hotel_omelas | (no subject)

Yoongi hesitates, some vaguely sober part of him still aware that he wants too much to be closer for it to be a good idea. Even like this, halfway hanging off the couch, his hair a mess, Jungkook looks good, soft color in his cheeks, his smile bright and sweet. He shouldn't even notice that, let alone sit next to him. But when Jungkook asks for something, Yoongi has too much trouble refusing for it to be worth the effort of doing so now. There may be a small, rational part of himself still questioning what he does, but it's quieter with every passing minute and every sip.

"Smart," he says with a soft laugh, gingerly pushing himself up off the floor to sit on the couch instead. "Drink lots of water, too." He's tried to do the same himself, balancing alcohol with water. As much as he wanted to be here tonight, he wants even more to make sure he's fine for tomorrow. A mall with a hangover would be a bad idea, and besides, he wants to enjoy their time together.

But he wants to enjoy this, too, he thinks, leaning his head back against the couch, tilted slightly so he can look at the younger boy, his throat exposed by the angle, blissfully languid. It's all Yoongi can do to keep his free hand in his pocket, the other curled around a bottle, so he doesn't reach out, itching just to touch him — his arm, his hand, whatever he can reach.

Stupid.

He takes another sip.

Yoongi's quiet. He hasn't been, not for the entirety of the night — if anything, alcohol seems to spur them all to action even more than mere company does. Jungkook wonders briefly if he's done something wrong, if he's disappointed his hyung by drinking. It would be a hypocritical sentiment, but Jungkook can feel sometimes that his hyungs seem to want a different course for him than the rest of them. It's why they all check on him so often, why they keep encouraging him to make the stereotypically correct choices in life.

But if that path takes him somewhere apart from his hyungs, Jungkook wants none of it. The dizziness of the moment spurs him to action, raising himself from his spot to reach for Yoongi's drink. "What's hyung drinking?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he reaches for Yoongi's bottle, kicking back a small sip.

The taste doesn't register, not with Yoongi so close. Jungkook hides his gaze behind the bottle, trying not to make a fool out of himself, new to drinking as he is. He bites down the spiciness, gently returning the drink to Yoongi's fingers, before slowly settling his head down on Yoongi's lap.

Well, fuck.

Fingers brush against Yoongi's as the drink disappears and returns, and now that there's a head in his lap, it seems even stranger to stay so removed. Tentative, he pulls his hand from his pocket, fingers lightly running through Jungkook's hair. "Peach soju," he says, as if Jungkook hasn't already had some for himself. They've all shared drinks before, countless times, but it's hard to sip from the bottle and not think of Jungkook's mouth against the glass where his is now.

He's been running around tonight, excited to be free of his studies and surrounded by friends, but sitting here with Jungkook is different, quieter. He doesn't want to let that happen, to become introspective or sullen, but he likes the quiet, too. Likes gazing down at him, so cute with his bright expression. His fingers card gently through Jungkook's hair again, grazing against his neck for a moment simply because Yoongi wants to feel his skin, soft and warm against his fingertips. He smiles, loose and easy in spite of the second guessing. "I thought you were done drinking," he teases.

The sensation of Yoongi's fingers running through his hair and tracing along his neck is enough to send a light tingling down Jungkook's spine, a sigh falling from his lips as he turns slightly towards one side to better face Yoongi. He doesn't often get to see Yoongi from this angle; it's hard to ignore the stretch of Yoongi's neck, smooth and pale, or the hint of a collarbone that peeks through the tug of his shirt. Jungkook pulls his lips between his teeth, tasting the lingering sweetness.

"Is one more sip enough to give me a hangover?" Jungkook asks, half in earnest. "Then maybe I shouldn't have. But I wanted to know what hyung was having."

Distantly, Jungkook is aware of the music roaring on, the bass vibrating and burrowing almost to his bones. It should be hard to find any calm in the chaos, but his eyes remain fixed on Yoongi, grazing over the slight curve of his lips.

"Was it wrong of me to come for drinks tonight, hyung?"

When he was drinking with Jimin earlier, Yoongi muses, they shared the bottle, passing the whiskey back and forth without a thought for it. Now he lets the glass rest against his lips a moment too long before he sips, and somewhere deep in the back of his head, deep in the thrumming of his heart, he knows this is trouble.

Maybe if he drinks enough, he can forget that by tomorrow.

He runs his hand through Jungkook's hair, at once grateful for the distraction the question provides and perplexed by it. "No," he says, shaking his head before he thinks better of the movement. "Not wrong. I'm glad you're here." Too true, a voice warns, but it would be worse to backtrack or make something of it. Besides, it is true, and he doesn't want to lie to Jungkook any more than he needs to. "I just don't want you to get sick. We have plans tomorrow, remember."

Yoongi couldn't forget. He's been looking forward to it all week, a reprieve from the mess of his mind and his stacks of textbooks. It would be a shame if one or both of them showed up hungover.

Again and again, he runs his fingers through soft hair, slow and steady, trying to ignore his growing awareness of Jungkook's head on his thigh. It's good, he tells himself, better to have Jungkook's head there than anywhere close to his own, where he might more easily slip up, even here.

The words should relax him, relieve him of the fear that he might have made an error in coming, that he might have ruined the version of Jungkook that his hyung loves so well. Instead, Jungkook feels his heart catching on those words — Yoongi's glad he's here — and he sits up a little, palm sinking into the seat of the couch. He keeps the movement slow, not only for the dizzying rush of blood through his head, but to keep Yoongi's fingers threaded through his hair for as long as he can.

"I didn't forget, hyung," he assures in a rush of breath. "That's why I almost didn't come, I didn't want to ruin our plans. We can still go, right? I've been looking forward to it all week."

The closeness registers a second later, awareness crashing over Jungkook and holding him stock still. There's a faint flush on Yoongi's cheeks, the pink creating a nice contrast with his pale complexion. His lips are still damp, presumably from the drink, and Jungkook can't fight the sudden thought — how it'd be nice to see how soft they are.

Shit. Is he staring too much? Jungkook pulls his gaze up, resting it on dark eyes and dark lashes.

"We'll still go, right?"

I've been looking forward to it all week.

When Yoongi has been, too, that shouldn't register quite as deeply as it does, but, oh, it does. It's buoying to think that Jungkook's just as excited for this as he is — a little too much so, maybe, more than a simple shopping trip warrants. He's just drunk enough now not to second-guess that, and it feels good to let himself think it might be true, even as he knows it's dangerous to consider.

Not as dangerous as this, though, Jungkook just close enough to make Yoongi want him closer still, his stomach twisting as he nods his answer. He swallows hard, licks his lips, not quite trusting his voice yet. It's impossible to look away from him, dark eyes bright and wide, and the way his lips part slightly, waiting for a response, and Yoongi wants with a sudden, sharp fierceness that he can't deny however much he might want to. It frightens him a little, but it feels good, too, to want without questioning it the way he has been or trying to pretend it away. He wonders, briefly, if the others have noticed them, what they might see if they look over, if everyone else can see or feel this tension that has to be radiating from him. For a moment, he doesn't think he cares.

"Of course," he says, soft. "I wouldn't miss it. Been thinking about it all week." He should say more, explain how nice it will be to have a break from studying or how much better it is to think of going out with a friend than to dwell on his mother, anything to mitigate the intimacy of that confession. He doesn't.

Any relief that comes from Yoongi's answer is fleeting. Alcohol makes it difficult and too easy to focus all at once, dizzy from the happiness of knowing that Yoongi's been looking forward to tomorrow, and lost in the quick motion of a tongue passing over flushed lips. His body feels uncomfortably warm — blood pounding in his ears, over the sound of the music, the thrum of the bass.

He needs to move. Shift. Do anything to relieve the tension in his body, to ignore the building pressure of denim pressed against his thigh, his legs splayed awkwardly over the cushions. He needs to move so that Yoongi won't notice, won't pull back in disgust when he realizes how sullied Jungkook's affections are. Jungkook hangs his head, the edge of a gasp on his lips. Calm down.

"Me too," he admits.

Think of anything else. Anything else.

Of the look that's passed over his father's eyes, both wary and furious, a constant threat whenever Jungkook sits across from him at the dinner table. Of the taunts from his brother, fingers dragging over his sketchbook, tearing the paper clear across the face he's taken such care to craft.

Jungkook looks up with a smile, quiet surrender as he reaches for his hyung's free hand and gives it a squeeze. "Want to dance, hyung?"

Jungkook drops his head, and Yoongi wonders why, wishes he would glance up again so that Yoongi could look at him some more. How silly, he thinks, how selfish. Like he doesn't see Jungkook all the time. Like they haven't been this close before so many times. It's different, though, like this. Everything is warm and blurred at the edges, and for once, Yoongi isn't holding himself back quite as much. He's still trying, still restraining himself from doing anything but staring, but it's nice not to hurry to curb the thoughts, too. So often he has to qualify his thoughts even to himself, and it's exhausting, he realizes now. He's so tired of not being able to look at Jungkook and simply think how beautiful he is without following it with a warning to himself.

Because he is. He's beautiful. Entrancing, really, and when he looks up again and takes his hand, Yoongi's heart stutters in his chest. He wants to touch his cheek, wants to kiss him and see if he tastes as sweet as he looks, aches with these desires, but even now, he knows he can't. It's one thing to like distant idols, safe and far away; feeling this way for someone he knows is something else. He knows his friends well enough to be certain they won't push him away if he likes boys, but that doesn't mean they wouldn't be uncomfortable if he showed it more or if they thought he liked one of them. He's too happy just being close like this, just knowing they have tomorrow. It isn't worth the risk of losing the bond they share for some stupid whim.

Yoongi squeezes back, smiles too fondly in spite of himself. "I'm not a very good dancer," he says, though it's not a no. At least if they dance, it'll just be silly and playful. It's not like they'll end up in each other's arms, pressed close together. It might be safer than sitting here is. "Should we?"

There it is, Jungkook thinks with a sigh. He's always liked this smile of Yoongi's — a quiet, fond look he gets when he lets his guard fully down. It's almost enough to stave off the shame from earlier, and Jungkook shifts his hand until their fingers lace together, using the hold to help Yoongi to his feet. And if his free arm slips around and his hand splays across Yoongi's lower back, well, that's just a way for the both of them to keep each other steady.

It's an excuse to keep Yoongi close as well, his eyes greedily drinking in every strand of hair that skims across Yoongi's forehead, the thin shadow under his eyelids that fades into dark lashes. The small mole next to his nose, close enough that he could lean forward and drop a peck there, if he wanted. (Would it be weird? Maybe it wouldn't be so weird. They've all been affectionate with each other in that way, quick pecks pressed against occasionally unwilling cheeks.)

"Are any of us actually good, other than Hoseokie hyung and Jiminie hyung?" Jungkook laughs, heady with excitement as he starts to whirl the both of them around, following no particular beat or melody. "Jimin told me earlier that I don't have the butt for dancing, so I'm doomed anyway."

Yoongi wasn't expecting this kind of dancing, something a little closer than the loose and silly playing around he envisioned. Jungkook's hand at his back is warm and steady, and it leaves Yoongi feeling a little weak, wishing he were closer still, properly in Jungkook's arms. If he leans his head on his shoulder, would that be weird? Could he pretend he's just sleepy from drinking?

"What?" he asks, when the statement registers, brow furrowing in confusion, even indignation. "There's nothing wrong with your butt." It's a good butt, actually, but he's not that far gone that he'd say so out loud. "I like your butt," he says instead, which is even worse, though at least he's pretty sure his cheeks were already flushed from the liquor. Maybe Jungkook won't notice how red he is. Just in case, he steps back, holding their hands up to twirl Jungkook, like that might prevent him from looking too closely. "What a silly thing for him to say."

Jungkook snickers at the foolishness of the moment, stumbling briefly before finally finding the footing to do a proper turn. He lowers his hand, no longer braced against Yoongi's back, until he's able to give his own butt a firm pat, demonstrating the flatness. Yoongi's probably right — there's nothing wrong with his butt in that it gets the job of sitting done. The flatness is probably cute to see on the maknae of the group.

"I might be twisting his words a little," Jungkook admits, trying to keep the world from spinning as he lifts his arm to encourage Yoongi to twirl in turn. "I was trying that butt-shaking dance, the uh — twerking. I'm probably only a step above Namjoonie hyung."

He waits until the twirl is complete before dropping both hands to Yoongi's waist, enjoying the feel of obliques under his palms.

"...ah, but I don't know if I can picture hyung twerking either," Jungkook muses, pursing his lips.

Yoongi laughs, brow raising at that, and he's thankful for the distraction, the sheer, stupid joy of the moment. "Ah, don't even try," he says. "It'll never happen. I'll leave that to Jimin." It's the kind of thing Jimin and Hoseok could pull off if they wanted. They're both better at that kind of thing, more comfortable in their bodies than Yoongi is, and he can imagine either of them twerking and laughing, not minding if they look silly at it. It must be nice.

He, on the other hand, is standing here, swaying slightly, with Jungkook's hands at his waist and no idea where to put his own. After a moment of hesitation, he rests them on Jungkook's arms, though he's tempted to move them higher, to step closer. But what then? To be pressed against him like that would only invite trouble.

Then again, the slight distance is enough for him to get a good look at Jungkook, to take a careful inventory of his features from the slope of his forehead to the tiny freckle just beneath his lip. He's not much taller than Yoongi yet, though that might still change. Right now, it puts them on almost even footing. He shouldn't stare so much. It's too obvious. "You're growing too tall," he says, pouting slightly. "That's unfair."

They're not exactly dancing anymore, at least not in the traditional sense. The music is too quick and raucous for what they're doing now, with their hands resting where they are, but Jungkook finds himself reluctant to let go. There aren't really many opportunities that surface like this. Alcohol grants permission to throw caution to the wind, if only for a moment.

Yoongi's comment is a welcome distraction, Jungkook throwing his head back with a soft laugh. It hasn't escaped Jungkook's notice that he's been climbing the ranks among his brothers — obvious in moments when he rushes up to hug his hyungs from behind, and finds that his chin doesn't quite sit on their shoulders in the same way as before, or when his hyungs' arms aren't able to envelop him as fully anymore.

Someday, such memories will feel more nostalgic, but he can't deny the rush of satisfaction for now. It's nice to be on even footing.

He tilts his head back down, leaning forward to briefly press his forehead to Yoongi's. "Does that mean I can't be your cute dongsaeng anymore?" he teases, a wide grin on his lips.

He's so close, it would be the work of a moment for Yoongi to tip his head up and kiss him, and he hates how badly he wants that — so much so that, when Jungkook pulls back, his head moves instinctively to follow, tilting to try and keep him near. In a way, the panic that blooms in his stomach at the realization of what he's done is even more familiar than the lingering desire, almost comfortable in its familiarity. When they're this close, when he's doing things like that, there's no way one of the other boys won't notice, and then what? Worse, Jungkook might notice, might start to realize that his hyung has feelings he shouldn't have, might push him away. No more quiet chats, no more tiny touches, no more afternoons at the piano.

It takes him a moment too long to answer, his heart beating too hard. "Don't be ridiculous," he says. "Getting taller won't make you any older. Or less cute." Or less mine. If he's a bit more wistful about that than he should be, maybe he can attribute it to drunken nostalgia. Isn't it his responsibility as the elder to take care of Jungkook? Not to try and get him all twisted up the way Yoongi is, to want to lure him into something that would be trouble for them both. He isn't his. He can't be, and it's stupid of him to think that way, even for a moment.

There's a split second where Yoongi's body nearly pitches forward, and it'd be so simple for Jungkook to meet him halfway — requiring no more than a tilt of his head. Maybe he'd get away with it, too. Write it off as tipsy stumbling, or even a drunken whim. He's young enough that he might get away with that, with a cute little peck, only slightly apart from where it's normally directed on the curve of his hyung's cheek.

But that's not the kind of kiss Jungkook wants. His stomach lurches with how easily the images conjure now, with the two of them standing so close to one another — how all he'd have to do is pivot them back towards the wall, guiding with the hands currently gripped around Yoongi's waist. How he could so easily slide one up along the folds of Yoongi's shirt, up to cup the curve of Yoongi's cheek, brush his thumb against the flush blooming there.

Jungkook's fingers twitch at the thought, a couple slipping under the hem of Yoongi's shirt, pausing stock still against the warmth of his skin.

He's so foolish, isn't he? Even as Yoongi's putting him in his place, no older, no less cute. Just an adorable little brother.

"I'll always be cute, huh?" he asks, tilting his chin down a touch, strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

Jungkook’s fingers trace along his skin and stay there, and Yoongi’s breath hitches in response, catches in his throat. The touch is so soft, he could tell himself he was imagining it if it weren’t for the lingering warmth of fingertips against his bare skin, small and hidden. It’s an innocent slip, he knows, but the part of him that was trying to figure out a way to break the hold goes silent and still, eclipsed by the part of him figuring out how to stay like this.

How to get more.

“Cute,” he agrees softly. “And too handsome, aish. You’ll make the rest of us look bad.” It is the most casual way he can think of to tell the truth, better than confessing, than saying, I look at you and I can’t breathe. Better than simply saying beautiful. He’s not sure that’s a compliment Jungkook would even want, the word so traditionally feminine, but it’s true. Those perfect cheekbones, those soft pink lips, the long slope of his neck — everything about him is lovely, is beautiful.

Fuck, he’s so fucking lost.

The words are as much of a tease as any touch could be. Handsome. Yoongi thinks him handsome, even in comparison to the other boys. It'd be so easy to close his eyes, to imagine those words coming from another context. Jungkook doesn't let himself dream often, not of this — not when this dream could so easily fade into a nightmare — but he gives himself a moment now, eyes fluttering to a close. He's not sure how much of the dizziness he can really blame on the drinks.

His balance isn't actually shot, but with his eyes closed, he can pretend. Just the tiniest of stumbles, one that cause his fingers to drag a little bit higher. Shame starts to course across his skin, palms growing clammy. This isn't okay. He shouldn't take advantage of Yoongi's doting.

Jungkook allows himself a glance, hates himself for it. The way Yoongi's eyes look, hooded with drink. Lips parted just enough that Jungkook could lean down, trace his tongue along the curve.

"There's no way anyone could make hyung look bad," he retorts. "Yoongi hyung's the appealing one."

There are little things Yoongi has tucked away in his memory, that he pulls out to revisit from time to time, though he's only half-conscious of having done so. He tries not to turn to them too often. There's nothing useful or helpful in thinking of them, remembering how happy Jungkook looked when he got a particularly tricky piece right, how he said Yoongi was his favorite. This is something else, something that he's going to turn over again and again in his head, he knows. He's living in the middle of a memory already, the kind that crops up at the most inconvenient moments, that surfaces when he's supposed to be studying. He'll sit over his textbooks and think of this, how easily he could have turned this moment into more. How good it feels to think Jungkook finds him attractive, to have his hands on his body like this.

It's just a compliment, a kind remark, some kind of false modesty, but it's utterly heady coupled with the hands at his waist. Yoongi sways a little, unsteady, and lets out a soft, disbelieving sound. "You only say that because I'm your favorite," he murmurs, trying to tease, fairly certain he's falling short. Mostly he just likes the way it sounds, selfishly wants to hear it again, or coax another compliment from Jungkook. Even if it's nothing, innocent, purely platonic, it's something to hold on to. This whole night, this absurd dance, is something he'll be thinking of for a long time, in ways he probably shouldn't.

Jungkook hums in consideration, letting himself focus on the steady sway and the vibration of the bass. He's not sure how they've managed to stay uninterrupted in this corner for so long. He's also not sure he cares. His fingers tremble briefly before they find their rhythm, tracing an invisible circle on Yoongi's side, just above the cut of his hip.

Maybe if the conversation stays light, just like this. Maybe with the haze of alcohol, heady and warm. Maybe Yoongi won't notice if Jungkook lingers.

"You are my favorite," Jungkook agrees, his brows lifting with a smile. "But that doesn't make it less true."

He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. "Hey... does that mean that you're only calling me handsome because I'm your dongsaeng? That hurts, hyung."

If Yoongi thought Jungkook had any reason to know how he feels, he'd call this cruel, a deliberate tease, but he's pretty sure that's not the case. He's hidden this as best he can. Anyway, if Jungkook knew, surely he would have reacted by now, not waited to get drunk and torture him for it.

In spite of himself, Yoongi closes his eyes, letting himself just feel it for a moment, the heady combination of Jungkook's words and his touch. He has to be careful or he'll give himself away, but it's too nice not to enjoy it just for a little while. He could get lost in this so easily, already tempted to touch Jungkook's cheek or lean his forehead against his for a moment. He slides his hands higher instead, rests his arms on Jungkook's shoulders, hand brushing the nape of his neck. It brings them a little closer, and he knows that's reckless. He doesn't care.

"Don't be hurt," he says. He's been given an out, but it doesn't occur to him to take it. "I mean it. I don't say things just to say them."

He glances up just in time to catch Yoongi's eyes sliding to a close. It gives Jungkook an excuse to stare again, even though he swears he can't seem to hold his gaze for long without his chest growing tight. All it would take is a step forward, to move his hands a few inches higher, and he'd know, if only for a second, what it would be like to hold Yoongi. To no longer be running — either after Yoongi, or from himself.

"I hope so," he murmurs on a sigh. He hopes that he can continue to have this, if nothing else — the feeling of being precious to Yoongi, of being his favorite. Of being someone Yoongi can be proud of. "I really like you, hyung."

The words slip out, soft and unbidden. Jungkook can't bring himself to take them back, but somewhere in the back of his mind, the unease settles. He can't say something like this and keep on hanging. Disgusting, he can hear his stepfather spitting out the word.

His fingers slide back down, safely over fabric. "Should we sit? I'm feeling dizzy."

Yoongi exhales heavily at that, swallows hard, nods. It's a disappointment and a relief all at once. As desperately as he wants to stay like this, wants to get closer still, hanging onto Jungkook's words, it's not safe. Another moment and he would have said it back and meant it too much, and he doesn't know if he could have safely said how much he likes Jungkook without it being obvious that he doesn't just mean as a friend.

Instead, he gets this, his stomach twisting with regret as Jungkook's hand moves away, the bright music suddenly more noticeable again, too fast for what they've been doing. He doesn't dare think that means anything, though Jungkook has been just as absorbed in the dance as he has. They're just drunk and he's stupid, that's all, and it's some kind of miracle their friends haven't noticed or commented. He couldn't bear to be teased about this; Taehyung at the least would have gotten too close to the truth.

Fingers brushing against Jungkook's neck one more time, because he can't quite help himself, he steps slowly back. "Then we'd better sit," he says. "I think I am, too. We should — we should sit." Just because they've stopped dancing doesn't mean they can't still be close, he tells himself. He shouldn't hope for that, but the possibility of it feels like the only thing that keeps him moving as he reaches for Jungkook's hand to lead him to the couch.

The faintest of brushes against his neck sends a rush of warm across his skin, twisting somewhere lower. He lets his eyes flutter to a close, even though the touch is brief enough that by the time he blinks, it's gone — little more than a figment of his imagination. God, he wants, and it has Jungkook easily following Yoongi's lead, desperate not to lose hold. Sitting will make it easier to hide, anyway. No one will question if he sits directly by Yoongi's side, if he gets a little too close. There's the alcohol and drowsiness to blame.

Jungkook turns his hand, not quite linking palm to palm, but threading his fingers clumsily with Yoongi's. "Sit and… drink water, or something," he murmurs absentmindedly, eyes trying to scan the area for any bottles laying around. All he finds is green, which is tempting in its own right — to dip just a little bit deeper and capitalize on the alcohol.

In the end he reaches for neither, flopping back on the couch and grasping Yoongi's hand, waiting until the other boy settles before letting go. A second later, he raises his arm and gently lowers it onto Yoongi's shoulders, pulling his hyung closer.

"I don't think I can handle my alcohol well," he sighs.

Jungkook pulls him closer and Yoongi lets him, settling in against his side. After a moment's hesitation, he lets himself rest his head on Jungkook's shoulder, letting out a little sigh. "I don't think I can either," he lies. It seems like a good excuse for all of this, a reason he can just cuddle up against his dongsaeng without drawing negative attention. Truthfully, he knows he's drunk, but it took him a while to get here, probably longer than it did for Jungkook. He has more experience on his side, he figures. Still, he can lean into it, pretend the alcohol has gone too much to his head. That's all this is, just a drunken whim. It's fine. They're always all physically affectionate with each other anyway; no one will question him being more so while drinking.

He hopes so, at least.

There's nowhere really for him to put his arm comfortably like this, sandwich between them, which feels like as good an excuse as any to reach out and rest his hand on Jungkook's thigh.

"You need practice," he murmurs, laughing a little. "But not too much."