down to where Yoongi’s holding him. His jaw tightens.

“I don’t want to,” he says, flat, final, and yanks his wrist free without waiting for an answer. The sound of it feels louder than it is.

He disappears into the dressing room before Yoongi can say anything else.

Yoongi doesn’t follow this time.

He just stands there for a moment, hand falling empty at his side.

–––––––

Hoseok is already in a mood when he gets to the dressing room, not that that’s new. He barely says hi to Taehyung, slumps into the chair like being in the room bothers him, robe loose around his hips and expression pulled tight.

He stares at his reflection in silence while Taehyung moves around the room, fixing little things. Hoseok doesn’t ask what the scene is. He doesn’t care.

Taehyung hums under his breath as he flips through the clipboard.

“Oh, by the way, you’re shooting with Jae today.”

That makes Hoseok look up.

“What?”

He turns so fast the chair squeaks beneath him.

Taehyung glances up, then frowns a little. “I thought you’d be happy about that,” he says, cautious. “I was starting to think that tension wasn’t just an act.”

“It was,” Hoseok blurts out. “I promise it was. I want to shoot with Yoongi.”

Taehyung just shakes his head. “Well… it’s too late for that.”

“No,” Hoseok says immediately, sitting up straighter. “Just call him—tell him to come back, I’ll wait, we can reshoot—”

“Hoseok.”

Taehyung’s voice is soft, but it lands hard.

“Yoongi’s last shoot was Tuesday.”

Hoseok blinks.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, almost like he’s surprised Hoseok doesn’t already know. “It was pretty last minute, but he told us at the beginning of the year this would probably be his last, so… we saw it coming.”

Hoseok hadn’t seen it coming.

He hadn’t seen any of this coming.

He stares at Taehyung like the words haven’t quite reached him yet, like they’re still somewhere in the air, waiting to sink in. His chest feels too tight suddenly, like there’s not enough space for his lungs, for his thoughts, for all the things he never got to say.

Yoongi left. Just like that. No warning, no text, no goodbye.

No ‘ you were right. I did want you back.’

No ‘ I changed my mind.’

Just gone.

And maybe Hoseok had been mad. Maybe he’d been bitter. Maybe he thought the silence between them meant nothing was changing. 

Still, he thought Yoongi would come back to him eventually, he had to.

But he didn’t.

And now he won’t.

Not today. Not ever.

–––––––

Hoseok had a life before he got into adult entertainment.

A sweet one, honestly.

He’d just graduated from beauty school and was working as an apprentice stylist for a real entertainment company. He liked that. A lot. He liked working with the girls, especially, their extravagant makeup, the long extensions, the glitter and lashes and laughter. It was perfect for him. He got to make people feel beautiful. Got to talk, to gossip while they got ready. He was good at it, and it made him feel like himself.

And that life was nice. Until Seokjin got a hold of him.

Now, it’s been a week since Yoongi left, and everything’s different. Hoseok has only done two shoots since, and both of them felt like actual torture. For the first time since he started working with them, he actually had to act . Pretend he was into it. Smile like he wasn’t thinking about someone else. Luckily, as it turns out, he actually is pretty good at faking it.

Seokjin noticed the shift in his mood by the third day. Taehyung, too. Especially the way Hoseok kept showing up on set even when he wasn’t scheduled to work, hanging around like he had somewhere to be. (Secretly, he was hoping Yoongi might walk in again. He didn’t.)

And Hoseok stays like that, quiet, coiled, trying not to look at the couch where Yoongi used to wait between cuts, until Seokjin pulls him aside and asks if he wants to help with makeup and hair. Just part-time. A few extra bucks, something to fill the hours. Hoseok says yes before he even finishes the sentence.

That’s when it starts to feel a little better.

He likes working with Chaeyoung the most. Her makeup is always bold, bright colors, glitter tears, dramatic liner. Her scenes are usually heavier too. She shows up early, and lets Hoseok take his time, lets him talk. She asks questions, tells him about her day. And for the forty minutes it takes to get her ready, Hoseok feels…

Normal again.

Like the version of himself who used to work with idols. The one who used to hang out with Jimin everyday. The one who used to make Yoongi laugh. The one who, just for a little while, wasn’t waiting for anything. 

“Isn’t it your birthday this week?” Chaeyoung asks as she sifts through her bag, glancing at him through the mirror.

Hoseok nods lightly, setting a small bottle of foundation on the counter. “Yeah… it’s tomorrow.”

“Wow! Are you doing anything?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he says with a soft chuckle, capping a lipstick. “But I’m pretty sure Taehyung and Jimin are up to something for this weekend. They’re terrible at being discreet, I wouldn’t be surprised if you get the invitation before I do.”

Chaeyoung laughs, a bright, musical sound that fills the dressing room. It makes Hoseok smile without thinking.

“Aren’t you excited?” she asks, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Twenty is a great age!”

“Yeah…” he says, slower this time, the word thinning at the edges. “I guess.”

But really, he isn’t sure.

Because all he can think about is that last conversation with Yoongi. The way he’d said, “I’m turning twenty in three weeks,” like it meant something. Like it should matter. And Yoongi had looked at him, unreadable, and still walked away.

He’d thought, maybe, just maybe, turning twenty would change things. That maybe Yoongi was waiting for that. Maybe it meant something to him. But now, on the eve of it, it’s quiet. And Yoongi’s not here.

And Hoseok can’t stop the thought. If Yoongi cared that he was turning twenty, maybe he’d be excited. If Yoongi cared about him at all… maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone.

–––––––

Hoseok likes big parties. He always has. He likes noise, music, the buzz of a room full of people he half-knows but still makes laugh. At least, he used to.

This year, he feels a little stupid. A little ridiculous for feeling down about something he knows he shouldn't have let matter in the first place.

But it did matter. And now he's trying not to think about it.

He’s grateful, at least, that his birthday landed on a Tuesday. Tuesdays aren’t for grand gestures. Tuesdays are for small dinners, low expectations. Taehyung and Jimin insisted on doing something, just them and a few others, but that he can handle. It’s the weekend party he dreads, the one he knows Taehyung’s secretly planning.

Drinking with his friends (even though drinking usually makes him think too much). Dancing a little (after a few drinks, maybe). Sleeping with someone, just to feel wanted for a night. Yeah… maybe it will be bad.

But that’s later. Today, he can just pretend to be fine.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter. Yoongi doesn’t matter. Not anymore. It was just work. Just one more scene partner who said something that wasn’t in the script. And then left without saying goodbye.

For now, he pulls his jacket on, checks his hair in the mirror. He’s already running late. Jimin will tease him. Taehyung will hug him too tight. Jin will bring something embarrassing. The usual.

He just hopes, more than anything, that the night stays usual.

The restaurant Jimin picks is actually… really nice. It’s laidback, but still special, dim lights pooling over polished wooden tables, soft conversations rising beneath the mellow hum of live jazz from the small stage near the back. It feels like a place people come to talk, not shout over music. Hoseok’s grateful for that. He might’ve said no otherwise.

They’re already seated by the time he gets there, tucked into a booth near the window. Jimin insisted on being early to “scope out the vibe,” and now he’s deep in a heated debate with Jungkook about whether or not Hoseok should order a cocktail called Peach Kiss , since it is his birthday. Taehyung’s already got his phone out, trying to take a candid of Hoseok mid-laugh.

And for a second, it feels okay.

Just his friends. Just a Tuesday night. Nothing too bright, too loud, too hard to sit through.

He expects Seokjin and Namjoon to arrive a little later, as they usually do. Something about Jin usually being overdressed and Namjoon needing to “emotionally prepare” for social interaction. Hoseok glances toward the entrance, anticipating their silhouettes. He's mid-sip of water when he sees them, the familiar figures just beyond the window glass, 

And then Yoongi. Right behind them.

His heart drops so fast he nearly chokes.

He stiffens, glass clinking too hard against the table as he sets it down, and reaches, instinctively, for the closest thing. Taehyung’s wrist.

Taehyung turns toward him, startled by the sudden grip under the table. Hoseok doesn’t look away from the window.

“What’s Yoongi doing behind Seokjin?” he says quietly, urgently, like the words burn.

Taehyung blinks, looks. “What? I thought you might want him here?”

No. No. Hoseok does not want him here. He wants to crawl into a hole. He wants to slip under the table and out the back door, leave his coat, leave his cake, leave this whole night behind.

He can already feel it, his throat tightening, skin prickling under the soft restaurant light. Yoongi’s silhouette is clearer now, talking with Namjoon like nothing is wrong. Like he didn’t just disappear.

Taehyung must feel the way Hoseok’s still gripping him, tight, knuckles pale, but Hoseok can’t loosen his fingers.

Because Yoongi’s walking through the door. And Hoseok isn’t ready to look at him again.

The bell above the door chimes soft and sweet when Seokjin and Namjoon step inside. Hoseok pretends not to see them at first, pretends to be focused on Taehyung, who’s still watching him closely, but he knows they’re walking toward the table. Knows Yoongi is too.

“Birthday boy!” Jin grins, arms already open.

The others shift, making space as Seokjin pulls him into a hug. Hoseok lets himself be held. Jin smells like cologne and too much hair product, and he pats Hoseok’s back twice before pulling away with a wink and a quiet “you look good.”

Namjoon’s next, smiling gently. His hugs are warmer. He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds him for a second. And Hoseok… maybe holds on longer than he should. Because Namjoon feels like safety right now. Like a wall between him and the last person in line.

But Namjoon has to let go eventually. And Yoongi is still there.

Hoseok doesn’t look at him, not at first. He keeps his eyes on the floor, on the edge of the table, on anything but that face.

Then Yoongi steps forward. “Hey,” he says, soft. “Happy birthday.”

And Hoseok wants to die.

Because the moment Yoongi wraps his arms around him, his breath catches. Everything inside him catches.

He doesn’t want to let go. He wants to cry into his shoulder. He wants to slap his chest, wants to push him and ask why the hell did you leave like that? Wants to scream why didn’t you say goodbye? Why didn’t you come back?

But all he does is hug back, barely. And he pulls away quicker than he did with Seokjin, quicker than he did with Namjoon. Doesn’t look him in the eye for longer than he has to.

Yoongi steps back, just a little. Hoseok clears his throat and sits down, ignoring the way Taehyung’s still watching him like he knows every thought that just ran through his head.

He doesn’t speak. He just pours himself a glass of water and hopes it drowns the ache in his chest.

Now they’re all seated, drinks in hand, appetizers on the way. Hoseok plays along. He smiles, he nods, he laughs at a joke Jungkook makes about turning twenty. But the truth is, he’s already not here.

The conversation moves on without him. Someone brings up Jimin’s birthday plans next month, another teases Namjoon about his dating life. Hoseok lets the noise wrap around him like static. He picks at the condensation on his glass. He hasn’t touched his drink in a while.

And Yoongi is quiet too. Not awkwardly, just observant. Seated a few spots down, he’s not drawing attention to himself. But every so often, Hoseok feels it. That glance. 

He can’t see it directly, he won’t allow himself to, but he knows. The way the air shifts. The heat on his cheek.

And it’s driving him insane.

Because he knows Yoongi is watching, but he won’t look up. Because if he does, he might cry. Or yell. Or maybe worse, maybe he’ll smile, like nothing happened. And he doesn’t want to do that either.

So he laughs again, emptily, and forces a swallow of his drink. It’s bitter, too sharp. It sits in his throat like regret.

He tells himself to snap out of it, but every time the music softens, every time the others lean in to talk to each other, Hoseok is left alone with his thoughts. And the weight of Yoongi’s gaze. And the ache of something he never got to fix.

Hoseok excuses himself to the bathroom, and by some stroke of mercy, he finds a second exit.

He slips outside without being seen. The air is cooler out here, and quiet, no clinking glasses, no music, no forced laughter. Just stillness. He takes a seat on a bench by the side of the restaurant, tries to breathe. Tries to get his brain to slow down, just for a second.

Then the door creaks open behind him. Hoseok doesn’t have to look. He already knows.

He feels it.

Yoongi stands in front of him, silent. Hoseok stays seated, eyes fixed on his fingers as they toy with the silver rings on his hands.

There’s only one thing he can bring himself to say.

"Why’d you come?"

It’s soft. Barely a question. But it’s the only thing that’s been clawing at him since Yoongi walked in behind Seokjin.

Yoongi exhales like he’s choosing his words carefully.

"I wasn’t going to."

That makes Hoseok want to cry. It’s not the answer he expected. Somehow, it feels worse.

"But Taehyung said you asked for me the other day."

“I didn’t ask for you,” Hoseok mutters. “I was just caught off guard.”

Yoongi nods slightly, like he understands more than he says. He looks around once before quietly lowering himself beside Hoseok on the bench.

"If you want… I can leave."

Of course Hoseok doesn’t want that. He never wanted that. But he’s upset and confused and tired of not knowing how to make any of this hurt less.

"Just do whatever you want."

Yoongi doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. 

And Hoseok keeps playing with his rings.

“Hoseok, why are you upset with me?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer. His mouth is slightly parted, but nothing comes out. His eyes stay fixed on his hands, fingers fumbling with the rings on them like he's trying to ground himself. His thoughts are loud, scattered, but his body is quiet.

Yoongi waits. 

“…Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

It’s so quiet that Yoongi almost misses it. The question sits heavy between them, the kind of thing you don’t say unless it’s been eating at you.

“I tried,” Yoongi says, and his voice is soft, but clearer now. “I tried, and you didn’t let me.”

He shifts, sitting up straighter, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. His tone doesn’t rise, but there’s an edge to it now. Like he’s holding back a hundred other versions of the same sentence.

“I would’ve stayed,” he says. “If you had just said something, if you had just told me not to go, I would’ve stayed longer.”

Hoseok looks at him now, finally. His expression is frozen, unreadable, but his eyes are wide, like something just cracked inside him.

“But you wouldn’t even let me explain,” Yoongi continues. “You walked away. You just walked away before I could say anything. Like I don’t get to have a voice in it.”

A pause. Yoongi draws in a breath, then lets it out slowly.

“You told me you were turning twenty, and that you were old enough. And I respected that. I heard you. But I set a boundary, Hoseok. Because I care about you. And instead of even trying to understand that, you pulled this—this thing.”

He laughs once, but there’s nothing amused in it. Just disbelief.

“You ignore me, I try to explain, and you still push me away. Have you ever—” his voice breaks just slightly, and he swallows it down. Then tries again.

“Have you ever considered how I felt?” Now his voice is low, cut from somewhere raw.

“I wish what I said was true. I wish I didn’t care about you. I wish I could just leave and forget you even existed, because you’re being so fucking immature and I can’t stand it.”

Yoongi shakes his head, eyes shining now, but he keeps his voice grounded. Controlled. Still himself.

“I wish you’d just had a proper conversation with me. That’s all it would’ve taken. Just one real conversation and all of this could’ve been avoided. But you can’t even do that.”

And Hoseok can’t breathe. Not really. Not when Yoongi’s looking at him like that. Not when the words are slicing through the very thing he was trying to keep together.

Hoseok’s crying now.

Not obviously, not in the way that would call attention to itself. His face is composed, and his hands stay neatly folded in his lap. But the tears slip anyway, quiet and steady, carving soft lines down his cheeks. And maybe no one else would notice. But Yoongi notices. Because Yoongi is watching him like he’s the only thing left in the world.

Hoseok speaks without looking up. His voice is soft.

“The last time I tried to have a conversation with you… you made me feel stupid.”

Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair. “No, Hoseok. That wasn’t a conversation. You were drunk. You could barely keep your lips off of me.”

“But everything I said was true.” Hoseok’s voice catches, just slightly. “And I don’t know why you had to go and make it such a big deal. All of this… all of this could’ve been avoided if you’d just admitted you liked me back from the beginning.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. His gaze falls to the ground for a moment before coming back up. When he speaks again, it’s low. Steady. But there’s an edge to it.

“I can’t, Hoseok.”

There’s a beat.

“Why?” Hoseok asks, eyes lifting at last. His voice breaks, higher than he means it to be, shaky and full of the tears he hasn’t wiped away. “Why can’t you?”

Yoongi closes his eyes for a breath. Then opens them again. And there’s something in his face that’s not cold, exactly, just tired and slightly guarded.

“Because you’re confused,” he says quietly. “Because you don’t really like me, Hoseok. Your body’s used to me. You’re used to the way I look at you, the way I touch you. But that’s not love. It’s just… it’s just what happens when you don’t know the difference.”

Hoseok blinks at him. Like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Like something inside him is slowly being crushed under the weight of every word.

“And I can’t do that,” Yoongi says, voice getting rougher. “I can’t be with someone I know I’ll fall in love with, just for them to wake up one day and realize they never really loved me back.”

For a long moment, Hoseok just stares at him.

His cheeks are blotchy now, and his lips are parted like he’s trying to say something but can’t.

Finally, his voice comes, brittle and quiet.

“You don’t even know me.”

He stands up slowly, like he’s been hollowed out. Like the air around him is too heavy to carry.

“Tell them my stomach was hurting or something.” His voice trembles, but he doesn’t look at Yoongi. “It’s the least you could do.”

And before Yoongi can say anything else, before he can stand or reach or regret, Hoseok is gone.

He goes home alone.

There’s a small box sitting at his door when he gets there. He blinks at it for a second before crouching down. A cake. Neatly packaged, hand-delivered. There’s a note tucked under the ribbon, folded once.

Happy birthday, Seokie. I miss you so much. Love, noona.

He smiles, a real one, soft, unexpected. For a moment, it makes the weight on his chest ease just a little. He wishes she was here. Wishes he could throw himself across her lap like he used to and complain about everything. She always listened, always made him feel like what he was feeling wasn’t too much.

He brings the cake inside and places it gently on the counter. It's quiet in his apartment, a little too quiet. He pulls out the single candle it came with, sticks it into the center of the cake, and lights it.

The flame flickers. Warm and small.

He doesn’t make a wish, he can’t think of one that doesn’t involve going back in time. But he blows it out anyway. Then cuts himself a slice. The first bite is too sweet, the second sticks in his throat. He forces it down anyway.

Because it’s his birthday. Because it’s his day. Because he’s not going to let Yoongi ruin it.

He’s halfway through the second bite when there’s a knock at his door.

He freezes.

And somehow, even before he checks, he knows.

When he opens the door, Yoongi is standing there. Same coat he wore at dinner. Same eyes that Hoseok has been trying all night not to remember.

Hoseok’s instinct is immediate, he starts to shut the door.

But Yoongi's foot is already there, holding it open.

“See, this is what I mean,” Yoongi says, voice low, tired. “Why are you already shutting me out, Hoseok?”

“Because every time you open your mouth I have to hold back from slapping you across the face.” Hoseok says, voice sharp

Yoongi just exhales, like he expected that. Rolls his eyes.

“I came to apologize.”

Hoseok looks at him. He wants to be cold. Wants to scoff, say okay and slam the door just like that. But instead… he lingers.

Something in his chest is aching and open and soft in all the wrong places.

So he sighs. And opens the door just enough to let him in.

The door shuts behind them with a soft click. Hoseok doesn’t say anything, just walks back toward the kitchen table where his half-eaten slice of cake waits.

Yoongi follows slowly, glancing around the apartment. It’s dim, just the glow from a lamp in the corner and the flicker of a birthday candle stub still softening into wax on the plate.

His eyes land on the cake. The lone slice missing. The knife beside it.

“…Did you make a wish?” he asks quietly.

Hoseok doesn’t answer. He sits down again and picks at the side of the plate with his finger. He doesn’t look up.

Yoongi swallows. Walks over. Pulls the other chair out. Doesn’t sit just yet.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Still, Hoseok says nothing.

“I’m sorry for tonight. For saying the things I did. And… for making you feel like shit on your birthday.”

He finally sits. Runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry for all of it. For not telling you I was leaving. For making you feel small when you were just trying to tell me how you felt. I should’ve—” he shakes his head— “I should’ve handled everything differently.”

The silence stretches. Hoseok doesn’t move, but Yoongi can see his fingers tremble slightly where they rest against the table.

“I just… I got scared. Of liking you too much. Of messing things up. Of… being wrong about what you felt.”

He looks down.

“I was cruel, Hoseok. And I hate that I was.”

At last, Hoseok glances up. His eyes are still red. There’s a sheen of tears that hasn’t gone away yet, but his expression is quieter now. Still guarded.

Yoongi adds, softer, “I didn’t come here expecting anything. I just… needed you to know I regret everything I said. And I meant it when I said I wish I’d done it differently.”

Yoongi finishes speaking, voice gentler now, raw from all the weight he’s been carrying.

Across the table, Hoseok doesn’t say anything. Just blinks once. Then again. His expression is unreadable, too still.

Then finally, dryly, flatly, 

“Are you done?”

Yoongi freezes for a moment. “…Yeah. I’m done.”

He stands. Doesn’t rush, doesn’t beg, just accepts it.

“I just needed you to know.”

He’s halfway turned when Hoseok’s hand shoots out, fingers curling tight around his arm.

Yoongi stops. Slowly turns back to him.

There’s a pause, a long one.

They’re just looking at each other now, not saying anything. The light in the apartment is soft and warm, but the space between them feels like it’s still holding its breath.

Yoongi’s lips part like he wants to say something, but then Hoseok moves.

It’s instinct more than decision. Hoseok stands, steps forward, and wraps his arms around Yoongi like it’s the only thing he can bring himself to do. His face buries in his shoulder, breath catching, not crying this time, just relieved.

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate. His arms lock tight around him like he’s been waiting weeks for this exact thing. His hands clutch Hoseok’s back. His eyes squeeze shut.

It’s the first time in so long they’ve touched each other without tension, without sex, without misunderstanding.

And for a moment, neither of them speak. Because this is the conversation they were too scared to have. This is the answer they couldn’t put into words.

They stay like that for a while. Just holding each other. Breathing each other in.

Eventually, Hoseok loosens his grip, not much, just enough to pull back and look up at Yoongi. His eyes are red, but dry. His voice low, like it’s just for him.

“I’m sorry.”

Yoongi doesn’t move. 

“I shouldn’t have pushed you the way I did. That night… I was hurt. And I didn’t know what to do with it.” His throat tightens.

Yoongi’s gaze softens. Hoseok continues before he can interrupt.

“I was mad that you didn’t want me, but I never even stopped to ask why. I just decided it meant something it didn’t.” He swallows, like the words themselves are hard to let go of. “I was scared you didn’t care. So I tried to make you want me. Tried to make you miss me. But really, I was the one who missed you.”

There’s a pause, and then, quieter,

“I missed you every day.”

Yoongi doesn’t speak right away. His expression flickers, something soft, something sad. And then he lifts a hand, brushing Hoseok’s hair gently from his face, fingers lingering at his jaw.

“I missed you too.”

Hoseok closes his eyes for a second, like that alone could undo the last few weeks.

“Can we just go back to normal? I’ll stop… I’ll stop doing whatever it is that made you uncomfortable. I just don’t like being away from you.”

And it wouldn’t be normal, not really. Yoongi wasn’t coming back, and Hoseok would never shoot with him again. But if Yoongi could at least see him a few times a week, talk to him, maybe even just sit near him without all the silence and distance… maybe that would be enough. Maybe he could feel okay again.

Yoongi’s eyes don’t move. He just stares at him for a long time, something unreadable in his gaze.

“Is that what you want?” he asks quietly.

It’s not.

It’s not what he wants.

What he wants is to kiss him. To be kissed. To be held by him. To wake up in the morning with Yoongi’s arm heavy over his waist. He wants to fall asleep with their legs tangled and their hands together under the sheets.

But if Yoongi isn’t ready for that… if all he can offer is friendship, then Hoseok will take it. He’ll pretend it’s enough, even if it breaks him later.

“…Yes.”

They fall quiet again.

Yoongi doesn’t look away. His eyes are still on him, not in a casual way, not in the way people look when they’re distracted or polite, but intently. Like he’s trying to memorize Hoseok. Or trying to decide something he hasn’t said out loud.

And Hoseok tries not to squirm. But it’s hard. Because Yoongi’s gaze is moving again, not quickly, just thoughtfully, with a kind of intimacy that makes his skin feel tight.

He watches one of Hoseok’s eyes. Then the other. Flicks between them like he’s looking for a hint, a signal, a reason.

Then he looks down.

And Hoseok knows.

Knows exactly what he’s looking at.

His lips.

And before Hoseok can even register it fully, Yoongi moves.

His hand comes up first, curling gently around Hoseok’s jaw, fingers resting beneath his ear. The other slides around his waist, pulling him close without hesitation.

And then, Yoongi kisses him.

Not like he’s still thinking about it. Not like he’s unsure.

He kisses him like it’s the only thing he’s wanted to do since the moment he walked in the door.

And Hoseok melts into it.

Melts completely.

Because this is what he’s wanted all night. All week. Maybe even since the first time Yoongi ever touched him.

And for once, it doesn’t feel confusing or painful or like he’s being pushed away.

For once, Yoongi wants it too.

It’s everything they haven’t been saying for weeks, shoved into the space between their mouths. It’s frustration. It’s why did you leave and why didn’t you stop me and why did it take this long .

Hoseok makes a sound, too quiet, too raw, and Yoongi pulls him closer like he heard it anyway. Like he’s listening to every piece of him now.

And Hoseok doesn’t care anymore. He’s kissing back, grabbing at Yoongi’s shirt like he’s trying to drag him closer, trying to get underneath his skin, trying to make him feel what he’s been too scared to say.

It’s clumsy, it’s rushed, it’s not enough.

Yoongi’s breath is hot against Hoseok’s mouth when he kisses him, deeper this time, rougher, like he’s been holding back for too long and finally stopped caring.

Then he pulls back just enough to tug his shirt off. The fabric brushes Hoseok’s face and he blinks, startled, as Yoongi’s chest comes into view, bare and familiar. Hoseok doesn’t have time to process before Yoongi’s on him again, kissing him like he’s trying to prove a point. Like he needs him to feel it.

And Hoseok feels it.

The press of Yoongi’s mouth, the scrape of teeth, the hand gripping the back of his neck like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. 

Yoongi’s hand is already moving up under his shirt.

No. Not under, Yoongi pulls the shirt off completely, tossing it to the side without looking, and now it’s skin against skin and Hoseok’s brain starts to short out.

Yoongi kisses his neck. His collarbone. Down his chest. Again and again.Yoongi’s never kissed him like this. Hoseok can feel it happening, he knows these will mark, knows they aren’t allowed to, knows Seokjin will be pissed tomorrow. 

It makes Hoseok’s eyes widen. He gasps, pulls back, or tries to, but Yoongi’s hand tightens on his waist, holding him there.

“Hyung, you— you can’t do that,” Hoseok breathes. “Jin hyung will be angry—”

“Yeah.” Yoongi’s mouth is still on his. “Yeah, and make you miss a few shoots… that’s fine.”

He keeps kissing him. Harder. Lower.

Hands sliding down Hoseok’s sides like he already knows every inch of him, because he does. But it’s never been like this. They’ve never been themselves like this. Not without someone watching. Not without a camera rolling.

Yoongi lifts one of Hoseok’s thighs, slides his hand up and palms over the muscle like he’s memorizing it. His lips drag across Hoseok’s stomach, up to his ribs, before meeting his mouth again. He murmurs between kisses, breath hot and words sharp.

“I hated it.” Yoongi’s voice is low, lips dragging across Hoseok’s cheek, down to his throat. “I hated seeing you with Jae.”

Hoseok’s lips part again, but nothing comes out. His hands curl helplessly in Yoongi’s hair as he tilts his head, exposing his neck.

“And I have to say,” Yoongi mutters between kisses, his teeth grazing skin, “if you were trying to make me jealous, you could’ve at least made it look a little more believable.”

Hoseok gasps again, not from the words but the way Yoongi’s mouth sinks lower, like he’s planning to leave a mark he knows won’t fade quickly.

Because this isn’t about Jin. Or rules. Or missed shoots.

This is about everything they didn’t say. Everything they felt and refused to name.

And it’s happening all at once.

Everything burns. But it’s sweet. It’s Yoongi.

And when Yoongi kisses him again, slower now, mouth parted and trembling against his, Hoseok shudders. It feels like a promise that neither of them will say out loud. Not yet.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything when Hoseok pulls him down the hallway, just lets himself be led. It’s quiet, save for the soft thud of their footsteps and the rustle of clothes not fully adjusted after the way they’d kissed in the living room.

Hoseok’s bedroom is dim. There’s a soft throw blanket on the chair in the corner, an open book on the nightstand, a framed photo of his sister beside a half-burned candle. Yoongi takes all of this in within seconds, and then forgets it entirely, because Hoseok is in front of him again.

They’re kissing before the door clicks shut.

Yoongi's hands settle low on Hoseok's hips, walks him backward until Hoseok’s knees hit the bed. And when Hoseok sinks onto the mattress, Yoongi follows, slowly, like he's afraid if he moves too fast it’ll all fall apart.

But it doesn't. It holds.

The weight of him, the heat of his hands, the way he’s breathing through his nose like it’s the only way to keep himself steady. It all holds.

Yoongi kisses him with more care now, slower than downstairs, but there’s something just as desperate tucked into the way he drags his mouth across Hoseok’s jaw, the way he presses their foreheads together like he's trying to memorize the shape of him all over again.

Hoseok lets his eyes fall shut.

There’s no room for nerves. Only the deep, aching kind of want he’s been carrying for weeks. He thinks Yoongi might be feeling it too, the way he touches, the way he stays close. Not like before. Not like this is just something to get through.

It’s different now. But it’s also theirs.

It doesn’t feel like the first time, but it doesn’t feel like the past either. It feels like something brand new, layered on top of everything that came before.

And when it happens, it’s soft.

No teasing, no performance, just the sound of skin brushing skin, breath catching, the creak of the mattress as they press closer. The softness of it all. The want. The relief. The way they hold on like it’s the only thing keeping them from falling apart.

Afterward, Hoseok’s room is still. There’s a faint line of moonlight on the wall. The only movement comes from the slow, steady rise and fall of their chests.

Yoongi lies on his side, hair a little messy, gaze soft. He’s tracing Hoseok’s arm, barely there, just his fingertips running along skin, like he’s making sure it’s real.

It is. Hoseok is here. He’s warm and quiet and wrecked in a way that feels good.

He shifts a little, turns toward Yoongi, eyes searching for something he doesn’t have the words to ask for. Yoongi sees it. Of course he does.

He moves closer, not to speak, but to touch, fingers slipping behind Hoseok’s neck, pulling him in like before. But slower this time. Calmer. Less afraid.

Hoseok exhales.

“Did you really think I didn’t mean it?”

The question breaks the silence gently, like a ripple across still water. Hoseok’s voice is low, almost uncertain, but Yoongi knows exactly what he’s referring to.

He doesn’t answer right away. He breathes. Watches the way the moonlight spills across Hoseok’s bare shoulder.

“I don’t know, honestly…” he finally says. “I haven’t been thinking straight when it comes to you. For a while now.”

Hoseok doesn’t press him. He just nods a little, like that makes sense, like he gets it, because he does. Because he hasn’t been thinking straight either.

There's another stretch of silence, before he admits,

“I’ve kind of liked you since the beginning,” Hoseok says eventually, eyes still on the ceiling. “In case it wasn’t obvious.”

Yoongi shifts, props himself up on one elbow so he can really look at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Did you really not notice?” Hoseok grins, a little sheepish now. His voice is soft but teasing.

“I guess… I guess I just thought you were a really good actor.”

Hoseok laughs, full and bright, and then lets himself fall back onto the pillow again, covering his face for a second before peeking up at Yoongi. “Yeah, and that’s why I came five minutes early the first time you held eye contact with me.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up. His whole face shifts, a mix of disbelief, amusement, and something like awe. “Wait, actually?”

“Yeah… I was already going crazy with the way your hand kept rubbing up and down my waist, and then you did that and… yeah.” Hoseok trails off, smile growing even as his cheeks color slightly.

Yoongi laughs too, the sound warm in his chest, and he falls back beside him. Their shoulders brush.

“I wasn’t faking it,” Yoongi says, turning his head to face him. “Ever, honestly.”

There’s something about the way he says it, so simple, so sure, that makes Hoseok turn too.

And when their eyes meet again, Hoseok feels it in his chest. That quiet flutter of relief.

Yoongi holds his gaze for a second longer.

“Happy birthday,” he says softly.

It's late, and the night has already happened, but something about hearing it now, like this, makes Hoseok close his eyes, and sleep sweetly.

–––––––

Much to Yoongi’s quiet delight, Seokjin forbids Hoseok from filming until his skin clears up.

Hoseok rolls his eyes and protests, says he’s fine, says it’s not that serious, but Seokjin gives him one look and waves him off. “You can thank your boyfriend for the bruises. You’re not getting on camera like that.”

And maybe it’s the way the word boyfriend doesn’t even faze anyone that makes Hoseok think about it seriously for the first time. About staying.

He’s been thinking for a while, anyway. About how tired he’s been, how the industry has shifted around him in a way he doesn’t love anymore. How he’s always felt most like himself backstage, in the warm buzz of prep, not in front of the camera where everything is supposed to look effortless. And now that he’s not shooting, he realizes… maybe he doesn’t want to.

When he tells Seokjin, he braces himself for an argument. But Seokjin just sighs and says, “I figured,” before offering him an official spot in the hair and makeup department. “You somehow know how to make people feel like the best version of themselves. Might as well stay."

So Hoseok stays.

He spends his days with his friends now, laughter echoing louder in the places that used to be quiet. He helps Taehyung in the dressing room, and listens to him gossip about new models. He catches Chaeyoung’s eye across set and touches up her makeup in the moments between takes, their banter easy and familiar.

There’s no pressure anymore. No need to perform. And at night, he gets Yoongi.

Yoongi, who always waits for him just outside the studio doors. Who holds his hand even when no one’s watching. Who presses kisses to his shoulder while he’s brushing his teeth, who falls asleep with his fingers curled against Hoseok’s side like he’s afraid to let go.

And Hoseok learns that Yoongi is sweeter than he once thought. Not always in words, but in gestures. In how he saves Hoseok the last bite of everything. In how he lets him play music too loud in the car. In how he keeps every note Hoseok ever scribbled down and never makes a big deal about it.

Yoongi takes him out often, quiet bookstores, late night drives, little hole-in-the-wall places that serve his favorite kind of soup. And he holds him constantly. On the couch. In bed. In the car, when he can’t seem to help himself. Like Yoongi spent so long pretending not to want him that now, with permission, he doesn’t want to waste a single second.

And Hoseok… Hoseok thinks he could stay like this forever.

And maybe that’s all he ever wanted.