Archive of Our Own

When Yoongi rolls over, disoriented and eyes sticky with sleep, he’s met with his alarm clock glaring back. It blinks 3:56 am, the only glow of light in the pitch black room. Namjoon had been insistent on buying blackout curtains in hopes the darkness will help Yoongi sleep. It doesn’t, not much really helps at the moment. Not even Namjoon’s arms wrapped around him, his naked chest pressed up against Yoongi’s back and seeping heat deep into his veins, mouthing lighty at the nape of his neck as he snores, is enough to lull him back to sleep. It’s all frustrating, and ironic, because moments like this could be linked to a lack of sleep. 

Like clockwork, the clogs in his head begin to turn and communicate and as the dull heaviness of sleep slips away he feels the first pang of pain crash into his chest and ripple through the rest of his body. The pounding of his heart is loud and drums the fogginess out of his brain and rushes to his ears. It’s a heavy feeling, like something’s bashing against your chest inside out, like a peddle against a bass drum. 

He groans, mainly out of frustration, because he’s growing used to the ache, although it does fucking hurt. It’s worrying, because he knows it’s not supposed to hurt this much, or this often. 

“Fuck sakes.” Yoongi grumbles into the silence and rolls over to stare up at the ceiling, Namjoon’s arms fall away onto the sheets with a dull fud. He’s still asleep, his peaceful snoring acting like brass accompanying the beater scraping Yoongi’s heart.

He tries to take a few deep breaths because he knows getting worked up and frustrated won’t help, but after a few minutes of clutching his sheets he decides enough is enough. The doctors had told him bearing down can help control the attacks but it's hard to try and contract his abdominal muscles and hold onto the breaths when the pain in his chest becomes puncturing. All things pass in the end, even these attacks, but it's just too much in the extensive loneliness of early morning dark. 

He swings his legs out of the bed and stuffs his feet into his slippers, they’re chimmy themed with little black ears poking out. Namjoon had called Shooky ugly in passing so Yoongi had decided to buy the new Chimmy slippers after they last visited a BT21 popout, just to watch Namjoon pout and point at the Koya ones when he walked away to the checkout. Namjoon likes to see Yoongi in his things, he just doesn’t like to say it. He reminds himself of that when he reaches out and wrestles on Namjoon’s abandoned t-shirt instead of his own. 

He goes to the bathroom first and groans under the harsh light, pointedly doesn't make eye contact with the mirror and shakily retrieves the beta-blocker tablets from the cabinet. His fingers are beginning to feel a numb and his movement becomes clumsy, curses when the bottle slips through his fingers and clanks against the sink. Namjoon doesn't stir though, thankfully, so Yoongi manages to down them dry and stumble back towards the kitchen. His fingers linger over the coffee pot out of habit. He's tried to cut coffee out since the diagnosis because it's all apparently linked. Not sleeping, caffeine, alcohol. Three things that he might have once considered his brand he hardly ever touches anymore.

On the day of the diagnosis Namjoon had come home with a big box of decaffeinated coffee, planting it in what he probably hoped was an inconspicuous manner on the kitchen table amongst the rest of the groceries as he put them away.

"No, absolutely not." Yoongi had said, scrunching his nose up at the little box, "this processed shit will not be in my kitchen."

"Yoongi hyung," Namjoon huffed, "you can't drink that old stuff all the time anymore, we have to make compromises."

We. That had stuck with him, because Yoongi and Namjoon were a team, they always had been. Yoongi remembers the second time he'd first seen Namjoon better than he remembers the first, because the rush of performing wasn't pumping through his veins and he could actually properly look at him. Sitting there in a swivel chair opposite his, cheek stuffed against his sweater paw in an oversized sweatshirt. He'd worn sunglasses, inside the room, like a loser, and even through the tinted shades Yoongi could tell he didn't dare look at him.

But looking at Namjoon had felt like performing, his mouth still felt dry and too wet at the same time, terrified the words would get stuck in his throat and come out clunky, he didn't like Namjoon but he wanted him to like him. Their knees had accidentally knocked in the tiny meeting room and Yoongi felt the tingling sensation like a weeping burn as he went to bed that night.

Namjoon made Yoongi's heart beat faster, he made him nervous, but in a good way.

He doesn't anymore, Yoongi is self aware enough to know he's dating the biggest loser in the world and he's okay with that. A little bit more than okay with that, actually, he's decided to marry that.

Yoongi toys with the little gold band over his fingers and skids his hands over the coffee pot buttons to settle on the kettle instead, clicking the stove on and filling it with water. He braces himself against the kitchenside and tries to breath in and out between his teeth in time with the hiss of the kettle. He's beginning to feel a little light headed so he's hoping a herbal tea might settle him a little bit, calm his nervousness and ease the anxiety away so it really is just working through the pain. He prays he won't be sick this morning, because it's a bitch to try and puke your guts out and stay quiet whilst still dealing with the pounding in his chest.

He doesn’t want to wake Namjoon up, because he doesn’t want to admit how bad this is getting. No, not bad, he reminds himself, it’s all still-- manageable. But Namjoon worries, inserts himself into other peoples problems like he’s cut out an extra puzzle piece and planted it in the middle of a picture. Namjoon doesn’t need this, and Yoongi knows what he’ll say anyway. Shit that Yoongi doesn’t want to hear, doesn’t need, “ new medication, more frequent doctor visits, TEE tests, surgery--” another sharp pang as Yoongi breaths deeping, cutting the thought off. 

Namjoon knows of course, he just doesn’t need to know how the medication doesn’t seem to work the way it should, how the attacks are becoming longer, more frequent, more like they’ve knocked Yoongi’s legs from beneath him with each pang. 

He’d been there the day Yoongi had got the diagnosis a little over a year ago,  perched on a little stall in the hospital room with him looking as anxious as Yoongi had felt whilst they'd stuck wires over his heart like they did in movies, trying to pick up-- something . He'd sat gripping Yoongi's hand, chewing on his bottom lip, whilst the doctors stuck a very clinical sounding label to his very real feeling condition. He'd clutched at the leaflets the doctors had given them to take home, they still lived back in the dorms then, and spread them out onto the living room floor with his thick rimmed glasses on, back propped up against the sofa whilst Yoongi laid across it and strummed lazily at the guitar. He let Namjoon tell him about the condition, that it was manageable with medication and lifestyle changes, not because Yoongi was particularly bogged down by the details but because he knows it helps Namjoon to let him say things allowed and absorb them, like when he talks through problems with song lyrics and team dynamics.

" Super... super... superavent..."

"Supraventricular tachycardia."

"Hm?" Namjoon looked up from the leaflet, blinking.

"Just call it SVT", Yoongi sighed, plucking at a chord absentmindedly. "Hearing you trying to pronounce it is making me feel like I might have a heart attack."

Namjoon scowled and turned to whack Yoongi's elbow. "Don't joke about this, this is serious."

"It's my condition, I can joke about it if I want too." Yoongi snorted, words trailing off at the end. There was a weird, stilted silence between them, only shifted by the sound of Jimin's socked feet as he slid around their kitchen. Yoongi stroked his fingers across the strings to hit again but Namjoon reached out and caught his elbow, dragged Yoongi's arm down into his lap and laced their fingers together.

"Joon-ah," Yoongi sighed.

"Just hold my hand," Namjoon had said and squeezed. "We're going to be okay, Yoongi. We always are."

They’d still been living in the dorms back then, and it’s in moments like this that Yoongi’s grateful they’re not anymore. He was always at risk of bumping into someone in the night or of waking up multiple people when he’d have to stumble to the bathroom to dig around for his tablets, or throwing up when it got really bad. He hated the way Seokjin would linger anxiously in the bathroom and gently hold his sweaty bangs out as he was sick, meeting Jungkook in the dead of night in the kitchen who’d awkwardly rub circles into Yoongi’s back as he cried out of frustration because it hurt and his heart just wouldn’t calm the fuck down. 

Now, as long as he’s quiet, nobody bears witness. Besides maybe Holly or Moni as they stir in interest from behind the doggy gate that shuts them in the utility room, whining anxiously. Or maybe their little kittens that they’d adopted on a whim when they’d accompanied Jungkook to pick out a dog from the shelter, one sleeps on the sofa and Yoongi nudges them out of the way so he can curl up next to them.

It’s Epik, who mewls in his tiny little voice and begins to paw at the ears of Yoongi’s slippers. Namjoon had begged for the kittens so the compromise was Yoongi got to name them, one little boy called Epik and a girl called High. Namjoon had said the names were stupid since Tablo had literally come for dinner a week before they were adopted, Yoongi had said he’s stupid and stuck his tongue out. 

Yoongi reaches across him to plant his tea down on the coffee table but his hands shake too much and he jolts slightly, spilling a little on the edges of the wedding planner, still laid out from last night. 

His sighs and massages his chest with one hand and thumbs gently at the soggy paper with his other. The planner is open on the Reception Decoration Planning page from last night. Namjoon has circled his prefered flower arrangement styles, and had started jotting down in the margin who he wanted to sit on their main table. He smiles at it fondly, a momentary distraction as a pang so sharp thumps through his body he can feel the repercussions of it in his temple. He gasps and seizes up, grips at his t-shirt and the coffee table, thinks wait it out, wait it out, wait it out like a broken record with a needle scratching against his chest. It does pass, eventually, and he throws his head back onto the sofa.

The wedding is another reason why Yoongi knows he needs to get a hold of himself, because it’s less than 3 months away. Namjoon had wanted to get married on the 14th of February, because White Day was a little too cliche but somehow Valentine's Day is not. Getting married was also Namjoon’s idea, or at least he’d popped the question. In incredible Namjoon fashion he’d dropped down on one knee fifteen minutes before they were due to perform at the Grammys, stopping Yoongi on his journey for the bathroom Yoongi hissed “Kim Namjoon what the hell do you think you’re doing, get up you silly idiot you’re blocking the corridor.” He hadn't said yes as such, just returned to their hotel room that night in silence to confirm his sentiments with actions, to put it delicately. They’d gone out shopping the next day in expensive American jewelry shops, looking for rings with their fingers curled together under the shield of their coat sleeves. 

Yoongi reaches out and combs his fingers through Epik’s hair, and focuses on that feeling of his soft fur between his fingers. It’s soothing, grounding and helps as the beta blockers finally begin to work and his heart begins to slow. It’s not relief as such, more like a slow dripping feeling as familiar static takes over his head and makes it feel like his veins are itching as his blood pressure drops. He hates this bit just as much. 

But it hurts less, and that’s the main thing, even if the fact it hurts this much at all is a massive red flag. The weird tingly feeling does eventually pass and he becomes aware of his own exhaustion, and he closes his eyes for what feels like a minute until he feels fingers curl around his shoulder. 

“Yoongi-yah,” Namjoon says quietly, shaking Yoongi gently. “ Yoongi-yah. ”

Yoongi blinks his eyes open and vaguely registers Namjoon crouched in front of him as his other hand comes to cup Yoongi’s face and brushes his bangs. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Yoongi grumbles back, stretching his back out and disturbing Epik who’d dozed off on top of his ankles. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Namjoon says, “why are you out here by yourself?”

“Wasn’t by myself,” Yoongi slurs back, “was with Epik.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” 

“I didn’t have an attack or anything, Joon-ah. You worry too much. I just heard Moni trying to let himself out again so got up to check and must’ve dozed off.”

Namjoon smiles and huffs through his nose. “Nice try, hyung, but you left the beta blockers in the sink. You should’ve woken me up.” Namjoon pulls himself to his full height and Yoongi notices he’s got his shirt on, stretched across Namjoon’s thick chest and wide shoulders. He looks a little silly with all that thick body trying to burst out of Yoongi’s little t-shirt, but it’s a nice thing to wake up too. A site Yoongi will never truly get used to seeing. 

Namjoon clicks his tongue and flicks his forehead, “ Yoongi, stop being horny whilst I’m scolding you.”

“I’m not being horny,” Yoongi smirks, spreading his legs slightly so his thighs come to cage Namjoon’s knees, “and besides, do you really think you’d be in a position to scold me , baby? ” Yoongi wags his eyebrows and Namjoon swats at him half heartedly. 

“ Yoongi-yah, stop trying to flirt your way out of things. If you were having an attack, you should’ve woken me.” Namjoon looks concerned, and Yoongi hates it. If Namjoon looks like that after busting him over one minor attack he’d hate to see his expression if he found out this was the fourth time this week, “Are you going to be okay doing today, hyung? I can call and ask them and rearrange, maybe we should call the doctors. They could do individual member close ups, or something, or the Bangtan Bomb interviews--”

“ Joon-ah , so fast for so early in the morning.” Yoongi moans, squeezing his thighs together to cage Namjoon closer. He stumbles and his hands come to rest either side of Yoongi's hips on the sofa, face close enough that he can lean forward and steal a kiss from Namjoon’s scowling lips. He ducks his head down and buries it between Namjoon’s chest and snuggles, breathes in his scent. “G’morning Namjoon’s boobies. You’re so warm. ”

“Hyung.” Namjoon deadpans and Yoongi stills momentarily, nose still pressed into his chest. Namjoon hardly ever calls him hyung anymore, not unless he feels anxious, needs Yoongi to take control again for a moment. Or needs affirmation. So Yoongi straightens his back and runs his hands down Namjoon’s elbows. 

“Joon-ah, I will be fine today. I woke up and my heart was beating a lil’ too fast, so I thought I better down some tablets to be safe. Genuinely, I think it was Moni who woke me up and not even my heart, I’m fine. See?” Yoongi presses his forehead against Namjoon’s and rolls his head gently, wiggling with the best smile he can manage. 

Namjoon doesn’t look convinced but he sighs anyways, sags a little into Yoongi’s arms and lets himself be cooed over. “You worry too much, Joon-ah, hyung is sensible. Hyung is okay, he always is.” Yoongi laces their fingers together and tries to meet Namjoon’s gaz, “ We are okay.”

“You have to tell me if you struggle today, okay? And then we can come home early.”

“I have SVT, Joon-ah, that does not make me 80, I can keep up with you younglings just fine.” 

“You tell me, Yoongi-hyung.” Namjoon says finally and then slips out of Yoongi’s grip to pad away in the bathroom. “I’m just going to pee, then you can shower. I’ll walk the dogs,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Yoongi’s grateful that Namjoon doesn’t press much after that, especially because as soon as he stretches and pulls himself off the sofa he feels it. The thudding of his heart, still strong and a little violent against his ribcage. It’s not like how it felt in the early hours of the morning, but it’s not right. He knows it’s not right. He palms gently at his own chest and forces himself to swallow a big gulp of air. He can’t over think this, there’s a chance it’s just his heart still calming down from the earlier attack. He can’t take the beta-blockers again, because he’s already had his daily dosage and they should’ve done their job. Yoongi’s not scared of the pain, he’s just scared of what it means when the pain doesn’t go away. It could be just that - anxiety - he tells himself. Sometimes it’s easy to overthink to the point where you muddle what is a sign and what isn’t.

So instead he kisses Namjoon deeply on his way out, pulls his wooly hat over his eyes and smacks his butt to tease him, and doesn’t break until he’s in the security of the bathroom. He throws himself against the sink and tries to calm down again. It’s not painful, just uncomfortable, like a ghost ache but it won’t go away. 

He hopes the steam of the shower might be enough to clear it all away but it doesn’t, if anything the sudden hot water makes him feel dizzy and groggy again, the beat of his heart going faster.

But he tells himself it’s fine, because he doesn’t have time for this today. He doesn’t have fucking time for this condition in general but especially not today. 

Up until this moment, BTS had never had a proper Christmas comeback. It wasn’t something they’d necessarily avoided but the timings had never really met up. When the company had suggested a full Winter album with a Christmas debut it seemed like a good time to do so. The album’s ready; teasers have slowly been released and the concept photos are done, it’s just the final touches on their dance version of the lead single video. It’s fun, winter themed and involves them dancing in fake snow that the maknaes take great joy in balling together and throwing at one another. They get to dance amongst synthetic christmas trees that look incredibly tacky and incredibly flammable but they change light on beat, Hoseok had enjoyed jumping up and down and pretending he was at “Santa’s rave”, so Yoongi doesn’t care how tacky and cliche it all is as long as he keeps getting to see them all smile and see Namjoon grin fondly at his cheesy christmas jumper wardrobe had dressed him in. Jungkook’s request for live reindeer had been denied but he guesses the kid will live. 

Yoongi’s already had to miss one comeback because of health and he’s determined to never have to miss another again: he’s headstrong, a fighter, and even in the darkest of moments he’s pulled himself through the thick fog of it, kicking and screaming. He just wishes his body and fucking heart would catch up, as a pang so uncomfortable has his head swelling and he momentarily loses his balance. His feet slip against the bottom of the shower and yelps, flounders for the shower head and manages to stop him from crashing down. He sighs shakily in relief, stills to hear if the dull slap of his shin against the basin was enough to stir Namjoon.

He thinks he’s gotten away with it when he hears, “Yoongi-yah, what was that? Are you okay?” outside the door and he curses through his teeth.

“I’m fine, Joon-ah,” he calls out, but his voice doesn’t sound right, all stuffy. Or maybe it’s the ringing in his ears. Either way Namjoon must agree as without a warning he’s throwing the bathroom door open and rushing in. Yoongi clicks his tongue and huffs, hoping Namjoon doesn’t notice the way his knees knock slightly.

“You’re shaking.” Namjoon notices, because of course he does, and clicks the bathroom door behind him. Definitive, actively shutting him in with him and the truth. “Hyung.”

“Honestly, if I’d known all I had to do was spend one night on the sofa to get you to call me hyung again, I’d have done it months ago.” Yoongi sighs dramatically, turning away to try and casually run soap through his hair, “maybe I should make you sleep on the sofa, as punishment for such blatant lack of respect.”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon stops himself, bites down on his lips. They look a little red in the light of the bathroom, he needs to buy him more lip balm, Yoongi mentally notes. “You’re worrying me.”

“Stop the press, Kim Namjoon: worried about something.” He giggles, but Namjoon doesn’t budge. His lips twitch slightly, so Yoongi knows he’s slowly winning. “Joon-ah, Joon-ah, Namjoon-ah, I am okay. I promise.” Yoongi bends down to retrieve the shower gel, giving his naked ass a little wiggle as he does and peaks over his shoulder waving the bottle. He can see Namjoon’s eyes lingering on his butt and he’s always grateful that the inner horny teenager inside Namjoon never died, and he can be coaxed out with a little skin. A minor distraction that Yoongi hopes halts Namjoon’s mind as it works Yoongi out so obviously, treds over his well kept persona like he’s a map dropped on the ground. 

“ See,” he says instead, “I dropped the soap. That’s all, I didn’t need my big, himbo boyfriend barging in to save me. Although the sentiments were appreciated.”

Namjoon’s cheeks turn dusty rose in the steam. “I will never forgive Jungkook for teaching you what himbo means.”

“ Technically, reading the horny tweets taught me what it means.”

“I’m staying either way,” Namjoon sits himself down on the toilet seat and crosses his arms. “You’ve never minded being on show, anyways.”

There’s a pang of relief that squeezes itself in between the uncomfortable beating of his heart.  Namjoon flirting back momentarily makes Yoongi genuinely believe they could be normal today. So he tries not to give the weird, hard beating of his heart a second thought and grins back. 

“You’re making me feel like I’m some sort of display thing.” He giggles.

“You are, mine to look at.”

“Now, we all know you belong too, sweetheart.” Yoongi hums nonchalantly, turns back around to make a show of soaping up his butt and waist. He can see Namjoon shift out the corner of his eye, the obvious tent in his loose fitting harem pants as he shakes his head and bites laughter between his teeth.

It’s moments like this Yoongi lives for, really. He remembers when they’d first started falling around and Namjoon would turn scarlet when he’d accidently rut against Yoongi whilst kissing, or desperately insist on hand jobs in the dark because he didn’t want Yoongi to see him. There’s a weird swell of pride, of love, as he watches Namjoon absent mindedly caress the bulge in his trousers and flick through his phone, like this is normal. Because it is normal, they’re getting married soon, and Namjoon still gets hard over Yoongi soaping up his legs in the shower. This is what Yoongi wants, he reminds himself, this is why he pushes through the pain. So as Namjoon is distracted with his phone Yoongi massages a hand over his heart and bites down on his tongue through another swell of pain. 

Namjoon showers straight after Yoongi and Yoongi plods back into the kitchen to make tea but can’t resist flicking at Namjoon’s semi as he walks past and gets an eye roll in return. Yoongi giggles, wanting to tease him more but knows it’s already almost 6am and they need to be on set by 7am. Yoongi doesn’t bother much more than with a tracksuit because he knows he’ll be wrestled into costume as soon as he gets there. He’s just done tying his shoes in between stuffing down a banana, about to reach for his car keys when Namjoon beats him to it. He skids into the kitchen and quickly snatches his own apartment keys from the door. He’s got one of their little kittens, High, bounced on his shoulder like a baby and it all feels so domestic and lovely that Yoongi almost forgets that Namjoon’s got his keys. 

“Hey,” Yoongi frowns. 

“Jungkook-ah’s giving us a lift.” Namjoon explains quickly, he places the kitten down into Yoongi’s lap and it’s such an obvious distraction technique that Yoongi is almost offended.

“Why is he giving us a lift?” He presses, eyebrows raised. 

“He’s offended.” Namjoon shrugs, obviously avoiding Yoongi’s gaze. “Did you refill the dog’s water?”

“Joon-ah,” Yoongi groans, “I can drive, I’m fine. ”

“I never said you couldn’t, but it’s way more economical for us to carshare now that we don’t do it all the time, Kook-ah doesn’t mind.”

“I thought you said he offered.” Yoongi deadpans but Namjoon waves him off.

“Come on Yoongi, he’s outside.” Namjoon tries to leg it out the door without having to turn back to look at him, pockets his phone but ends up tripping over his own shoddy job at tying his shoelaces. Yoongi sighs and drops down to one knee to do it for Namjoon, shaking his head.

“I really wish you wouldn’t try and tiptoe around me, Joon-ah.” Yoongi sighs, rising to his feet again. The position leaves him almost nose to nose with him. “You’re not subtle.”

“Look who’s talking,” Namjoon says seriously back. 

Yoongi doesn’t get a chance to ask what that means before Namjoon is pulling him out the door, but just has enough time to scatter a hand full of dog biscuits across the floor and tell Holy and Moni to “go to their beds” and watch as they both ignore him to eat the biscuits and hop onto the sofas. 

Yoongi clambers into Jungkook’s car and goes for the backseat without even debating it with Namjoon, because he is truly that good of a hyung. He’s grateful that Jungkook already has the heating running and sends him a smile through the rearview mirror. Jungkook grins back, his long dark hair scraped back into a ponytail and showing off his freshly cut undercut. 

“You look cool, Kook-ah,” he compliments. 

“Thanks, hyung!” Jungkook grins, and then turns around. “You look sick.”

“I’ve raised such a polite dongsaeng. I know you guys are banking on me and Seokjin kicking the bucket soon for the inheritance but we’re not that much older than you.” Yoongi huffs. 

“I’m serious,” Jungkook frowns, “are you sick?”

“Yoongi-hyung here had a rough night's sleep,” Namjoon says slowly, air quoting around ‘rough’ and sending a glare at Yoongi through the mirror, “but he’s fine, apparently.”

Jungkook pouts, “Hyung…”

“Don’t you start, Jungkook-ah.” Yoongi sighs, “let's get going, we’re going to be late.”

“Hyung!” Jungkook declares, pointing his finger in the air, “as your best man--”

“ One of my best men, one of.”

“-- It is my duty to take on husband duties where your husband has failed,”

“ Watch it, Kook, I’m right here --”

“-- And I don’t know if it’s because of that, weird sex dynamic thing you have going on that you think none of us know about even though Taehyung knows you guys were jacking it to the computer that one time and when Yoongi said not yet he meant when Namjoon-hyung can come and not about a beat drop--”

“ Jungkook!”

“Jeon Jungkook if you don’t stop it right now I will walk--” 

“My point is,” Jungkook cuts off, “if Namjoon-hyung won’t say it, then the rest of us will. Are you sure you’re okay, hyung? There’s no harm in sitting something out, you’ve told me that before.”

Yoongi shifts under Jungkook’s earnest gaze and Namjoon’s worried eye, and really hopes that the sudden twinge in his heart again is from being scrutinised and not because of, well, the other thing.

“Come on, Kook-ah, or we’ll be late and Seok-ah will bite our heads off,” Yoongi says instead but doesn’t miss the look Jungkook and Namjoon share as Jungkook sighs and resignedly turns the ecginition back on. 

The car ride for the most part is silent as Yoongi tries to ignore the way both sets of eyes keep flicking back on him in the mirror. It’s annoying because Yoongi has to fight the twitch in his fingers as his heart keeps racing, and he wants nothing more to try and clamp pressure down. But he can’t, feigns normality as much as he can by whining at appropriate moments when Namjoon and Jungkook finally dissolve in less stagnant chatter, makes a fuss of kicking at Namjoon’s chair just to annoy him. 

He thinks he might have got them a bit more convinced, and himself for that matter, by the time they pull up to the shoot. Sure, the attack this morning wasn’t great but he’s sure he’s powered through worse, the feeling from this morning feels fuzzy anyways. Maybe he’s hyped it up to be worse than it is in his mind, it’s possible.

The pain in his chest and the aggravating heart palpitations are things he can just grin and bare, he’s sure of it. He keeps baring down, like he’s practiced so many times before, until he needs to get out of Jungkook’s car. There’s only a small swarm of media which he’s grateful for, turns down his beanie and shoves his face mask right up to his eyes for the small walk between Jungkook’s car and the studio doors. It’ll be nice for the fans to see them all arriving together too, he thinks. 

Once inside it turns out that they’re the last to arrive. Yoongi’s greeted by Taehyung whinging about Jimin’s driving technique as they’d carpooled together, with jimin showing his opinions on Taehyung’s backseat driving with his fists, whilst Hoseok and Seokjin busy themselves with the breakfast pastry table. A staff member warns them not to eat so much before performing and Seokjin stuffs an entire croissant in his mouth whilst maintaining eye contact with her. So, the usual morning before a shoot. 

“Are you okay, Yoongi-hyung?” Taehyung asks, escaping Jimin’s grip to come and sit by his side. “You look a little…” his voice trails off, slapping his hand to Yoongi’s forehead, “damp.”

Yoongi slaps his hand away but doesn’t pull back when Taehyung laces their fingers together. “I’m fine, Taehyungie. Just a rough morning.”

“You look sick,” he says “and you feel hot and sticky.”

You’re all so polite this morning, aren’t you? Anyways, isn’t that what hair and makeup are for?” Yoongi says gruffly. Taehyung still watches him carefully. As if on cue, a makeup artist prys Taehyung away to begin on his eyeliner and Yoongi is left alone with his thoughts. He tries to subtly press over his heart again as another sharp pain stabs its way through, winces slightly and looks up to catch Namjoon’s eyes in the mirror. He’s already getting manhandled by wardrobe in the corner of the room, their hands rummaging over his muscles as one of the stylists whines about how big his biceps and thighs have gotten. Yoongi waggles his eyebrows flirty, in an attempt to poke fun at Namjoon, and prods his tongue against the inside of his cheek in hopes of making him laugh. He doesn’t, instead his glare hardens and as Yoongi follows his eyes he sees he’s glaring at where his fingers are pressing over his heart. So he slides from underneath his t-shirt gently, takes his phone out of his pocket and pretends to scroll absentmindedly as he tries to walk to the bathroom as casually as possible. 

Once in there he checks to make sure it’s empty before throwing himself into a cubicle and finally collapsing into the pain. His heart is beating too fast and the pressure of it is making his shoulders ache and he can feel his pulse in the back of his throat. Before he can fully register it he’s ducking his head down over the toilet and throwing up liquid, groaning as his forehead crashes against the cold porcelain. He keeps it pressed against it and spits, trying to clear his mouth of the acid taste, and rellicing in the coolness against his skin. Yoongi’s no fool, he knows this isn’t normal. He’s been thinking about it all morning, but what can he do? Nothing can come of telling Namjoon, he’ll be forced home to sit with their cats and fiddle anxiously with the hangnails on his thumb whilst everyone else makes decisions for him. He’s survived this long with the condition, he’s gotten this far, and it almost feels like defeat now to turn around and admit that today’s a bad day. Because that’s the point, a bad day is definitive. He’s not allowed bad days with this, because no matter what he feels his way of handling it will never win over the firm grasp of Namjoon on his shoulder and the doctor's stance. 

Yoongi reminds himself of this as he slowly pulls himself to his feet, it is fine because it has to be fine. 

When he stumbles out of the bathroom he’s met with Jimin, who stands with his back propped against the sink and his arms crossed. 

“Hyung,” Jimin says, sounding firm. He has that look on his face, the one he’s perfected over the years, and is normally saved for when one of the members has pushed themselves too far, the little eyebrow arch and the pouted lips that tells Yoongi he’s not ‘angry, just concerned’. Yoongi walks past him wordlessly towards the sink, runs the cold tap and begins splashing water over his face.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin repeats, “you’re not well, Yoongi-hyung.”

“ Jimin-ah ”, Yoongi sighs, “I’m fine, I just-- had a bit of a tough morning. It’s the cooldown from a small SVT episode. It happens.”

Jimin doesn’t budge. “If you had an attack this morning you shouldn’t be here, Hyung.” 

“Im fine now, hyung got it out of his system.” He feels himself sway slightly on the spot, head fudding. He thinks throwing up has only made his heart beat faster, and it fucking hurts. 

“If I’d thrown up on a shoot, you’d insist I go home.” Jimin slinks forward and comes up behind Yoongi, tentatively reaching for his shoulder. “You can’t work if you’re sick, hyung.”

Yoongi knows Jimin means well, that he doesn’t mean for his words to sound the way they do, but that’s the thing. Yoongi is sick, maybe forever, and the idea that this is an obstacle that seems to slowly be swelling in size, to the point everyone else around him is catching on again, makes him feel frustrated. To say the least. 

“I’m not sick, Jimin. This is life for me, okay? It’s just something I have to live with, so let me do that. Yeah? Let hyung deal with his body the way he knows how too.”

Jimin looks surprised, shifting under Yoongi’s gaze. It’s not really like him to have an outburst, and Yoongi hopes his attitude will be pinned down to the bags under his eyes and not the rapped pressure increasing in his chest. Each heart beat feels like a bullet bouncing against his ribcage, and he prays he doesn’t flinch as Jimin scrutinises his face once more. 

“Okay, hyung,” Jimin says, voice void of any emotion. “Okay.”

Jimin doesn’t argue after that and they return to the set in silence. Everyone else is pretty much ready and the stylists tut at them lightly for running off. Yoongi subtly swallows a few tiktaks abandoned on the edge of the mirror and washes them down with two large gulps of water to get rid of the aftertaste of bile. 

His heart has sprung back to life and it’s like his heart is a sputtering engine, constantly dodging between a steady beat and a sudden pickup that has him feeling dizzy and like he might throw up again.

He’s grateful that Namjoon seems to need extra attention this morning because it keeps him at arm's length. And Yoongi knows he’ll be fine, he just needs to calm down.

He can see Jimin whispering with Hoseok in the corner of the room, sending obvious and pointed glances his way, as Jimin usually does when he wants you to know that he’s pissed at you and talking about you. Hoseok’s eyebrows have shot up and he watches Yoongi carefully but Seokjin steps in the way.

“Yoongichi,” Seokjin begins, flopping down on the seat next to him, “are you okay?”

“Not you too.” Yoongi groans, “ Hyung .”

“Don’t hyung me, Jimin-ah tells me you weren’t well in the bathroom.”

“Jimin- ah is a dirty liar who loves the excitement of drama.”

“No he’s not, don’t be rude.” Seokjin scolds, “that’s Hoseok-ah you’re thinking of.”

“Hyungie, I’m fine. I promise, it was just a rough night and my body’s riding out the after shock. I promise I’m okay.”

“You better tell that to your big, buff boyfriend of yours,” Seokjin hums and he follows his gaze to once again see Namjoon frowning at him, a stylist toughing up his hair with hairspray. It’s silver at the moment, Yoongi prefers it brown. 

“He looks like he’s about to try and fight your pain off.” Seokjin claps his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder and gets up to let the makeup artist do one last touch up. Another comes over and she smiles kindly at Yoongi, beacons him towards a chair. He palms gently at his chest again, almost obsessed with the idea that he can just massage it away. She gently teases his hair into a small quiff whilst another stylists shows him the blackwashed denim jacket they’ve picked out for him. Once he’s dressed and ready to go, he begins to follow the others out towards the set. Thankfully it’s a full dance video which means Yoongi doesn’t have to try and recall the lyrics through the pounding in his chest. 

He can feel it in his temple again and this time the pain hits harder. The sensation slowly clawing up to the back of his throat. It’s almost like the feeling is multiplied under the heavy stage lights. He can register everything around him, he can hear Seokjin and Jungkook fuss with the light up reindeer, fashioned out of fairy lights, the sound of Jimin and Taehyung swing each other around on the spot. But it’s a bit like watercolor dripping, the colours around him slide slowly and blur and swirl and he keeps blinking but it’s not enough. Nothing is grounding and the thumping of his heart goes harder, pain jolts through his shoulder and his hands come to cling to his heart again, like he’s trying to put pressure over an open wound. 

This isn’t right, this isn’t right, his mind chants as he tries to pant, get air into his lungs but it’s hard, like his heart is heavy and each beat crashes down into his ribcage and lungs. This isn’t right. 

His legs feel a little too wobbly and he slowly drops to his knees, but the ground doesn’t feel solid enough. It’s like his heart is trying to crawl its way up his throat and escape onto the ground, as if its beating seeps through his skin and forces vibrations into the ground, like shockwaves, echoing through the building. He chokes and vaguely registers something has forced his way up his throat, falls forward onto his elbows and tries to swallow down the beating as it pulses and climbs, keeps climbing, something isn’t right. 

He feels a pressure on his back and he can see there’s something in front of him, tuffs of silver, soft red fabric, knitted, as his shaky hand reaches out to clasp at it. He follows forward into the body and has the terrifying thought that these might be his final breaths. He can feel the stillness between each large bang of his heart, the pace is erratic but between each burst is a longer pause, and each long pause seems to drag consciousness away from him. Like a storm rolling out, each beat between his heart gets longer. The silence is deafening. Everything feels so slow. 

He’s not sure what’s happening, but he registers vaguely that there’s not any colour slipping through his fingers anymore, just a white light. He’s been jostled a little bit and his head rests on the ground, or maybe not the ground. On something, and it moves and squirms and he thinks it could be Namjoon. But then he’s being lifted again and the ground isn’t as cold anymore, but it feels clammy against his skin, the restraints across his front dig in and he can feel the press of buckles but no pain. 

He wants to say he’s fine, tell Namjoon it’s all okay but he can’t get the words out and he’s scared, so fucking scared. 

Something rattles, he can tell he’s moving and when he’s jostled under a blue light he can vaguely register that this space is smaller, tighter. Packed with about three people wearing green. They take scissors to his jumper and cut it away and Yoongi thinks the stylists won’t be happy with them, and then they loom over him like ghouls. 

Someone is still holding his hand, pressing desperate kisses to his forehead until one of the people in green wrangles them away. Yoongi’s not sure, but he likes to think it’s Namjoon. He hopes it's Namjoon. And then he hears it, a metallic like click that sounds quiet under the dull thud of his heartbeat. He wants to ask what's going on, what’s happening, but before he gets a chance something cold is being stuck to his chest, another click and pain bursts from his chest. It’s a pain that he’s never felt before, nothing like the dull ache of his heart palpitations as they grow and expand, press against his chest. This is sharp, breaking, like his chest has shattered inside out. He weirdly remembers Seokjin in this moment, as he stood in their Fake Love music video and the building splintered around him. It’s like that, Yoongi’s a building and his foundations are crumbling inside out. 

He thinks he might be dying. And he wants to tell Namjoon that he’s sorry, and that he loves him, and he really doesn’t fucking care what colour the roses are at the centre piece of their wedding flowers, that he’s so fucking sorry he might not be there. But he doesn’t get the chance, because as the pain continues to rip through him, it’s too unbearable to fight, and Yoongi closes his eyes. 

When Yoongi wakes up it’s too bright. For one terrible moment he thinks he really might be dead, as cliche as it sounds he can’t shake the crashing anxiety that he’s dead, and he doesn’t really know what being dead means. As he manages to scramble up into a sitting position there’s an ache in his chest that makes him feel like he must be alive, because it’s the sort of pain that shocks sense back into your nerves, has him spluttering on his own breath. It’s almost a hollow feeling, like there’s a crack and he’s full of air and it makes his finger nails come up to clutch into his chest.

A nurse comes marching into the room and soothes him gently, pushes him back into the bed and orders him to lay still. Yoongi wants to try and ask her what’s going on, how he got here but she hushes him and starts tapping at the morphine drip that’s tucked into his skin. He hadn’t even noticed it but now that he has he wants nothing more than to rip it out, his skin itching at the intrusion. 

He’s awake now, and it’s almost like he can’t shake the feeling of death around him. He’s never woken up in hospital before, not like this, not since the car accident and there’s something incredibly familiar and jarringly alien about it all. He’s alive but the disorientation and anxiety could easily sway him into believing he’s not really alive, or just dangling by a thread and he’s one small snip away from falling again into darkness. 

It all comes back to him slowly like the constant drip of morphine. He remembers the video set, the sudden pang in his chest that swelled and crawled up his throat, like a creature, until he was choking on the pain. Maybe he really was choking, as he swirls his tongue around his mouth he can still taste the acidic twinge of bile. He remembers a cry, maybe Jimin’s or Jungkook’s, and Namjoon’s firm voice that echoed in the back of his mind and followed him into the ambulance. 

And then he remembers the machine, the one that stuck onto his chest and clicked and clicked until a jolt of pain was thrusted into his chest, like a bomb, and as the force of it shattered through his body he was suspended into black.

He’s trying very hard right now to fight the blackness, to keep it all at bay. He’s desperate to see someone familiar and feels incredibly pathetic for crying as the second doctor and nurse visit him, trying to explain what has happened. 

“Please, please let Joon-ah in.” He begs through the bleary wetness in his eyes, “please don’t make me do this alone, please let him in.” Yoongi’s not even sure if Namjoon’s here, and the confusion and anxiety aren’t good at gatekeeping his deepest fears. He can’t help but wonder if this was it, the final strike, that maybe Namjoon doesn’t want to deal with this shit anymore.

How can Namjoon trust him, after all? It comes to the forefront like an explosion in Namjoon’s face, he’ll know Yoongi’s been lying this whole time, Namjoon’s clever. He’ll know this will be a build of things, and Yoongi was a ticking time bomb all along. Maybe if he’d been honest from the beginning they could have worked it out and stopped this, found out which wire to cut to stop the countdown. Or maybe they couldn’t have, and this was always inevitable and he let Namjoon out of a life of pain and complications before it was too late. The wedding ring feels slippery against his tacky skin. 

He doesn’t hear the doctors answer him, but he hears the click of the door and footsteps as he tries to get through the ragged breaths. He can do this, even if he doesn’t want to and it hurts, he can. 

He looks up and Namjoon’s there, wearing the sweats he’d arrived in at the video shoot and the same scrappy beanie from dog walking that morning. It’s grounding; finally gives Yoongi some sort of time frame and a familiarity that erupts warmth in his chest and helps soothe the icy anxiety. He’s not been here too long, he can’t have.

“Hey, hey now, Yoongi-yah, hey .” Namjoon comes over and crouches down beside him, casts a look over his shoulder and says something to the doctors Yoongi doesn’t catch. Whatever is said allows Namjoon to plant a hand firmly against Yoongi’s cheek and smooth down his sweaty bangs, just like this morning. They’d been here before, this morning, with Yoongi blinking sleep out of his eyes and a kitten curled around his toes. Now Namjoon crowds over him with red rimmed eyes and an IV drip binding his right arm. “Hey, it’s okay. Yoongi, you’re not by yourself anymore. It’s okay, your Namjoon is here.”

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, “I’m-- I’m causing problems.”

“Lets not worry about that now,” Namjoon soothes. His lips are bitten red and skin peeling, it’s a nasty habit he hasn’t kicked yet. Yoongi has this odd desire to run his thumb along them and catch it. So he reaches out with a shaky hand and does just that, presses the tip of his thumb down on his plush lips. He’s started picking at his hangnails around his thumb again, and they oddly fit together. Yoongi’s picked thumb and Namjoon’s bitten lips, and maybe Namjoon thinks so too as he gently bites down on the pads of Yoongi’s thumb, his own hands circling his wrist. He kisses the tip gently. “I’ve got you, hyung. Your Namjoon has got you. We’re okay, it’s all okay.”

Yoongi rocks forward gently as Namjoon’s hand comes down his back, careful not to knock the drip, and he stomps down the urge to wail. He’s okay and he’s panicking, he knows that, and having his head pressed to Namjoon’s chest so he can hear his steady heart beat is oddly comforting. 

Namjoon doesn’t let him go as the doctor starts speaking to them, his eyes flicking between them. He gently explains that Yoongi’s heart had simply been pushed too far, too out of beat and going too quickly for the medication he took this morning to have stopped it. That the likelihood is the dancing hadn’t have helped, but this might have been a long time coming. 

“Have your attacks become more frequent, Yoongi-ssi?” The doctor asks, her eyes casting sternly over his frame, “I need you to be honest with me.”

Yoongi shifts, and it’s like the morning. Namjoon’s body pressed to his, as it seeps lovely heat into his veins, isn’t enough to dissolve the stone that sits at the bottom of his stomach. 

“Ah, not more frequent really.” Yoongi clutches at the blankets anxiously, “they just… haven’t ever got better.”

“You’re on beta blockers, correct?”

Yoongi nods.

“Do they not help?”

“They can offer… momentary relief.” Yoongi shifts a little, feels hot under Namjoon’s baring gaze. The doctor writes something down. 

“How frequently are you having attacks?” 

“Every…” He can’t look at Namjoon, the words feel clunky in his mouth but he forces his tongue to work around them, “every few days, if I’m honest.”

“Several times a week then?”

Yoongi gulps, manages to nod. 

“Okay, Yoongi-ssi.” The doctor sighs, lowers her clipboard so she can make direct eye contact. “I am going to be honest with you, I’m not your doctor. But if your medication isn’t working the way it should, and you're having these attacks more frequently, you might be looking at a more permanent solution.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” Yoongi tells her, his brain still feeling like it's stuffed with cotton wool.

She clicks her pen. “We’re his registered hospital, correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Namjoon answers.
“Is it Doctor Byun he usually sees?”

Yoongi can feel Namjoon move beside him and guesses he’s nodding, but still can’t bring himself to look directly at him. 

The doctor murmurs something else about seeing when Doctor Byun can be next free, that he should talk to him before he considers leaving the hospital, then dips out into the corridor.

And he’s left alone with Namjoon. 

Namjoon doesn’t say anything to begin with but Yoongi can tell he’s stewing. Namjoon works in measurements, every word he’s chosen is deliberate and careful. If it be lyrics, addressing someone above him or even now. But Yoongi doesn’t like that, he’s the one person in the world that he shouldn’t have to be careful with. 

So when Namjoon turns slowly, and says “ Hyung ” in that delicate, clipped tone Yoongi breaks.

“Just say it, Joon-ah,” Yoongi chokes, “if you’re upset with me, just say it.”

Namjoon’s eyes glance over Yoongi’s heart monitor, as if he’s trying to measure how he can be around Yoongi based on the beating of his heart, and that makes it hurt even more. 

“Namjoon, answer your hyung. Stop-- stop fussing and say how you feel. You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”

Namjoon’s gaze drags slowly away and his eyes meet Yoongi’s. It feels eerily the same as earlier, the way Namjoon gnaws on his lip and then crumbles forward into Yoongi, forehead pressed to his and arms caging Yoongi’s waist.

“ Yoongi,” Namjoon wimpers into his neck, “you’re so fucking stupid. ”

“That’s you’re so fucking stupid, hyung ,” Yoongi tries to joke, but it falls a little flat in the stillness of the room,

Namjoon shudders and Yoongi can feel the wetness of his tears against his collarbone, as Namjoon curls back the redness under his eyes has seeped and bloomed down into his cheeks. 

“I’m so-- I’m so mad at you, Yoongi.”

“I know.”

“We’re a team, ” Namjoon stresses, his hand resting roughly against Yoongi’s cheek, “why would you keep this from me, hyung? Why would you hurt alone? You made me promise, when we were teenagers, to never hurt alone. That my pain was your pain, that we shared everything this moment forward. How can I do that when you won’t do the same?”

Yoongi tries to fight the emotion clogging his throat, but ends up choking on it anyways. “Because-- because this is a different kind of pain, Namjoon-ah. This is fucking up everything, I could fuck up everything again. I don’t know what’s going on and I’m-I’m scared. What if there’s no solution?”

“So what was your plan, Yoongi-hyung? To just, keep going? Hope this all went away one day?”

“There was no plan, I just… it seemed manageable, okay? And I… Joon-ah, what if it got really bad? And they made me stop working again, or something happened and--”

“ Something happened,” Namjoon scoffs, rolling his eyes, “What, like you ending up in the hospital? Like you going into cardiac arrest?”

“This might have all happened anyways, you know. This isn’t something that you could have stopped, Joon-ah. You can’t try and, like, make this about you.”

“It’s not about me, you’re right.” Namjoon says quietly, “it’s about us, because we do everything together. And it’s not about stopping it, or saving you, or whatever damsel in distress narrative you’ve built in your head. It’s that you had to do it alone, and you’re strong enough too, don’t misunderstand me hyung. But you don’t need to do these things alone anymore.” Namjoon reaches out and takes Yoongi’s left hand in his, so their matching bands clash against their clumsy fingers. “That’s the point, of being in love, we don’t do this alone anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Yoongi chokes.

“I’m still mad at you,” Namjoon says, but he’s smiling. A little blubbery, with snot running down his face and blotchy red skin. He’s still got that shabby beanie on, so Yoongi reaches up and pulls it away so he can run his fingers through Namjoon’s hair. Still sticky with hair spray. 

He wants to say sorry again but knows it can’t mean as much as it already does, Namjoon knows that. So instead he says, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

The rest of Yoongi’s time in hospital feels incredibly uneventful. He spends most of it playing games on Namjoon’s phone, because Namjoon’s started playing among us and he thinks that Yoongi being literally strapped to a bed is finally a time to corner him into playing it, and when Namjoon’s ushered out of the room so they can do some monitoring tests he takes to counting cracks in the ceiling. Sadly, there aren’t many, that’s the problem with fancy hospitals. Eventually he’s allowed a very bland meal that’s served to him by an overbearing nurse who dodges his questions about when he’s allowed to go like Yoongi’s hospital is a warzone. Eventually Namjoon is allowed back in and with him comes Yoongi’s usual Cardiologist. 

He tuts at Yoongi when he walks in, like he’s disappointed but not overtly worried, which calms Yoongi a little.

“Yoongi-ssi,” he sighs in greeting, “now how have you found yourself in here, hm?”

“I don’t think the medication is working.” Yoongi grumbles. Namjoon comes back to stand next to him.

The doctor huffs a little laugh, “No, I don’t think so either. I did say at your last appointment I was worried about the frequency of your heart, but you didn’t seem to share my concerns.”

“They’ve gotten worse, the attacks.” He fidgets with the blanket, “more frequent.”

“That’s concerning news, even if you weren’t in the situation you’re in now.” The doctor leans back in his chair and sighs through his nose. “I won’t tell you that if you’d spoken up sooner, this could have been avoided. Because we just don’t know, my advice is based off my knowledge of your condition as your Cardiologist, in light of the knowledge that you’re having more powerful attacks more frequently then you should, and that you went into cardiac arrest. I think you probably know where this is going.”

“Surgery.” Yoongi gulps. 

The doctor nods. “It’s not as doom and gloom as you make it sound, Yoongi-ssi. Surgery isn’t offered off the bat because this condition is easily manageable for many patients, some can get away with only having a small attack once a year, others cannot. The medication should help, but it hasn’t. And you are more than welcome to seek out advice from other hospitals, but as your registered specialist I think catheter ablation is the best way forward. Do you remember what that is?”

“You insert little, thin, tubes through my groin up to my heart and apply cold on it. To adjust the rhythm.”

“Ah, you do. Sounds like someone’s done the research, and maybe has been internalising the issue and building up the problem to be something more drastic than it is.” Doctor Byrun shrugs, “what do I know, I’m not a phyciatrist.”

“No, it sounds like Yoongi.” Namjoon grumbles and Yoongi elbows him. 

“Cardioversion is also an option, which just involves a small electric shot, but I think catheter ablation is the best way forward. The sooner we do it the better chances we have of it being effective, with a 90% success rate and a minor margin of side effects. I’m concerned if we leave this much longer something similar to today could happen, and we’d have to end up performing a maze procedure. Which is open heart surgery, Yoongi-ssi.” The doctor furrows his brow, like he’s trying to pinch all the tension in his face to convey how serious this all is.

Yoongi nods meekly. “How-how long until the surgery, would I have?”

“I’m concerned by the fact you collapsed, and tittered on the edges of going fully into cardiac arrest. Your heart is weaker than usual right now, and if the beta blockers seem to do little to help as it is I worry they won’t be able to be effective enough for another major attack. I’d like to schedule you in for next week.”

“ Next week?” Yoongi stresses, squeezing Namjoon’s hand. His eyes dart over Yoongi’s monitor as it beeps slightly and Yoongi has this weird urge to whack him, because that is absolutely not what’s important right now. “But, I- I can’t. We have a video shoot to finish, it’s already Friday, and what if it makes me even more unwell?” He turns to Namjoon, clasping desperately at him like he’s a lifeline pulling him through the panic. “We have a wedding in 2 months.”

“Yoongi-yah.” Namjoon hums, hand smoothing through his hair, “My love. Don't you want to be well for that? Don’t you want to be better?”

Yoongi gasps, no words come to him. 

“Recovery doesn’t take long, a few weeks out at most. If it really is going to be too big of an issue with your schedules, well. As your doctor I say your health comes before anything, but we could book you in for January if you had too.” The doctor’s gaze flickers, and he hums. “But then, of course, if you have a wedding soon. I’d argue being healthy for that once in a lifetime event, or you hope once in a life, is something you probably wouldn’t want to miss over a comeback video. That’s my advice, as a working man myself.”

Yoongi blinks, letting the information finally absorb. He’s not getting out of this. It’s not like his work, not something he can fight through by himself. It needs a solution, to once again give himself over to the doctors and hope they really know what’s best. 

Namjoon squeezes his hand again, and his thumb strokes over his little wedding band. 

“Okay,” Yoongi finally says, “okay.”

When he’s finally let out of the hospital, after an hour Q&A with the doctor, discussing some of Yoongi’s more pressing-- embarrassing -- questions about the surgery, it’s Hoseok who pulls outside with his fancy car. He comes bearing a change of clothes for Yoongi from their apartment, because everyone has a spare key, and a bleak look on his face.

“Please don’t look at me like that.” Yoongi grumbles as he emerges from the hospital bathrooms, freshly changed in what he realises is Namjoon’s sweats. Yoongi wonders if that was a deliberate choice, but relishes in the familiar sent and being able to look as small as he feels in Namjoon’s oversized hoodie.

Hoseok smiles, a little sadly, and offers an arm out to Yoongi. Namjoon’s still dealing with the paperwork and gathering all the pamphlets they’ll need. He’s still a little wobbly on his feet, so he lets Hoseok slip his elbow through his and grasp his hand without too much of a fuss. He whines, overdramatically, for the show and to make Hoseok laugh. 

Hoseok’s also brought him a scarf and another one of Namjoon’s raggy looking beanies and he wants to ask why, but as he’s led out into the streets he sees why. It’s snowing, lightly, suspending in the air and catching car lights like little stars in the evening glow. The ground is lightly dusted, and it’s cold. Yoongi wonders how long he was really in there for. 

“Christmas soon,” Hoseok says in explanation, as if that somehow explains the turn in weather. “Next week, right? I need to send some money to my nephews.”

“Yeah, day after Yoongi’s surgery.” Namjoon hums and Hoseok scoffs jokingly.

“Yoongi- yah,” Hoseok sighs dramatically, “what’s with the timing, huh? Couldn’t you have held out for a few more days?”

“Sorry my heart condition doesn’t fit your schedule,” Yoongi grumbles. 

Hoseok helps him into the car, even does his seatbelt to be purposefully annoying as Yoongi whines “I can do it myself” and plants a big kiss on Yoongi's forehead. Yoongi gags.

“My big, strong, stupid, hyung,” Hoseok coos, “who likes to pretend his life is a k-drama and choses the most dramatic moments to have a heart attack.” Hoseok pulls back, “did you know that’s a Loona song? It’s about being gay, maybe you’d like it hyung.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and settles into his seat. Namjoon comes and sits in the back and Hoseok giggles at the pair of them, but as soon as the ignition turns on the sound of the engine seems to send them into silence.

Yoongi hates it, he really does. To be the cause of the stiffness between the 3 of them, to have everyone so worried. It’s not like last time. That had all been on his own terms, an organised list of reasons why he should go forward, timed and appointed appropriately. This time he’s being frusted out of his own autonomy, dependent on everyone else aorund him to reassure that he shouldn’t kick against the guiding hand, and it’s fucking scary. 

“Hey,” Namjoon says suddenly, thumb sliding back over his knuckles. “I just thought of a silver lining.”

“What?”

“If you get the surgery, that means we all might get our first Christmas off, ever .”

“Wow, you’re right. That truly tops the list of why I should get the surgery. Forget the fact we half a half finished music performance recorded, and I’ll be out of promotions again, it might not even work --”

“We could all come over! And watch cheesy christmas movies! What’s that one about the kid who gets left behind that Jimin likes?”

“ Home Alone!” Namjoon says, excitedly. 

“ Home Alone!” Hoseok cheers back, “we can watch that! And order takeout! I’m sorry Yoongi-hyung did you say something?”

“I hate both of you,” Yoongi deadpans, Namjoon tucks his arm around his shoulders and brings him closer. 

“I take it back, Yoongi-hyung, your timing is immaculate. ” Hoseok chirps and Yoongi snorts. Secretly, silently happy that they’ve decided not to make too big a deal out of it. He can’t help but wonder if they’d talked about it beforehand, decided the best way to react to all of it, and Yoongi realises it doesn’t matter either way. 

Hoseok comes into their flat for some tea and so he can badger Yoongi into facetiming the others. They’d been called in for more scheduling and dragged out of the hospital when the visitor limit was strictly one person, and Yoongi’s grateful they didn’t stop necessity work on his behalf. He prefers that, knows they worry nonetheless but proud of them for pushing through with it and getting on when he and Namjoon couldn’t be there. 

They’re worried, of course, all crowded around Seokjin’s phone as they do their Christmas holiday’s interview for Weverse Magazine. Taehyung ends up elbowing Seokjin in the face in order to clamber his way into the frame whilst Seokjin squawks at him, Jungkook’s head hooked over one of his shoulders and Jimin’s on the other. 

Hoseok relays his joke about getting Christmas off, to which Jimin happily squeals “ we could watch home alone!” and they make various jokes about Jimin identifying a little too much with the kid after everyone had slowly moved out of the dorms and just left him and Jungkook for a little while. As they squabble Yoongi watches them fondly, consoles Jungkook when he gets teary, and doesn’t totally let on that he supports the idea of a Christmas movie night. 

When Hoseok leaves later that evening they’ve managed to contact the managers, arrange a weeks break from scheduling starting next week, and drafted Yoongi’s weverse post explaining his absence for the next few weeks. 

Again, he thinks to himself. 

They spend the next few days not doing much, Namjoon keeps the leaflets stuffed in his rucksack until sunday, when he finally takes his laptop and starts digging them out. Yoon gi doesn’t want too look, to remember, and maybe Namjoon can sense that as he kisses Yoongi's temple and asks him to go make tea, they’ll order in for dinner, and he’s going to start going through the leaflets and paperwork. Yoongi takes his time making tea, because he knows reality will be sitting next to Namjoon on the sofa when he gets back in. His heart hurts a little again but he distracts himself, from what could easily be phantom pain played by his anxiety. High has trotted into the room grumbling in her little voice with Moni not far behind her. Holly’s on one of the bean bags in the other room with Namjoon, legs stuck in the air and probably still glaring at Namjoon for not giving him attention. Yoongi pats Moni on the head and scoops High into his arms, lets her toy with a stray tea bag on the counter as he stops to pour their tea. 

Yoongi pads back into the living room with two mugs of tea, the mug is a little too hot against his fingers but he keeps it pressed into his palms as he almost finds the prickle of heat soothing. He has a good pain tolerance, he tells himself, and oddly moments like this help remind him of that.

Namjoon is sitting on the floor propped up against the back of the sofa, the coffee table pushed forward so he has more room for the leaflets sprawled across the floor. He chews on a pen and jots down messily into his little notepad. Yoongi comes in and gently places his yuja tea down in front of him, his eyes can't help but cast over their wedding binder. Still sitting on the coffee table, now buried underneath Namjoon's macbook and his spray of research notes on recovery, cather alberations, TEE'S --

"Yoongi-yah," Namjoon says sternly, not looking up from his notes. He reaches up and tugs on his wrist, " Yoongi-yah ."

"I haven't said anything." Yoongi grumbles, but still plops himself down on the floor. He leans his head against Namjoon's shoulder and Namjoon wraps an arm around him without thinking about it, still with his nose buried into the spine of the book.

"I can hear you thinking, Yoongichi. Shhhh. " Namjoon slurs his name, presses a finger against Yoongi's forehead and drags the finger down his face and across his lips, " Shhh, I'm researching."

" Yah, you're such a brat." Yoongi splutters, swatting Namjoon's hand away. He raises it gently, a little teasingly above Yoongi's head and settles it back down over his shoulders. Namjoon rubs his thumb over his collarbone gently.

"I'm the hyung, I wish you'd stop acting like it." Yoongi grumbles.

Namjoon pokes his head up, pushes his thick rimmed glasses back over the bridge of his nose. "But you're my baby." Namjoon pouts, pushing his notebook out the way so he can bring his left hand to skim over Yoongi's sides. "And I want to take care of my baby ."

"Would you quit that. " Yoongi whines, as Namjoon's fingers find their way underneath his jumper and continue to jab and prod, "you are most definitely the baby, by the way."

"Oh yeah? " Namjoon grins, his hand curls around the nape of Yoongi's neck as he tries to blow raspberries into his neck, lick clumsily at the junction between his shoulder blades.

"Yes, a big, slobbery, baby." Yoongi manages to grasp ahold of Namjoon's wrist and wrestle them back down to his sides, wiggles his way into Namjoon's lap with a little huff that drags the corners of Namjoon's mouth into a dopey grin.

" Baby," he coos again, bouncing Yoongi in his lap.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, fed up, and grabs a fist full of Namjoon's shirt and pulls him in for a kiss, drinking in the lingering sweetness from his tea as their lips merge together.

" You're the baby." Yoongi says definitively, and his voice lingers slightly, fingers twitching in Namjoon's shirt. "You know, if I get this surgery I won't be able to take care of my baby for a week."

Namjoon sighs exasperatedly, throws his head back against the sofa. " Yoongi-yah. Not this again."

"It's a pressing concern of mine," Yoongi huffs.

"This is your weakest argument against getting the surgery, Yoongi-hyung." Namjoon clicks his tongue, "I can't believe you genuinely asked the doctors about it."

"Like I said, it's an important question."

"It's literally on the second page of the surgery leaflet, how long after surgery can you have sex. "

"So obviously it was a good question." Yoongi retaliates.

Namjoon's shoulders sag, and he smiles in that way he does that makes Yoongi feel a little too open.

"Baby, my baby Yoongi." Namjoon reaches forward and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, "You know we'll be okay, right? This'll all be over next week, and a distant memory for us soon."

We, it's always we, Yoongi reminds himself. Because whatever they do, they do it as a team.

Yoongi hums, lets his fingers tangle with Namjoon's and toys with them in his lap. "I know, I know Joon-ah. Because this has happened before, and I can't-- I don't want to let people down, the fans, the others--"

"Will all be here after you've recovered, as they were before." Namjoon's hand leaves his hair and rests on his cheek, thumb catching over his lips. "Besides, this isn't like last time. You can move, you'll be able to work on your songs almost straight away. A few weeks recovery, no rehab. You could even pick up on your writing, that's something you couldn't do last time." Namjoon grins wickedly, brings his face close to Yoongi's, "I never did find out what happened between unspecified male protagonist and Ha Seung Jin after he spotted him in the middle of the crowd at a basketball game."

"I hate you," Yoongi says seriously, trying to squirm away again, "I told you about that in confidence and total trust and you use it against me at every opportunity."

"I’m only human, hyung. You can’t tell me something as embarrassing as your self-insert fanfiction and not expect me to use it to my advantage. You’re my your/name , hyungie.” Namjoon squishes Yoongi’s face between his hands, and plants a kiss on his forehead. It’s like the press is soothing heat, and Yoongi lets the feeling seep into his veins and thinks nothing but Namjoon, do it for Namjoon.

He looks up into his eyes, moves so that their lips can meet instead. Namjoon doesn’t kiss back instantly, a little hesitant as his hands come down to hover over Yoongi’s waist. Yoongi sighs and plants them more firmly on his hips.

“Joon-ah,” Yooni murmurs, trails his lips down his collarbones instead. “Joon-ah.”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon breathes back, “come on, Yoongi. We can’t right now.”

“Namjoon-ah, please.” Yoongi rises to his knees and tries to chase Namjoon’s lips as he pulls away, “c’mon, I know you want to be good for me.”

“It’s not about what you want, or what I want. You’ve got surgery in like, 3 days. And you had a heart attack 2 days ago.” 

“I almost had a heart attack.” Yoongi clicks his tongue, “and if we don’t do anything soon we won’t be able to for ages.”

“A week, Yoongi-hyung, a week. ”

Yoongi sighs dramatically, and throws his head forward, slumping himself into Namjoon. He grumbles, Namjoon pointedly ignores him and goes back to flicking through the pamphlet. So Yoongi huffs, wiggles around a little bit more, and lets his mouth latch on the junction of Namjoon’s exposed collarbone in his oversized sweatshirt. 

“Please, as if you’d last a week. Let me have this, Joon-ah. It’s been a really tough few days for me.” Yoongi pouts and Namjoon groans in response.

“ Hyung,” he breathes, as Yoongi’s mouth sucks over the sweet spot he knows Namjoon likes so much, “you’re playing dirty.”

“I always do, my love.” Yoongi mutters back, as he begins to roll his hips slowly, subtly down against Namjoon’s. He can already feel Namjoon hard beneath him and he smirks, not surprised. Namjoon was always so sensitive, to words, to people, to touch. Especially Yoongi’s. He thinks back to the other day in the bathroom, Namjoon’s eyes sweeping over him so casually, a contrast to him straining in his boxers. 

Yoongi grinds down slightly more purposefully and as Namjoon huffs in frustration, he brings their lips back together and deepens the kiss. Namjoon tastes like the sweet tea he’d been drinking, lips still a little chapped, and Yoongi thinks it's his most favourite feeling in the world.

Namjoon’s hands grip a little tighter against Yoongi’s hips and he rolls forward again tentatively. Namjoon’s already panting beneath him, and Yoongi always loves how easy it is, how easy Namjoon can be. It’s like pulling at a ball of yarn, once you’ve got a hold of the end it takes so little to watch Namjoon unravel beneath him. 

“You’re so lovely, Joon-ah,” Yoongi mutters again, pulling at his sweatshirt so he can start diving his teeth into the dips of his neck, “let me make you feel good. You don’t even have to do it back, if you’re worried, but let me be close to you. Show you how thankful I am to have such a good, caring baby .”

“ Hyung,” Namjoon gasps again, and Yoongi always likes this too. Sometimes Namjoon slips back into calling him hyung when they’re intimate, because Namjoon likes Yoongi being in control, taking the lead, and Yoongi likes it too. Namjoon’s always in leader mode, even sometimes with Yoongi when he’s sick, but in moments like this it reminds Yoongi they really are a team, they lean on each other, equals who push and pull to keep them centred. He grinds down again, focussing all of his energy in keeping up the little bursts of friction that have his own dick stirring in interest, but more importantly coaxes those little sounds Namjoon makes with every exhale. They’re beautiful, Namjoon’s beautiful, and when he gets in the moment he stops controlling his voice. It gets all deep and raspy, the octave he keeps in his voice disintegrates to low, needy moans and Yoongi feels obsessed. 

“ Hyung,” he whines again, “I should-- I should be the one taking care of you, hyung. If-if we’re going to do this let me do the work.”

Yoongi shakes his head, resurfaces from the patch of skin he’s been working his teeth over to steal another kiss. “Joon-ah, my Namjoon-ah, you letting me take care of you is taking care of me. We’re a team, remember?” It’s supposed to come out playful, maybe a little teasingly, but Yoongi’s voice sounds watery to his own ears. He doesn’t like being too cheesy with Namjoon; as there are so many elements to their relationship that are cliche. Jungkook had once fondly referred to them as a “trope” and Yoongi had to resist the urge to steal his pork buns from under his nose in revenge. But, he’s right, him and Namjoon don’t always sound like a real story.

But they are, and in moments like this Yoongi has to stamp the emotion down by pressing his lips desperately against Namjoon and letting him feel the overwhelming bubbly feeling in his chest.

Namjoon hips finally rise up against Yoongi’s to meet his movements, and he gasps like it’s taken effort to resist. Yoongi likes this too, how wanted Namjoon makes him feel. 

“That’s it, baby.” Yoongi soothes, “take what you need.”

“I need you, ” Namjoon gasps back, “ anything, just as long as it’s you.”

“What do you want? I’ll give you anything you want.” Yoongi breathes back, “do you want too top me, hm? Be inside your hyung? Think you can make me feel good that way?”

“ Yoongi”, Namjoon sighs, “no, we can’t-- we can’t go that far. You still had a heart attack.”

Yoongi sighs dramatically. “ Okayyyyy. What if I was inside youuuu? ”

“Somehow you make everything that’s sexy sound unsexy.”

“What if I said it in my Agust D voice?” Yoongi raises onto his knees again, waggles his eyebrows. “I can do the stuttering thing you like?”

“Stop making fun of me,” Namjoon whines, squirming underneath Yoongi in embarrassment. His hips buck up again as he does and Namjoon groans low. 

“But it’s so easy to make fun of you, Joon-ah. You’d let me say anything to you, do anything to you. Because you trust me, don’t you? My sweet baby.”

Namjoon gasps again and Yoongi can tell that it’s time to slowly start dragging him towards the bedroom. He curls his finger in the neck of Namjoon’s sweater, his other hand stuck in the betloops of his jeans. “Come on, let me stick my dick in your butt. It means I don’t have to go through prep, and I get to control the pace. So I probably won’t go into cardiac arrest… or maybe I will because you’re just that hot.” Yoongi considers, “that was a joke, by the way. I’m not having a heart attack.”

“Yeah, I get it hyung .”

“C’mon, Joon-ah, that’s a really logical and well thought out argument I gave there. Let me dick you down. Where’s my big, sexy himbo?”

“You’re terrible,” Namjoon groans, and Yoongi digs his palm into Namjoon’s hard on, just for good measure. 

He leads Namjoon to the bedroom and closes the door behind them, to keep their tiny family of animals out, and continues to latch himself to Namjoon’s neck. He reaches down and makes quick work of his belt, sikkiled fingers sliding his jeans down beneath his hips as his fingers graze over Namjoon’s bulge. 

“ Yoongi,” Namjoon whines breathlessly, his hips rutting up to try and find Namjoon’s hand and groaning when he slips them away. Yoongi smirks, captures Namjoon’s lips back into another kiss and pushes him down on the bed. He follows forward and Namjoon huffs.

“ Careful, Yoongi-yah. ”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and crawls himself beneath Namjoon’s thighs and lets his hand travel back over his crotch. Namjoon’s pout parts into a whine, tongue darting out as he pants. 

“You want me to be careful, Joon-ah?” he teases, maintaining eye contact as he lets his fingers curl ever so lightly around Namjoon’s clothed dick, and he gasps. “You want hyung to take his time, hm? Make sure the pace isn’t too hard, maybe you’re right.” He snakes his hand away and Namjoon whines at the lack of contact, “maybe I’m not up for this. Maybe I’m too tired, maybe we should go to bed. Would that be okay, baby?”

Namjoon pants, looking conflicted. “ Hyung. ”

“Or are you going to be a good boy, stop arguing back and take what I have to give you? Are you going to trust hyung to take care of you, to take care of us ?”

“But-- but I want to take care of you .” 

“Then be the good boy I know you can be, trust your hyung as much as he trusts you and do what you always do.” Yoongi moves himself back onto the knees and presses a single finger against Namjoon’s chest, who falls back into the mattresses with a little fud. “And lie here, look cute and take it. ”

Namjoon nods a little frantically and preens, even if he still looks a little worried. Yoongi wants to kiss the expression away, so he does, tries to drink up Namjoon’s worry and guilt and pain and whatever the fuck else is going on in that oversized brain of his and relieve him of it. This isn’t about convincing Namjoon he’s okay, Yoongi realises, as he goes back to toying with Namjoon’s waist band, it’s about being honest. And honestly, he feels like he might die if he doesn’t get Namjoon’s dick in his mouth soon. 

So he ducks down and takes what he wants, pulls Namjoon’s underwear and jeans clear off to take all of Namjoon straight in his mouth. Namjoon hisses in surprise, voice stuttering as he careers himself onto his elbows to watch. Yoongi likes being watched, likes Namjoon looking at him with that fucked out and hungry gaze. 

Yoongi can feel his heart start to pick up as he tries to choke around Namjoon’s length, and stills. He wants this to be good, and if he wants that he knows he has to slow it all down a little. This about connection, about taking care of someone's love, not about proving how hard he can take it. 

So he pops off of Namjoon and begins to send kitten licks down the underside of his shaft, because he knows it sends Namjoon crazy, before mouthing at the head. He massages his balls as well and makes it obvious that he’s grinning around his dick. It gets the reaction he wants as Namjoon’s hands fly to his face and he whines into the palms, flustered, embarrassed. Pilant. 

“Hey, no hiding, sweetheart,” Yoongi coos, “I want to see you, I want to see your face as you come around my dick.”

“You can’t say things like that.” Namjoon hisses, even more flustered.

Yoongi hums, leans forward again so he looms over Namjoon and continues to thumb at his dick. “Can, and will.”

“ Can’t, you sound so cheesy.”

Yoongi spits in his hand, flicks his thumb over the head of his dick again and tugs lightly on his balls at the sametime and Namjoon crunches up and moans low. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you over the sound of you moaning.”

“ God,” Namjoon hisses, “Yoongi-ah, if you keep that up I will come.”

“And I’d just make you come again, my love.” Yoongi hums, “on my fingers, and then on my dick, as many times as I want.”

“ Please,” Namjoon begs and Yoongi can see the tail-tail signs of wetness in his eyes, “hyung please stop teasing. I don’t want to come yet, just, just want to be close to you. ”

Yoongi coos and shushes him, kisses his lips lightly and continues to ghost his fingers up and down his shaft. “Hey, hey now. When has hyung not given you what you want, hm? Come here.”

Yoongi reaches across to the nightstand and rummages around for the lube, which he squeezes over his fingers and rubs to begin to warm it up.

“Wait,” Namjoon pants. He pulls his t-shirt over his head as Yoongi giggles, crawling back up his body.

“ Ooh, boobies.” Yoongi smiles, squishing them together as Namjoon clicks his tongue.

“ Yoongi-ah, you get naked it too.”

“Squish, squish.” Yoongi hums happily, but complies as he shucks his own jeans and t-shirt. “There, better?”

Namjoon looks up and down his body, licks his lips and somehow flushes deeper. “Uh-huh.”

“God, you dork.” Yoongi slaps Namjoon’s bare thigh, notices the way he gasps and ducks down momentarily to graze his teeth over the same spot. Noticing the angle he smirks to himself, and licks a stripe across Namjoon’s hole. 

Namjoon yelps, collapsing into the mattress again out of surprise. “ Yoongi-yah, warn a guy!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Yoongi mutters, not sorry at all. He licks again, relishing in the way Namjoon’s shuddering makes his thighs tremble, and pushes his thumb alongside his tongue. Namjoon gasps, moaning deeply into the cushion he’s got over his face. Yoongi wants to scold him but he finds himself growing desperate, having to squeeze between his legs to relieve some of the pressure on his dick. It’s not about fucking Namjoon, or even coming, he just wants to be as close to him as possible. 

So Yoongi begins to work his fingers in slowly, a little rough around the edges because he knows sometimes Namjoon likes it like that, and searches inside Namjoon’s tight heat for that bundle of nerves. Namjoon’s stomach muscles crunch again when he finds it, forcing Namjoon to propel himself back onto his elbows with the shock of the pleasure. He sort of squirms away and then bucks back down onto Yoongi’s fingers, like he’s trying to fuck himself. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot, Joon-ah.” Yoongi whispers, giving his ass cheeks another little slap as Namjoon squirms back down.

“Would-- would you quit watching?”

“No, I’m good.” Yoongi hums and Namjoon groans as the squelch grows louder. Yoongi’s three fingers deep, taking his time enjoying the way Namjoon looks around his fingers when Namjoon’s left hand comes down to swat at his shoulder.

“That’s enough, I’m ready, I’m ready. Please Yoongi-hyung.”

“Ah, what happened to this being all about me?” Yoongi teases, “I’m having fun.”

“ Please, just get inside. Please hyung, Yoongi, Yoongi- yah, please.”

“Hey, hey. Joon-ah, I’m hear.” Yoongi presses his lips against Namjoon and shushes him as he gently pulls his fingers out. 

Yoongi keeps one hand cradled around the back of his head as he aligns himself up with the other. He tugs himself one more time to take the edge off, and then slowly sinks inside. Namjoon sobs gently as he does, tries to smack his arm over his face but Yoongi gently pries it away. He hisses as he bottoms out, overwhelmed by the tight, velvety heat. 

“Hey, joon-ah, don’t hide. My love, let me see your pretty face.”

Namjoon lets his arm be tugged way and Yoongi guides it to the small of his back. 

“Move, hyung, Yoongi-hyung move. ”

“Bratty,” Yoongi grins, and so he does. At first slow, mindful of how his heart feels beating in his chest. He knows they have to be gentle, as much as Yoongi wants to press Namjoon down into the mattress, take and give as roughly as he knows Namjoon can handle, it’s not the time. So instead he rolls his hips and enjoys the little whines he coaxes out of Namjoon’s mouth, the feeling coaxed around him as he dives slightly deeper inside Namjoon with every little thrust. He’s almost in Namjoon’s lap, as Namjoon curls upwards to lean against the headboard and wrap his legs around the small of Yoongi’s back. It allows him to go deeper and really drag out those sounds from him, Namjoon unable to escape as Yoongi cages his arms either side of his head. 

Namjoon looks up at Yoongi, all pink and flush with long eyelashes that Yoongi weirdly wants to kiss individually. Instead he takes Namjoon’s lips between his teeth and bites, pulls and sucks the little moans out of Namjoon. Still driving forward, his hand dives between them to starts moving up and down Namjoon’s dick with an end goal. 

He can feel Namjoon getting close in the way he tightens around him, his gasps become more desperate and longer, Yoongi swallows them down.  

“Yoongi, Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon pants, sounding desperate, “ Yoongi .”

“It’s okay, Joon-ah. You’ve been so good, my baby. It’s okay.”

“I love you,” Namjoon says.

“I love you,” Yoongi says back, and begins to drive his hips a little forcefully, as deep as he can go and Namjoon cries out again. “Come for me baby, come on.”

Namjoon breathes “ fuck, fuck, fuck, ” under his breath, fingernails clawing into Yoongi’s back and finally letting go between them, whimpering through it and bouncing pilate in Yoongi’s arms. It’s like a motivator, sort of like Yoongi knows he’s done what he wanted and seeing Namjoon come only drives him closer to his own edge.

“Just a few more seconds, almost there baby.” Yoongi whispers into his hair, kisses his ear and curls his teeth into Namjoon’s earlobe. He drives hips forward once more and feels his release at the tip, buries himself in Namjoon and hisses directly into his ear as he comes inside. 

Namjoon whimpers as Yoongi rides himself through it, all gentle but firm rocks as Namjoon keeps holding onto him. 

Yoongi peels him back gently, just so he can make sure he’s alright. Namjoon looks equally as concerned, eyes blotchy as he reaches out for Yoongi. 

Yoongi just gently hushes him, takes Namjoon’s clammy fingers and guides them down from his shoulders over his own heart. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Yoongi soothes, pressing Namjoon’s palm down, “See? You didn’t break me. I’m okay, we’re okay, my love.”

Namjoon nods, looking a little hesitant and a little upset. Then he stops stalling, dives down to bring Yoongi into an opened mouth kiss.

This is why Yoongi thinks. This is why it’s going to be okay. More of this makes it all okay.  

***

***

The morning of the surgery goes pretty much as it said in the leaflet, to the point it does feel real. Like he’s living out a tick list, not totally in the moment as the nurses perform the TEE test, which is perhaps the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever had to do. The nurse had promised him he wouldn’t feel it, it was just getting past the nerves of swallowing down the pipe, which was a fucking lie but Yoongi gets through it. He gets through it because he wants to be out of here by the end of the day because he has some shitty Christmas movie to watch when he gets home. 

That’s what he tells himself when he’s finally dragged away from Namjoon and into one of the hospital rooms. He’s grateful he’d decided to wax himself the night before so he didn’t have to go through the embarrassment of letting the male nurses shave him, and then just has to wait. He kicks his legs anxiously, a little selfishly wishes that Namjoon could have been here for this part too. Instead he tries to tell himself something incredibly cheesy, like Namjoon is with him because they’re a we and it sounds so cliche he ends up making himself laugh so hard one of the nurses comes to check if its an anxiety attack. 

The surgery itself is uncomfortable, and involves a lot of Yoongi desperately trying to grasp at that spaced out feeling so he’s not hyper aware of what's going around him. They tell him it’s less dangerous if he’s slightly conscious for it, so he lets himself be thrust somewhere between conscious and asleep by another drip of morphine and waits it out. It's about 2 hours of surgery, not that Yoongi would have known, and as he comes too he’s back in a hospital bed. 

Nothing feels entirely real, but the site of Namjoon finally walking into the hospital room, around 6 hours post surgery, suddenly makes Yoongi feel like the world has stopped spinning. 

He’s been made to walk about a little bit as a monitor for his recovery, and he’s wobbly and can’t do it by himself but they’re pleased with his progress. 

He wants to get up now, as Namjoon smiles at him hesitantly and comes down to his side. 

“Hey, baby.” Namjoon smiles, “how are you doing?”

“Joon-ah,” Yoongi says, trying not to cry, “did you eat yet?”

Namjoon blinks, “hyung, what?”

“I normally make you lunch, and- and it’s almost dinner.”

Namjoon grins wide, rolling his eyes. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He shakes his head, “Well, at least we’ve moved on from you carrying the weight of our entire comeback on your shoulders.” 

“I don’t trust you with knives.” Yoongi says, as if further trying to explain it. 

Namjoon laughs again, “are you still a bit out of it, Yoongi-ah?”

“No, no. I’m okay.” Yoongi takes a few calming breaths and then swats at Namjoon. “Don’t be fucking rude.”

Namjoon rubs his elbow. “Yeah, you’re fine.”

He pouts and Namjoon grins again, “I’m so glad you’re alright, hyung.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sniffs, “me too.”

The surgery apparently has gone as well as it could have. The hesitant mentions of needing a pacemaker seem to be, at the moment, pushed aside as Yoongi’s heart seems to be on the recovery path expected of it. The doctors warn he’ll be out of it for the next few days, but they think the procedure went well enough that Yoongi doesn’t need to spend the night and can recover at home. 

It means he only has to spend a few more hours there, and then they let him out around 9pm. He’s relieved to feel the coldness on his face as the hospital doors fling open, the crunch of snow underneath his wheelchair as Namjoon pushes him to the cab he’s booked. He can’t really believe it,  just a few weeks, the doctor had echoed, just a few weeks of rest. 

The taxi ride home is relatively quiet, they don’t have much to say to each other. But as Namjoon helps him through the door, sharing Yoongi’s weight with an arm wrapped around his shoulders because Yoongi had almost punched him when he’d tried to carry him, Yoongi realises why Namjoon might have been so quiet. 

Their apartment is decked out in christmas decorations. Namjoon had spoken about wanting to indulge in the holiday for once at the beginning of December, but they hadn’t had the time. So it must have been what he spent the day doing in between Yoongi’s surgery and he has an overwhelming sense of relief to know that Namjoon hadn’t just sat in the waiting room for him. 

There’s gold fairy lights that curl around the kitchen and the connecting arch into the living room, where a big green christmas tree is tucked away in the cornet next to the dog baskets. One of the ballbules has fallen off the tree and the cats toy at it, passing it between the two of them with their tails up, whilst Holly watches them from his basket. 

“Did you do this? All by yourself?” He asks and Namjoon nods happily. 

Yoongi blinks at it, it’s all so domestic and he’s so fucking proud of Namjoon for somehow doing it all by himself, because it’s a big job for one person. He has been reading Yoongi’s ikea magazines. 

“Do you like it?” Namjoon asks a little anxiously behind him, “I know interior design is, like, normally your thing. But I know how beat up you are about all of this, and I just wanted to show you there’s more to life than work. You know? We’re a family, and we get to spend a holiday as a family. And soon we’ll get to do more domestic shit like this, together, for the rest of our lives. So, I hope you like it? I’m not sure if I’m making any sense--” 

Yoongi turns around and raises himself on the tips of his toes, a little wobbly, to kiss him. It’s a little awkward, as anything is between them when it’s spontaneous, and their teeth clash. But Namjoon giggles into the kiss, wraps his arms around his back and pulls him down into the sofa.

They stay there for a little while, keep an eye on Yoongi’s bleeding and eat the delicious meal of dried toast. They go to bed early, and when they climb into bed together Yoongi asks Namjoon to keep the fairy lights he’s put in their room on. He sort of likes sleeping with the glow of light. 

Yoongi wakes, rolls over, disoriented and limbs heavy, to a pain in his chest. The panic seems to thrum the unconsciousness away, and his brain rattles awake. But as he comes too, like he’s trying to claw his way through a fog, he’s able to dictate that the pain is different this time. He calms himself, reminds himself it’s normal to feel the heart tremors. This won’t go away straight away. He turns over, because he wants to wake up Namjoon, but only is met with his clock blinking back at him. 10:56am, Yoongi can’t remember the last time he’d slept that long. Hesitantly he slips himself out of bed, keeps their blanket around his shoulder, still palming at his chest.

“Joon-ah?” he calls, but is met with silence. He pads out of his room and as he travels down their small corridor he can hear the distinctive clatter in the kitchens, the sounds of voices. Yoongi comes into the light, curtains pulled back to expose their large glass doors in the living room. It’s snowing again, and he can see Holly and Moni are outside in the garden playing in the snow. His glasses are on the coffee table and he slips them on he realises there’s someone out there with them. They roll straight into the snow and bark back at the dogs, laughing as they jump around him. His foggy brain connects its Jungkook, which is weird, since Jungkook doesn’t technically live here.

“Yoongi-hyung!” Yoongi jumps at the sound of his name and turns around to see Taehyung, wearing a frilly apron and what is unfortunately a Santa hat. “Thank goodness you’re awake, I need you to tell your betrothed that you require his immediate attention in the living room to get him out of the kitchen. He promised he was good at making pancakes but he’s absolutely lying just to come across as cool and domestic.”

“Why is Joon-ah in the kitchen?” Yoongi blinks, realises that shouldn’t be his first question. “Why are you here? ”  

“It’s christmas,” Taehyung says, like Yoongi’s stupid. “Go and get him, please.”

Yoongi decides not to question more than that and makes his way into the kitchen. 

Jimin seems to have the important job of being a backseat driver chief as, bouncing Epik in his lap, as he noisly vocalises why he thinks Seokjin is flipping pancakes wrong. Hoseok hums along to the radio and skips around the kitchen, garnishing what looks like a stupid amount of pancakes deccorated with sugar and apples. Seokjin isn’t actually paying Jimin any mind, because he’s too busy shouting at Namjoon, who looks like he’s about to attempt to flip a pancake with his bare hands.

“What’s going on?” Yoongi slurs, voice still heavy with sleep. 

They still, Seokjin still wielding his spachelor menacingly, and then he huffs. “See, look what you’ve done, you’ve woken Yoongi up Jimin-ah.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t hear anything, I was just told to come rescue Joon-ah,” he observes the scene again, “or maybe save you from him, I’m not sure.”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon comes around the counter and feels Yoongi’s forehead, tangles their hands together. There was a time in their lives where they would have shied away from touching each other like this in front of the others, and Yoongi can’t help but bathe in the fond warmth and slight embarrassment that they don’t do that anymore. He’s embarrassed, but in a good way. “Yoongi, how are you feeling?”

Yoongi thinks for a moment, because he’s not really sure. It hurts, but there’s no bleeding yet. He’s a little out of it, but present enough to register it’s christmas and they’re together, and he’s okay. His eyes skim Namjoon’s face and down his shoulders, linger over the little gold band on his finger, and his eyes cast to the open macbook on the table. He squints and he can see it’s not open on medical papers anymore, Namjoon’s gone back to googling flower arrangements. There’s a snow fall outside, Yoongi doesn’t like driving in snow, but he doesn’t have too. He can rest, watch shitty christmas movies and kiss down the warmth of Namjoon’s neck. 

So he thinks about it, pulls on Namjoon’s arms so they wrap around him and he can shyley bury his head into Namjoon’s chest. 

“Okay.” He says.