Archive of Our Own

He’s dreamed of this before.

Of a sparkling night full of moving jewels and expensive fabrics.

Of a room filled with hazy conversations and buoyant music.

Of a beautiful prince appearing on the stairwell in the middle of a golden palace, with a smile brighter than the lights that dance amongst the crowd, and eyes that hold the moonlight’s reflection on the blackest sea.

He’s longed for this for a while now.

For a rush that electrifies his soul with just one look, a beckoning, and melts his knees in a way that’s spurring.

For a secret moment between two hearts, connecting even when they’re several feet away, peaceful in each other’s presence even with the clink and clatter from the horde of nameless folks.

A glass drops on the tiled floor, so-called friends complain about the early morning trigonometry class tomorrow, boys and girls whistle nonsense in the kitchen with their drinking games, and Seokjin slowly and surely wakes up to reality—that his feet are planted on the floor of his flatmate’s house, that the jewels on his schoolmates’ skin are beads of sweat and splashes of liquor, that he is frozen at the foot of the staircase while staring up at his best friend, and that his heart is bursting out of his chest when he meets his smile.

No, Yoongi is not a prince who lives in a fancy castle that hosts the most expensive and shiny chandeliers. Yoongi is a literature nerd who thinks wearing a brown corduroy vest on top of a plaid black and white shirt constitutes as a perfect house party outfit.

"It’s stylish,” he’d say as he tried one on at the department store with Seokjin three days ago. “Prim gentlemen wear vests at soirées.” At which Seokjin had rolled his eyes to mask the fond smile he caught himself giving Yoongi through the fitting room mirror.

One exists in fantasy; one is with flesh. But what difference does the boundary between real-life and reverie make, really, when Seokjin is looking at only one person, and feeling sparks ignite within and around him all the same?

"You're here."

"Of course, you asked me to come."

Two girls run past them and up the stairs where Yoongi stands a step higher than Seokjin, and where Seokjin can trace the moles on his nose and cheek, and count the small strands of his lower lashes more precisely. In the midst of Yoongi's sweet smile, Seokjin wants to say 'I'm here. I'm always here for you.' or 'You look perfect tonight.' or 'The funky vest makes you look like a princely prince, I like it.'

But Yoongi beats him to it. He always does. "Cool shirt. Did you tie that tie?" His eyes fall onto Seokjin's pink short-sleeved dress shirt, gaze lingering at the center of his chest where his white necktie hangs loose, fastened messily.

And Seokjin knows that he's not a noble duke nor a knight in shining armor. Seokjin is a film major who's still too shy to hold eye contact during impromptu sessions in class, a homebody who got his prescription glasses at 12 years old from gaming too much, a simple guy who wears a necktie to social events as he thinks it's only proper, even though his crooked fingers cannot form the right knot no matter how many times he tries. He knows he's not any better than the guys that run around Yoongi's house tonight, and he doesn't mind, but for Yoongi, he's willing to strive.

Seokjin presses a hand on his chest and, with a sense of pride, he says, "It's silk. I sure hope I don't spill anything on it tonight." Then with heightened anticipation, he asks, "Do you like it?"

The curve on the corners of Yoongi's lips makes Seokjin smile. From his point of view, Yoongi's eyes shimmer like the seabed under a starry sky, a sea he wants to swim in all day and all night, if he may. To his right, a small group of familiar boys stops by to stare him down with their judging looks, snickering among themselves before walking away, but not without giving a snide remark that Seokjin never not hears being said to and about him on the daily.

"Lame!"

If this was three years ago, the hurt would have seeped in his bones and eaten up his esteem like it's worm food. But Seokjin is grown now, and he's met Yoongi since then, his best friend who clicks his tongue and threatens to wreak havoc on a bully's life with brash words, the same person who never fails to remind Seokjin of the beautiful things about himself.

The one who always turns Seokjin away from negative energy, and who, at that moment, gets Seokjin to stiffen and dissolve at the same time as careful hands find their way around his collar.

Yoongi looks calm as he fixes Seokjin's tie; his hold light, fingers moving in practiced harmony, twists and tugs gentle. It almost feels intimate, as though they're the only people in the room. So close that Seokjin can see the pore bumps on Yoongi's neck. So much so, that he's afraid of Yoongi sensing how loud and fast his pulses are hammering under his skin.

Hence, like usual, he deviates. Like usual, he does his best to hide it. "Well, at least he didn't call me stupid this time," he joshes, meaning it, and tries to look away. Ultimately, though, he fails.

"I like it." Yoongi meets his gaze with a quipped grin after he's done with the tie. Then he dusts off Seokjin's shirt by his shoulder blades and marvels at his work, flattening the knot. He keeps his hand there, pressed onto Seokjin's chest where his heart beats, and says, "It's not lame, it's cool. Everything you do is cool, hyung."

And Seokjin most certainly loses his voice for a moment, and finds himself getting lost in Yoongi's eyes—feels as if he has been for a thousand lifetimes over.

"You too," he stammers, chest heaving underneath Yoongi's touch. His eyes fall to trace the texture on Yoongi's clothing, as if doing so would help hide the blush that blooms across his ears and neck. "Cool party vest. Very fancy, and fitting for prancing on the dancefloor. Very prim of you, Mr. Gentleman."

Seokjin has not intended it fully, but he makes Yoongi laugh nonetheless. His marble eyes disappear into half moons, craters appearing at its corners and transforming into whiskers of a kitten. Cherries subtly pop out of his cheeks, reddish in hue, bursting with color. And his smile—radiant and lovely and oh, so pretty. Seokjin could keep looking at it for all eternity and never tire. He would give anything to see it shine, just as much as he would fight anyone who dares take it away.

"What are you saying, silly?" When Yoongi is overcome with glee, he heralds it with his whole body. He lets his weight spill onto Seokjin, palms squeezing his ribs tighter, holding on longer, and leaves Seokjin with no choice but to grasp his arms to keep him steady.

"Why do you laugh at me, mortal?" he follows through, now with his own share of squeaky giggles that blend in with the party's house music. Yoongi breathes in the remainder of his laughter and Seokjin finds the courage to take his hands in his and usher him forward, toward him. Heart on his sleeve, Seokjin lets go of all rhyme and reason, and with a hopeful smile, he beckons, "Dance with me?"

Yoongi trips as he steps down, but Seokjin's tight hold keeps him up. Now, he stands a few inches shorter than Seokjin again, and Seokjin allows a pleased smile to grace his face as he gazes down at Yoongi. Now, Seokjin can clearly see that the apples of Yoongi's cheeks are staying red. Now, Seokjin has the perfect angle to plant a chaste kiss on the space between Yoongi's brow bone and temple.

Instead, he squeezes Yoongi's hand to keep himself from thinking about it, and wonders what Yoongi could be fostering in his mind at that time.

Yoongi—who blinks at Seokjin's lips for a second before flicking away.

"How do you even dance to this music?" he mumbles gingerly, looking around as if he'll find the right moves to use for disco-rock remixes from the objects that scatter on the floor. Still, he doesn't pull his hands back, and Seokjin musters all of his confidence from that.

The lights flicker red, orange, yellow, green and blue, and shoot purple, pink and indigo lasers from across the living room. The couch is packed with animation guys playing, betting on cards. The corner shelves are columned with jocks making out with sorority girls and boys. Buckets of illegally acquired beer are being passed around overhead. And Seokjin is pulling Yoongi by the hand to join him in the middle of it all, amid the skins and sweats that jive to the beat and the moment, to dance off-beat as if nobody's watching.

"Hyung, what are you doing?" Yoongi chimes in with a delighted beam as Seokjin flings their interconnected arms in the air. "Why do you wanna dance so badly?"

Seokjin is loving the view. He's loving the warmth of Yoongi's palms over his own. He's loving the way Yoongi's face glistens as it colors. He loves experiencing his firsts with best friend, loves having the time of his life with him like this—where he can make Yoongi smile like the sun, and brush his thumbs over his knuckles without a care in the world.

"You keep saying that this is a soirée, so we're making the most out of it," Seokjin shouts over the noise, leaning forward a little, close to Yoongi's ear so he can hear him better. "Gotta use these fancy party outfits for what they're for!"

Yoongi lets out bubbles of laughter before Seokjin could pull back, and the latter almost bridles him in his arms to keep them from escaping; keep them in his heart, safe and sound.

"Soirées are nothing like this!" Yoongi shouts back, letting himself be swayed by Seokjin to the bass beats, cackling in between pauses. "They require a fancier set-up, and it's usually intimate, not this wild. And I don't know how to dance to these songs!"

Seokjin's feet have a life of their own and they refuse to move to the beat. But his arms are beyond careful as they hold another’s pair, doing their best to tango to a melody, conscious of a delicate partner. "Don't worry, Mr. Min," he says as he pulls Yoongi close where they're almost chest to chest, and whispers in a hitch of a breath, "I'll lead,” before releasing the grip on his right hand and letting Yoongi twirl under the pin of his left.

Yoongi stumbles a little at the last turn but Seokjin catches him securely by the waist, unwittingly meeting his gaze just inches away. They keep it there for a moment, reading, feeling as the music fades through rushing heartbeats, eyes tracing the lines of each other's faces in the afterglow. An irresistible spark ignites in the gap between them, something that Seokjin would like to hold on to for a while, and it’s somewhere between the lines of take me away, be with me and stay with me for longer, forever, if you could.

The music is on an interval when Yoongi moves first, pacing his breath as though he's held it in for a long time, and he relaxes inside Seokjin's grasp, unfaltering. Meanwhile, Seokjin's heart races at how Yoongi settles within his reach, so tempered and guarded down, that Seokjin thinks he could just sweep him off his feet and kiss him, right there and then.

It’s when Yoongi jolts that Seokjin regrets ever hesitating. His breath drops, and his arms suddenly feel cold when Yoongi unclasps himself from the hold.

“Wait here, okay?” Yoongi’s tone is a bit exasperated, as though he just finished a sprint that happened only in his head while standing still in reality. He steps back, ready to dash toward somewhere, but waiting for Seokjin to answer him before he goes.

Seokjin is frozen in time, body lamenting on a missed chance. In his mind, he is pulling Yoongi back in his arms in a tight embrace, never letting go. Blood rushes back to his head when Yoongi leans forward and peers from below his lashes where Seokjin meets his gaze—filled with wonder and tenderness, and a certain kind of reassurance that Seokjin didn’t know he needed until Yoongi was showing it to him.

Amid the chatter echoing throughout these walls, Yoongi’s voice is vivid when he asks, “Do you trust me, hyung?” A safeguard inquiry; a telltale look on his face. “Will you trust me?”

Seokjin doesn’t know what it means, or what it does, but he knows the answer to that question even if it isn’t asked. Slowly, he nods. Surely, he responds, “Yes." Yes, I do.

Yoongi lets out a small smile, then he turns and disappears.

And Seokjin stays. He waits—patiently—like a child in line for his favorite chocolate-flavored ice cream; zealous heart making his toes tip as he cranes his neck to spot a brown vest. His thoughts usher Yoongi back, come back, come here, I can't wait to see you again, come back to me. Excitement persists in his nerves, and he's hopeful—quite like nothing he's ever felt before.

A new song starts to play, and this time, it's laid-back, tempo slow, instantly shifting the mood to mellow. People that jumped up and down to house music a minute ago have been replaced with couples slow dancing under a pacified mirrorball. Seokjin looks around him, turns, and folds his shoulders forward like it's a shield. Suddenly, he feels out of place.

The slow rock begins its vocals—a sweet and tender melody—and that's when Yoongi emerges from a corner across the hallway, rubbing his hands together like they're cold as he approaches Seokjin's direction. Then he takes a deep breath before finally facing forward and meeting Seokjin's gaze with a soft smile on his face. Forward, and forward, until he stops, returning to where he was as though he never left.

Seokjin doesn't know what to do. His heart is caught in his throat. His hands—his arms that held Yoongi moments ago—frantic in their stead.

This time, it’s Yoongi who takes them in his, moving a step closer, diminishing the gap between them to a hair's breadth.

Seokjin watches as it unfolds before him—wonderstruck—as Yoongi carefully places Seokjin’s arms over his shoulders, resting them there in such a way that they could trail around his nape. Then Yoongi takes another step forward, just a little, so he can fold his own hands loosely around Seokjin’s waist, knuckles clasping the fabric of Seokjin’s shirt to keep them both steady, seemingly cautious—more nervous—about skin to skin contact. But he somehow finds the courage to look up, albeit awkwardly, and face Seokjin with cheeks blooming like peonies in springtime.

The music continues to its refrain, and it’s then that Seokjin realizes that the song playing is one of his favorites from a rock band that he loves; a tiny detail about him that only his best friend would know.

He catches Yoongi’s gaze for a second, just for a second, before they both turn away and stiffen. Seokjin would have begun talking about bits and pieces of the TV show he remembers hearing the song from recently, if not for Yoongi’s hands easing up and flexing on his torso, sliding down just shy of his hips, palms firm yet heedful as they knead against small spaces on Seokjin’s sides. Like magic, it reminds him to breathe.

“Hyung,” Yoongi ushers, tugging gently, tilting his head toward Seokjin, but looking away, still. They both are. “Dance with me.”

The chorus starts on cue, and Yoongi starts swaying from left to right, right to left. His feet stay in place, but they slowly pace from side to side. He moves like this on repeat—in tune with the music, in tune with Seokjin's heartbeat.

Close to him, Seokjin stands in a transient spell, stuck in the dizzying haze of Yoongi's energy, in a realm of possibilities. Before long, he finds himself swaying along with him, his hands relaxing on his shoulders, pulses curling along his neckline, electrifying and light and easy, all the same.

With a deep breath, they settle in each other's air, quiet in the moment of tenderness. In this silence, Seokjin feels everything all at once; the rush in his bones, the truth in his heart, the soft pads of Yoongi's touch through his shirt. It doesn't get any better than this. And as stars in his heart align, Seokjin thinks that it must be named for what it is, for what it has been all along, a dream that doesn't need to come true as it already is—for what it's worth. Love.

"Okay?" Yoongi asks in a hushed tone, warm breath brushing against Seokjin's neck like a candle's smoke, soothing.

Lovely , Seokjin wants to say, this is lovely. He nods, smiling, head in the clouds, and inquires back, “Are you?” Joshes, “Do you come here often?”

Headlights from cars on the street strike past the windows as Yoongi lets out a ravished grin. “You’re on my property, actually.”

“Ohhh, yeah?”

“Yes. I wonder how you got in. Must be that fancy tie.”

“No, I think it’s my handsome face.”

“Hmm, you’re right. You look very handsome tonight, hyung.”

And there it is again: flowers glowing at the center of Seokjin's chest. “Why— Thank you,” he stammers, quite uncharacteristically. “You look very fine tonight too, mister.”

“Thanks,” says Yoongi tinily. “My best friend always calls me a nerd, though.”

It’s a different kind of glee, altogether. “My best friend calls me a dork five times a day. Mind you, he’s younger than me.”

"By three months."

"Still."

“Your best friend is a coward, that’s why.” A seemingly disarming scoff escapes Yoongi; his forehead dipping into Seokjin’s shoulder to cast about for support, resting in warmth, in solace.

Hands naturally inch tighter in their lock, like threads closing after a perfect sew. Seokjin takes a deep breath, gobbling everything in. "Did you hijack your brother's house party playlist for this song?"

Yoongi mirrors it slowly. “He is using my speakers, and he chose to have a party on our weekly movie night, of all days, so he owes me,” he complains, but with a hint of satisfaction in the way he sighs. “Are you impressed?"

A loud thump echoes within the walls of Seokjin's ribs. He laughs it off and instead animatedly answers with, "Yoongi, what are you doing?" mimicking how Yoongi sounded when he was the one reacting to Seokjin's silly dance moves from earlier, making his shoulders shudder as he cackles. Seokjin adores every bit of that." Why do you wanna dance so badly? "

"I do not sound like that," Yoongi protests spritely, clutching onto Seokjin's shirt to avoid squeezing his sides. "I'm just making the most out of this entire night, like you said. This vest deserves to experience a fancy night somehow."

Seokjin snorts, endeared. "Soirée-obsessed classic literature nerd."

"That I am," Yoongi affirms faintly as he leans in—closer—his chin lightly brushing against Seokjin's collarbone. And then, it's quiet again, both untroubled by the ruckus that surround them.

They move in sync, hands crawling around each other inch by inch, slowly closing gaps they've held onto for so long.

Seokjin angles himself forward this time, wanting to soak in Yoongi's company even more. He is greedy of his best friend, he admits; guilty of such selfishness. But he's willing to surrender himself to it tonight. Just for tonight, if he may.

"You can lean on me, Yoongi," he whispers, and the soft scent of musk briefly clouds his air when Yoongi rests his head on his shoulder.

It feels natural—the way Yoongi's hands trail along the small of Seokjin's back before he wraps his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of his neck, sighing contentedly, melting into place, and how Seokjin takes Yoongi in, securing his shoulders in a snug embrace, cradling him tenderly, safely.

It's as though it had been like that all along; years and years of practiced touches, complimenting and considerate of one another, mindful of each other's rhythm, as though they have been doing this all their lives. Souls connecting to complete a puzzle; slow dancing to the beat of their hearts.

The second verse comes to an end, the guys playing cards on the couch yell out profanities in triumph, and Seokjin is all about Yoongi. He's memorized plenty of things about his best friend over the years, but it feels as though he’s stepping on new territory, a sacred ground he braves to protect, and that he's terrified of losing.

He wonders if it's okay to be feeling this way about his best friend; if it's okay for Yoongi to know about how Seokjin feels about him; if Yoongi will let Seokjin fall in love with him like this; if Yoongi feels the same way.

"The song is ending," Yoongi softly speaks.

"Yeah…" Seokjin tightens his hold, cheek pressing against the crown of Yoongi's head to keep him there. He doesn't want it to end. "Yoongi?" Maybe it doesn't have to end.

"Hmm?"

"This is really nice."

"Isn't it?"

"I wish we could do this again."

Yoongi laughs, and Seokjin swears his skin jumps in delight at the sound of it. "Oh, so you're into this kind of thing? Do you want me to ask my brother to schedule another house party? Though I'm not so sure when mom and dad will be out so we can have it like this again."

Seokjin's throat throbs at the thought of saying what's on his mind, but his yearning heart is taking him to where he ought to be, giving him a little push toward homeland, toward Yoongi. He leans in closer so his lips fall near Yoongi's ear. Though quite hesitantly, still testing the waters, but ultimately making sure the latter hears him when he carefully says, "I don't mind if it's just the two of us."

"Oh," voices Yoongi faintly, and Seokjin can feel him stiffening beneath his hold. But the latter doesn't know which is which anymore. His own heart is racing like a stallion at full speed, palms sweaty as he holds his breath in, hearing nothing but the drums in his chest and the final hook of the love song playing in the background.

"Do you mean it?" Yoongi asks.

"Do you trust me?" Seokjin answers.

The song fades into black and white, and so is the bubble of fantasy that engulfs them. They stop swaying, hands and arms that lock around each other slowly break loose. For a moment, Seokjin fears the aftermath of a time of happiness. For a moment, he lets go of Yoongi as though he's a flame that's too delicate and dangerous to touch. But then Yoongi takes his hands to hold and to intertwine with his own, to not let go of the night—not let go of Seokjin.

Colors burst at the center of Seokjin's chest when he looks up to meet Yoongi's eyes, sparkling like fireworks as they crease into half-moons for a blissful smile. They twinkle at the edges as his nose scrunches when he laughs, and that is enough for Seokjin to finally decide that he is going to kiss his best friend tonight. He smiles back, and his bones melt from the upshot of a heartfelt confession.

"I trust you," Yoongi whispers behind a tight-lipped, knowing grin, but Seokjin hears him nonetheless. His gaze trickles down until it reaches Seokjin's lips, and he inches closer.

The heavy drumbeats reverberate in every nerve of Seokjin's body. Like a mirror, he moves forward, closer until their noses touch, until their chests heave as one, until their lips almost brush. Almost , if not for the beats from the speakers booming back inside the house ten times louder than earlier. Suddenly, everybody around them is jumping up and down, knocking them out of their trance, and dancing as though they are out of their minds, crazily lost in party rock music again, getting more and more inebriated as the night deepens.

In the midst of this chaos, Seokjin presses his forehead against Yoongi's as he breathes out a peeved smile, letting his melted knees recover from a missed kiss. Just the same, Yoongi chuckles.

When Seokjin leans back to look at his best friend, he also sees his soulmate, his person, his prince, someone to hold and safeguard, someone to love. Seokjin sees Yoongi, and Yoongi only, and he thinks that there's never been a more beautiful view than this.

His hands clasp tighter around Yoongi's when he asks through the noise, "Do you wanna get out of here?"

Yoongi smiles as he answers, "I thought you'd never ask." His curtsy makes Seokjin laugh, and they run hand in hand toward the staircase, past sweats and bodies and clutter they could worry about cleaning up later, and up Yoongi's room where it's just the two of them, alone together, just as it's always been.