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“The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.”
― E.E. Cummings
_ _
So here’s the thing: Hoseok’s in love with his roommate. What a cliche, right? He’s seen the trope in a dozen books and TV shows and dramas, not counting all the parodies out there and one very famous Vine. He’s not thrilled to be here, but he’d like to think most people wouldn’t stand a chance when faced with Min Yoongi.
Min Yoongi: classical pianist, frequent changer of hair colors (and looks good in all of them), wearer of both leather jackets and fluffy sweaters (both devastating in different ways), owner of the best gummy smile Hoseok’s ever seen (plus a beautifully infectious laugh), and maker of the most incredible pancakes in upstate New York.
Min Yoongi, who wears thick-frame glasses when he’s studying and hums hip-hop songs under his breath when he thinks no one’s listening. Who looks like a penguin waddling around campus in his layers in the winter, then sends him numerous text messages complaining about the heat in the summer. Who hates scary movies just as much as Hoseok does, but once took on someone trying to break into their apartment armed with nothing but a cheap lamp and a broom. Who seems a little cold and aloof until you get to know him, until you realize that his walls are protecting a soft and sensitive heart - the sort of kindness that’s quiet and unobtrusive, but will knock you out if you look at it for too long. That’s tea on bad days and laundry finished for you and your favorite food waiting on the counter when you get home and your favorite glasses on your nightstand after you thought you’d lost them - a hundred little things that all add up to an avalanche, and sometimes Hoseok can’t breathe from the weight of all this feeling in his chest.
He’s used to radiating outward - bright smiles and loud laughter to hide all the vulnerable pieces of himself, the places where he could be hurt. But Yoongi … he thinks Yoongi has always seen him, from the moment he showed up on Hoseok’s front door, responding to his desperate Craigslist ad asking for a roommate to help with his rent. And that should scare him - it does scare him, sometimes - but it’s nice, in a way, having someone understand his fears and his hopes and his dreams without needing to put all of it into words.
So he’s in love with his roommate. Has been for the past year. And he keeps meaning to do something about it - told Yoongi he was bi while drunk in someone’s bathtub at a house party - but he just. Hasn’t. It’s been a busy semester, both of them drowning in their respective projects and papers and classes, and what they have is comfortable. Nice. He doesn’t want to ruin it.
He likes their apartment even though the ceiling leaks in two places when it rains, the shower only ever runs at freezing cold or boiling hot, the front door sticks, and they’re ninety percent sure it’s haunted. They bought all the mismatched furniture secondhand at various garage sales - a slow accumulation - and there’s a nice nook in the living room for Yoongi’s piano. (Hoseok likes watching him play in the mornings, sunlight through their foggy glass window casting him in silhouette.) It’s only a fifteen minute walk from campus and the grandmother one floor below them stops by with cookies at least once a month because according to her they’re both far too thin.
He likes the evenings they spend with their books spread out over the rug, studying in silence, and he likes shoving all the furniture aside and practicing choreography because often it makes Yoongi laugh (or blush, which makes Hoseok’s heart hammer in his chest at this faint glimmer of possibility). They leave notes for each other on the fridge when they’re going to be out late and they started a truly eclectic magnet collection that’s slowly swallowing the white surface. (Yoongi always finds the best ones because he works weekends at an antique/thrift store downtown and people are always bringing in weird knick knacks, hoping they have value of some kind). Their kitchen table is almost always covered in sheet music and literature books, and they’ve been talking about installing shelves all semester but never got around to it so the mess is slowly migrating out into the living room, too. The coffee table has fallen prey and several stacks are growing in the corners like strange plants.
Then there are the actual plants: two small ferns - Bertrand and Herbert - that Hoseok bought for Yoongi last winter (because he read that they might brighten spaces and help with depression) and arranged on top of his piano. Yoongi looks after them like children (Hoseok’s caught him talking to them more than once), and he’s glad - that he could give Yoongi this one, small thing in return for the thousands of small things Yoongi always does for him.
But none of this is the point, just shading in a background for the main feature: he’s in love with his roommate. Head over heels. Ass over teakettle. Whatever figurative saying you want to use, it probably applies. It’s not the worst thing to happen to him - not almost failing a class his Sophomore year and disappointing his favorite professor, or losing his job at the coffee shop later that week because the owner’s son didn’t like him - and he’s learned to live with it, almost. It sits in a little corner of his chest that he can ignore, most of the time. Sometimes, it comes crawling out at inconvenient moments - Yoongi sitting on the kitchen counter in the morning, hair a bird’s nest and voice sleep-raspy and deep; Yoongi pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose when he’s reading; Yoongi’s tongue poking out between his teeth when he’s composing; Yoongi rapping along to Kendrick Lamar while he washes the dishes, all rapid-fire ferocity - but Hoseok’s managing. It’s helped, in a sad way, that he’s barely seen Yoongi all semester.
At least, until now. They both found out, three weeks ago, that they wouldn’t be able to afford flights back to Korea for the holidays. So they decided to make their own Christmas. Yoongi went out to a nearby market and bought a little tree that they haphazardly wrapped in tinsel and random ornaments purchased from Yoongi’s work and named Beira. Hoseok strung fairy lights up along their windows and door frames and the grandmother downstairs donated one of her old wreaths for their front door. They planned on exchanging gifts Christmas morning and watching Muppets Christmas Carol and The Grinch, and any other Christmas movie that they could pick up on their old TV.
Then the storm blew in and buried Ithaca in several feet of snow and cut the power to the whole building.
Yoongi shuffled off five minutes ago to go check the breaker down on the first floor and Hoseok’s occupied himself by pulling out his entire collection of scented candles that he may or may not stress buy and light when he’s feeling overwhelmed. He arranges all twenty (yes, twenty) of them around the living room and fishes the matches out of their junk drawer in the kitchen that’s eighty percent useless crap and twenty percent takeout menus.
He’s halfway through lighting them when the front door creaks, then bangs open as Yoongi throws his weight against it, cursing.
“No luck?”
Yoongi pulls his llama patterned throw blanket tighter around his shoulders and scowls. His hair is silver now (“It’s festive, Seok-ah.”) and his nose is red from the gathering cold that’s seeping in through the floor and the walls and the cracks in the ancient window panes. “No. Whole street is down, I think.”
He coughs and wrinkles his nose. “What’s that smell?”
It’s then that Hoseok realizes lighting all the scented candles at once was probably not a good idea. “It might be Balsam and Cedar? Or Christmas Cookie? Or … several others.”
“Oh my god,” Yoongi says, but he’s smiling now. “You broke out the whole collection?”
“I don’t like the dark,” Hoseok says, a little defensively. “And this place is haunted as fuck, you know that.”
They’ve both heard what sounded like footsteps in the night, and Hoseok caught a glimpse of shadowy figure in the kitchen that wasn’t Yoongi and hasn’t fully recovered since. They really need to buy some sage or something.
Yoongi holds up placating hands. “Fair, fair. Just teasing, Seok-ah.”
(He loves that Yoongi calls him that, even though they speak English more often than Korean these days.)
“We can space them out a little more,” Hoseok says, though that probably won’t help much. Yoongi still dutifully picks up two candles (Lavender Vanilla and Black Cherry) and places them next to Herbert and Bertram, arranging them carefully so no leaves will catch fire. When he notices Hoseok watching him, he flushes.
“I don’t want them to get cold.”
“No,” Hoseok agrees, through the familiar sharpness in his chest, “we can’t have that.”
He also doesn’t want to freeze, and the temperature still seems to be dropping, so he makes his next mission locating every blanket they have. Considering how cold Yoongi always gets, it’s a lot of blankets - more than enough to make a massive nest on the couch. He’s about to do just that when Yoongi squeezes his shoulder.
“Let’s drag both our mattresses out here, they’ll fit.”
That sounds like a much better idea, even if the thought of being in a bed with Yoongi makes his stomach flip like a gymnast.
“Okay,” he agrees through his suddenly dry mouth.
It takes a bit of work to maneuver both twin mattresses off their beds and down the narrow hallway into the living room. They shove the coffee table and sofa back, being careful not to jostle Beira, and push the mattresses together to form a large bed in the middle of their living room.
Outside, it’s still snowing so heavily that Hoseok can barely see the street below. “I guess this is what we get for going to one of the Snowiest Colleges in the US.”
Yoongi snorts, “was that a real article?”
“Some weather site. We placed ninth. We’re snowier than Fairbanks, Alaska, apparently.”
“Yay,” Yoongi says dryly, arranging a few candles around the mattress.
“This looks like something out of a nineties romance,” Hoseok blurts before can stop himself.
Yoongi blinks. “Or a porno.”
Hoseok chokes on air, hoping his face isn’t actually as red as it feels. “Please don’t say stuff like that.”
“You started it,” Yoongi points out with a smirk, but he lets it drop in favor of crawling under their mountain of blankets and wrapping himself up like a tiny burrito, sighing in relief.
Hoseok screws up his courage. “Move over.”
The weight of the blankets is nice and the heat suffocating welcome after the frigid air of the apartment. Yoongi snuggles closer, tucking himself into Hoseok’s side and that’s nice, too. Almost perfect.
“Merry Christmas, Hoseokie,” he murmurs, nose pressed to Hoseok’s neck and arm tight around Hoseok’s waist like an anchor. “Sorry it’s shit.”
“It isn’t shit,” Hoseok insists. “You’re here.”
Yoongi hums. “Yeah. That’s … ‘ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” More than he think he wants to admit.
The shutters rattle loud and the wind pitches high like a scream. Hoseok buries his face in Yoongi’s hair and pulls him closer - warm and safe and grounding. Home in a way Hoseok’s never wanted to look at too closely.
_ _
Hoseok knows he’s loud and funny and quick-witted, but he’s never been good with words that are vulnerable and honest. I love you has gotten tangled up in his throat too many times to count.
- Yoongi slumped over his piano at two in the morning - fast asleep with his cheek pressed to the wood and ink from composition notes smudged across his slender fingers.
- For you, Yoongi says, holding a cup out to Hoseok. It’s hot chocolate with cinnamon and Hoseok, locked in the library for two days and steadily dying over his literature essay, wants to cry from how good it tastes. Take a break, Yoongi says, closing his books. Breathe. And that’s so much easier to do, now that Yoongi is here.
- Notes drifting up from Yoongi’s piano and Hoseok freezes when he recognizes the piece he’s been working on for dance, trying to choreograph for the end of the year showcase. My song? He asks and Yoongi shrugs. Bites his lips. Smiles in a flash of gums. Says it’s pretty. Says like watching you dance to it. So Hoseok does, letting Yoongi and his piano guide him through the steps.
- The occasional bad days when Yoongi can’t seem to get out of bed or move from the couch. When he calls into his professors sounding frustrated and a little broken because it’s never as simple as I’m sick, but it’s the only excuse he knows how to give. Hoseok curls up next to him, when he has time, and pets his hair. Holds his hand. Doesn’t tell him that it will be alright, because it’s not that simple, either. Just says I’m here and Yoongi says I know and that’s enough.
- You should dance with me, Hoseok says when he’s taking ballroom during the spring. Yoongi tries to deflect, but Hoseok reels him in (easy easy easy) and then they’re doing a messy tango in the living room, laughing as they bump into furniture, as he tries to get Yoongi to sway his hips, as the stereo crackles and the floorboards creak, adding notes of their own.
- I love you, he’s wanted to say during each of those moments and several dozen others. I love you I love you I love you - but the words never come.
_ _
A finger poking his cheek wakes him up. It’s dark outside, candlelit inside, and the blizzard is raging. Yoongi’s hovering over him, a pillow indent on one cheek and his hood pulled up over his head. It makes him look even more like a penguin.
“Seok-ah,” he says, a faint hint of a whine in his voice, “I’m hungry.”
They’d wanted to try their hand at a proper Western Christmas this year so there’s a ham in the fridge and Pillsbury crescent rolls and a recipe for green bean casserole that Yoongi wrinkled his nose at but bookmarked anyway (No, he’d said in response to the sweet potato casserole, that looks disgusting. Hoseok was still going to make it). It’s all pointless without power, though.
“I don’t think anything’s open,” Hoseok points out, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
Yoongi huffs. “Even if there was, we wouldn’t be able to get outside. I think snow’s piled to the top of the front door.”
Hoseok would think that an exaggeration, but he’s lived through two and a half winters in Ithaca and knows it most likely isn’t.
“So what do we do?”
Yoongi gets up, taking enough of the warmth with him that Hoseok groans. He’s currently wearing a sweatshirt over a turtleneck over a long-sleeved undershirt, the heaviest sweatpants he owns, three pairs of socks, and a scarf. He looks tiny and ridiculous and Hoseok kind of wants to squeeze him and never let go, especially when he wraps that stupid llama blanket Hoseok got him as a birthday gift around his shoulders like a cape.
“Make Christmas dinner,” he says, picking up the Pink Sands candle and shuffling off in the direction of the kitchen.
Hoseok figures there’s nothing to do but follow him. He grabs a sheep blanket from their pile and readjusts his two pairs of socks before ventures out into the cold of the apartment. His breath hangs in the air in little mocking puffs and swears there’s ice gathering on the ceiling.
“I think we’re going to freeze to death,” he says as Yoongi starts pulling open cupboards. “I knew we should have bought that battery operated heater.”
“With what money?” Yoongi asks. “That thing was fifty dollars.”
Okay, yes, fair point, but Hoseok still doesn’t think he’s ever been this cold in his life and he really doesn’t appreciate it.
Yoongi waddles back from the kitchen with his arms full of assorted food. Hoseok spots Oreos, Saltines, a jar of peanut butter, dried seaweed, the Hostess snacks they bought and agreed are mildly disgusting, a box of Lucky Charms…
“We have so much junk food,” Hoseok mutters, a little awed to see it all at once.
“We’re college students, it’s expected of us.” Yoongi dumps the pile on the mattresses and beckons Hoseok over. “This is the time to make bad decisions regarding our health, Seok-ah. While our bodies are young and can handle it.”
“Has your body ever been young?” Hoseok teases and dodges the predictable swat from Yoongi. “What? Your bones are creaking already, hyung.”
Yoongi huffs. “I can’t help that I’m not made of elastic like you.”
“I’m not made of elastic. My hip cracked the other day getting out of bed and it was horrible.”
That gets him a wheeze of a laugh and Yoongi shaking his head, eyes sparkling. He’s got an oreo stuffed in one cheek, crumbs all over his chin, and Hoseok is so helplessly in love.
He swallows it down, like always, and curls up under the blanket mountain again. They end up stretching one over their heads like a fort and eating in the semi-darkness, watching the candles cast shadows on the cloth walls. Hoseok eventually gives into temptation and starts making shadow puppets, needling Yoongi until he joins and they try to form Santa and his reindeer, bouncing rabbits, flapping birds, a gallant knight. Most them just look like blobs, but Yoongi’s giggling - that high-pitched hiccup he makes sometimes when he’s laughing too hard to get enough air in - and Hoseok wants to kiss him so bad he almost can’t stand it.
But he doesn't. He doesn’t. He swallows it down down down as he helps Yoongi put the remnants of the food away, as they blow out a few candles, as they settle down for sleep and Yoongi wraps around him like a mini octopus again.
He waits until Yoongi’s breathing has evened out with sleep and then he kisses him - lips pressed gentle to his forehead and fingers rubbing down his side.
“Goodnight, hyung,” he whispers. “I love you.”
He doesn’t catch the fluttering of Yoongi’s eyelashes before sleep pulls him under, too.
_ _
He hadn’t expected anyone to answer his Craigslist ad. Or, if someone did answer, he half-expected them to be a serial killer and bought a metal baseball bat, just in case. And there were a few he rejected: someone who was clearly high on something much stronger than weed and someone else who asked if there would be room for their antique doll collection and a third guy who wanted to know how often was acceptable to bring girls back to the apartment and a fourth person who wanted to negotiate how much of the rent they’d be paying.
And then there was Yoongi. Drowning in a black hoodie that touched his knees, mint hair poking out of a fluffy beanie, glasses perched on his nose.
“Uh, you still looking for a roommate?” he asked and smiled with a flash of gums, and between one breath and the next Hoseok’s bisexuality stopped being theoretical.
“Yeah,” he said, trying to sound casual and probably failing. “Yeah, come in.”
And really, if he’s honest with himself, there wasn’t much hope for him after that.
_ _
A finger is poking him in the cheek again, more insistently than last night.
“Seok-ah,” Yoongi says from somewhere above him, “Hoseok.”
He blinks his eyes open and squints at the sunlight flooding the room, casting Yoongi’s face in shadow. He lifts his head, peering over Yoongi shoulder and the blinding white world beyond the windows. He can barely make out the rooftops of other buildings buried beneath the layers of snow. It looks kind of like an apocalypse happened, everything eerily quiet without the persistent howl of the wind.
“Storm’s over,” Yoongi says. “But the power’s still out.”
“Good thing we have Lucky Charms,” Hoseok says and Yoongi grins at him.
“Merry Christmas,” he says, poking Hoseok’s cheek again.
Hoseok sits up, trying to shake off the clinging remnants of sleep. “We doing gifts?”
“In a minute.” Yoongi waves his hand and his expression turns uncharacteristically hesitant. “I, um, I want to say something first? If that’s okay.”
Oh God. Is this where Yoongi tells him he doesn’t want to live together next year? Or that he knows about Hoseok’s big, dumb crush and it’s gotten too awkward to cope with anymore?
Don’t panic, he tells himself desperately. Or at least, wait until it’s over and you can break down in private.
“Yeah,” he manages to get out, though it’s more scared croak than word.
Yoongi nods his thanks and he looks nervous, too, wringing the bottom of the llama blanket in his hands over and over again.
“So, uh, I’ve been meaning to say something for awhile, but…”
Oh fuck. Hoseok can’t take this. This is too painful. “It’s okay,” he blurts, cutting Yoongi off. “I get it. I tried not to be too obvious about it, but … I know it must be weird. I promise I wasn’t going to actually say anything. But if you don’t want to keep living together, I understand.”
Yoongi frowns at him, gaze squinted in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Wait.
“Um, weren’t you going to say that my very obvious crush on you has gotten weird and we should go our separate ways?”
A stunned pause. Yoongi’s mouth drops open. “No?” he finally squeaks, then coughs and flushes and twists the poor llama blanket into an impossible knot. “I was going to finally own up to the fact that I’m, like, stupidly in love with you - a truly ridiculous amount, really - and see if, um, you felt the same way or you wanted me to leave?”
Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to feel blindsided. “You’re in love with me?”
Yoongi nods, tilting his head back to glare a hole in the ceiling. He looks kind of like he wants to die. “Yeah. Pretty much since I moved in. You’re funny and cool and you dance, fuck, and you’re always talking about these interesting books and you read to me on shitty days and you bought me plants … it’s really unfair.”
“I’m unfair?” Hoseok pokes Yoongi in the side, emotions finally breaking through all his carefully constructed floodgates. “What about you? You play piano and make me amazing hot chocolate and you bought me fucking flowers after my showcase last semester and … you’re the unfair one here. Not me.”
Yoongi finally glances back down, so red he seems about to combust. “So … you’re in love with me, too?”
“Duh,” Hoseok huffs through his own burning cheeks. He can even feel the tips of his ears going. “Didn’t you hear the part about the obvious crush on you?”
“My brain broke a little, then,” Yoongi says. “Tell me again?”
“Oh my god.” Hoseok buries his hands in his face for a moment, wishing he could do this over text. Or through a closed door. Anything that doesn’t require him to pry his messy heart open with Yoongi sitting right there. “Min Yoongi, I’m in love with you. Painfully so. I want to date the hell of you. And call you my boyfriend. And other gross things.”
Yoongi’s fingers curl around his, pulling his hands away from his face. “Thank you,” Yoongi whispers. “I know that was hard.”
“Fuck off,” Hoseok mutters, but he can feel a smile battling for control of his mouth and he’s definitely losing. “I love you. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I love you, too,” Yoongi says and okay, nevermind. Hearing those words from Yoongi’s mouth is a very big deal. He suddenly feels warm all over, even though he can still see his breath. “I want do all those gross things, too. Be my boyfriend, Jung Hoseok?”
The smile breaks free, stretching over his whole face. “Okay. Yes, I think I can do that.”
Yoongi blows out a long breath, shoulders slumping in relief. “Oh good, because I didn’t buy you anything. That would have been awkward.”
Hoseok blinks, still reeling. He feels like there’s no gravity, like he’s upside down and he can’t remember which way is the right one anymore. “Are you serious?”
Yoongi grins, all gums and scrunched eyes. “No. I definitely got you something. But I think it can wait. First…” He leans closer, hands sliding up to cup Hoseok’s cheeks. Hoseok hisses. “What?”
“Your hands are cold, asshole.”
Yoongi winces and goes to drop them, but Hoseok reaches up to keep them in place. “No, I was just making an observation, keep going.”
Because he thinks Yoongi’s going to kiss him and he’s practically vibrating with excitement. Sure enough, Yoongi giggles and leans forward, closing the gap between them. And it’s not really a sexy kiss. His hands are still freezing and they both have morning breath, but Hoseok’s on cloud nine as soon as he feels the slick warmth of Yoongi’s mouth on his.
Yep, best Christmas ever. Even better than the time he got a really cool toy car from his parents when he was nine. Better than last year, when they got drunk at a friend’s party and just barely avoided kissing under the mistletoe.
Yoongi’s mouth moves to his jaw, then down to his neck and okay yes, he’s very on board with this.
“It’s still cold in here,” Yoongi murmurs, lips brushing Hoseok’s skin just enough to give him goosebumps. “Wanna warm up?”
“Oh my god,” Hoseok cackles and flops back down on the mattress, pulling Yoongi with him so that Yoongi’s straddling his hips. “Oh my god, you’re terrible.”
Yoongi winks at him. Waggles his eyebrows. “Good thing you love me, right?”
“Yeah,” Hoseok says, because he’s never going to deny that. Not anymore. He gets his hands in Yoongi’s messy hair. Coaxes him down so their foreheads are resting together and Yoongi’s fingers are digging into his waist - his body a line of glorious heat along Hoseok’s. Yoongi’s eyes slip closed, his expression peaceful. Like there’s nowhere else in the world he wants to be but here, in bed with Hoseok. Hoseok nuzzles is nose against Yoongi’s cheek, just to feel the laughter shake through him.
“Yeah, I really do.”