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Jimin isn't honestly sure where his dad is. It's on a notepad somewhere, a hastily scribbled hotel and address, but he doesn't care enough to go looking. His mom's out, too. She'd texted him earlier in the evening, a quick, I'll be working late. There's sixty thousand won in the desk upstairs for dinner.

But it's not dinner Jimin's interested in.

He's known the location of the liquor cabinet for the past three years. He doesn't always take advantage, tries to pretend to be the good boy he's supposed to be, the one who only sometimes gets in trouble when he's not inside a hospital.

But sometimes...

There's a bottle of opened grapefruit soju that he finishes off first all by himself. His cheeks warm and flushed, he considers the C1 Blue before sending the text, waits a few minutes, then grins when he gets the replies. Minutes later, he's opening it and taking a quick swig, sinking back into his chair as he waits for his friends.

It's always more fun when he's not alone.

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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."

The remark catches Jungkook by surprise. For some reason, he always defaults to assuming that Yoongi would enjoy any pastime that feels adult in nature — whether it be drinking, intimacy, or anything else. Most of them seem like activities that one gets better at with practice. But Jungkook can't complain, not when the few drinks have been enough to soften Yoongi like this, quiet and affectionate, drawing closer to Jungkook now than he has during any of their practice sessions.

It's cute.

Jungkook turns just a touch when he feels the weight on his shoulder, tilts his head just enough to rest his nose against the soft strands of Yoongi's hair. From here, it's impossible to miss Yoongi's scent, slightly sweet with sweat. Closing his eyes, Jungkook takes another deep breath, then lets out a slow sigh, a few of Yoongi's locks tickling his nose.

"I'd practice with you," Jungkook mumbles, voice thick and drowsy.

Something brushes against the top of his head, and Yoongi smiles, eyes falling shut. Part of him wants to pull back so he can see if Jungkook looks as sweetly sleepy as he sounds, but he doesn't dare move, not when this is so nice. Curling up against him like this, it's warm and safe and the worst thing Yoongi's mind has to offer up now is that, sooner or later, this has to end. But what does that matter? He's always figured it would never even start, that he'd never get to know how it feels to have Jungkook hold him. He can't even bring himself to stop when the impulse strikes to turn a little more and drape his arm across Jungkook's waist. It's as close as he'll ever get, he thinks, and maybe it's enough, at least for now.

"Okay," he says, quiet, a conversation still meant just for two. "We can practice." It's not even an empty promise. It's a mistake, probably — even like this, he knows getting drunk with Jungkook anywhere but surrounded by their friends would be a bad idea, that it would be harder for him to rein himself in without knowing they can see — but it's one he'd follow through on all the same. If it means even the smallest chance of getting to do this again, he'll do it. He laughs a little, turning his head just enough to brush his nose against Jungkook's neck. "Do you think it'll make us better dancers?"

At first, the movement sends a jolt of fear to Jungkook's stomach, worried that Yoongi has finally had enough, that he's interested in getting back to the fun and making sure the other boys aren't feeling neglected or lacking in company. Instead, he feels Yoongi's breath fanning across the skin of his neck, sending a shiver down Jungkook's spine, and an arm slung casually over his waist — perfect and too damned high all at once. Jungkook's breath quickens, a quiet buzzing ringing through his ears before he goes for it, shifting his arm to pull Yoongi just slightly closer, the movement serving as an excuse to lay the both of them horizontally on the couch with a careful tug.

They're just drunk. Dizzy. A little nap will be a good forcing function to stop their drinking before it gets out of hand. It's all reasonable, none of it outside the realm of what they do already, last-minute sleepovers whenever there needs to be a change of scenery.

(He hasn't spent the night at Yoongi's yet, but maybe, maybe it's just because Yoongi's dad is strict.)

"Depends," he murmurs, lips still pressed against Yoongi's hair. "Do we also get to judge while drunk?"

Oh, this, this is better and so much worse, Yoongi thinks. Stretched out on the couch like this, curled together, it would be so easy to move closer still and rest his head on Jungkook's chest, let him wrap both arms around him. He could fall asleep like that happily. Sometimes that feels like the secret to all of it; being unhappy so often doesn't have anything to do with Jungkook, but right now, he wonders if maybe having him would make it go away. If he could really be happy just like this.

He huffs out a laugh, wriggling onto his side and tipping his head up to look at Jungkook, not realizing just how close that will put their faces until it's too late. It knocks the answer clear of his brain for a moment, heart leaping into his throat. How easy, how easy, it would be... He closes his eyes so he won't keep looking at Jungkook's lips, though it doesn't do anything to stop him from thinking about them. "Definitely," he says, a little slurred from drink and weariness. It's so cozy right here. Maybe if he's quiet he can stay here like this for the rest of the night. Maybe Jungkook will let him. "I don't think sober judging is fair."

Maybe this is risky, Jungkook realizes in retrospect, glancing down to meet Yoongi's gaze. He's tempted to lift his free hand, to skirt a finger across Yoongi's forehead, to push away errant locks of hair and trace along the curve of his cheekbone. From where Yoongi's resting, Jungkook swears that his hyung must be able to hear the racing of his heart, beating almost out of his chest. Every small shift of his body presses him up against the planes of Yoongi's body, long and slender and so close. He sighs, aches for more contact.

Can't risk it. Not like that.

Instead, he lifts his free arm at last, draping it over Yoongi's back to hold him anchored there. It'd be nice to drift away to sleep like this, the both of them tangled up in each other, the weight of Yoongi's body holding loneliness at bay. He hates how right it feels. But maybe if sleep takes him, then Jungkook won't have to notice when this finally comes to an end.

"It's a date, then," he murmurs. "Drinks and dancing."

Yoongi smiles, quick and soft, eyes opening again to look into Jungkook's. He has the prettiest eyes, such a beautiful shade of brown, his lashes so long. It is, perhaps, more eager than he should let himself be, hearing those words, but he can't help it, too unguarded right now to control himself as well as he should. Right now, being held like this, everything feels good and right for a change, like he's safe — dangerously enough, like he's wanted.

When he drinks, a lot of the time, he gets more cheerful, but tonight, everything has him quietly content, if a little wistful. It's so easy to imagine how different things could be if they were like this, how happy they could be together if there were even the smallest chance Jungkook could like him, too. Could love him. He can't be selfish, though. This is too nice to ruin with wishing for more, even as he does exactly that, thinking about pressing kisses to Jungkook's cheek, to his forehead, his jaw, or moving his hand lower to rest at his hip instead of draping over his back. He doesn't dare move at all.

"Okay, yes," he says with the slightest of nods. "A date." He closes his eyes again, letting himself take it all in, the soft weight of arms around him, the warmth of Jungkook's body where they press together, not quite close enough, details to remember for later when he's trying to imagine good things to help himself sleep, to shut out the bad thoughts and the voices. "I like this."

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