MDNI🔞 (Taglist Closed)
Main Masterlist here
Before I Forgot Masterlist here
Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.
Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Smut
Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…
"The secret, Y/N, is respect," Jin says, wielding a wooden spoon. He taps it sharply against the rim of a massive copper pan. "You cannot rush the garlic. If you burn the garlic, you have insulted the dish. If you insult the dish, you have insulted me. And frankly, neither of us wants to live with that kind of negative energy."
You lean your hip against his immaculate marble island, a glass of white wine held between your fingers, watching him with an amused grin.
"I'm not rushing it," you defend yourself, taking a small sip of your wine. "I was just asking if we should turn the burner down. I've seen the video of you almost burning the dorm down."
Jin gasps, a hand flying to his chest in offense.
"Turn it down? This is medium-low, Y/N. It is a gentle simmer. Look at these shallots. They are translucent. They are crying out for the seafood, but we must wait for the exact moment of peak fragrance." He dramatically closes his eyes, inhaling the steam rising from the pan. "AND….We don't talk about that video! Ah. There it is. The symphony begins."
He moves with a fluid, effortless grace, dumping a large bowl of freshly cleaned clams and mussels into the pan. They hit the hot butter with a loud, violent sizzle, a cloud of steam billowing up toward the range hood.
"Now," Jin says, capping the pan with a heavy lid and turning to you with a wide, satisfied smile. "We let the steam do the heavy lifting for exactly four minutes. Do not touch it. Do not look at it. If you look at it, the heat escapes, and the clams get stubborn. What kind of food did you cook back at home?"
“We didn't really cook,” you answer. “We ordered out most nights.”
Jin gasps loudly. He drops his wooden spoon onto a ceramic rest with a dramatic clack that echoes through the pristine kitchen.
"Ordered out? Most nights?!" He looks at you in shock. He grips the edge of the marble island, leaning in looking at you seriously. "Y/N! A kitchen is a sanctuary. It is a stage! It is meant to be lived in, fought in, and absolutely covered well-executed sauce!"
He waves a hand dismissively in the air, his voice rising into an indignant squeak.
"And this... this Corbyn person hated a dirty kitchen? What kind of man fears a little splatter? You cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs, and you certainly cannot live a joyful life without having to scrub a frying pan at least once a day!" He exclaims.
"He just... preferred things orderly. If a single drop of marinara hit the backsplash, it was a whole ordeal. It just became easier to open an app and let someone else do the dishes." You offer a sheepish smile, swirling the remaining white wine in your glass.
"Tragic. Utterly tragic," Jin mutters, though the theatrical anger is already softening into something much more gentle. He checks his watch, his internal culinary clock ticking down the final seconds for the shellfish. "To live in fear of a mess is to live in fear of flavor. Look at your hands from the other day. Yura told us you were practically a charcoal statue! Did you die? No. You survived. The kitchen is no different."
He steps back to the stove, gripping the handle of the heavy lid.
"And besides... if you never get the kitchen dirty, it means you never get to do this." He smiles.
With a grand, sweeping motion, he lifts the lid. A magnificent, billowing cloud of garlic, white wine, and ocean-rich steam erupts into the space, instantly making your mouth water. The clams and mussels have opened perfectly, yawning wide to reveal plump, tender centers swimming in a shimmering, buttery broth.
"See?" Jin beams, his chest puffing out with pride as he grabs a handful of freshly chopped parsley and showers it over the pan like confetti. "Chaos yields perfection. Now, go grab the toasted sourdough from the oven. Let's see if we can break you of another bad habit."
He slides two wide, shallow bowls onto the island, his eyes crinkling into a warm, supportive crinkle.
"In this house, Y/N, we make a mess. And we enjoy every single bite of it." He nods. “Aaannd…. in this house we are also nosy.”
Jin's eyes go to your left hand where the thin silver band with the dark stone sits on your middle finger.
“What?” You question.
"I know your date with Yoongi went well," he says softly. "But..."
He pauses, the dramatic, theatrical chef completely vanishing. In his place is the friend who watches over everyone with a quiet, protective intensity. He sets the tongs down, his eyes locked on the thin silver band catching the light of the kitchen.
"I know what that ring meant to the both of you," Jin continues. He leans his forearms against the cool marble, looking at you with a gaze that is entirely stripped of jokes. "And because I love you both, I have to say this. Don't get his hopes up if you aren't certain, Y/N. Especially since you're not ready for the weight of what that ring actually carries."
The warmth of the steam between you suddenly feels heavy and extra warm.
"Yoongi... he wears his heart behind a steel vault, but you have always had the combination," Jin says gently, his eyes softening as he notices you instinctively tracing the dark stone with your thumb. "When you disappeared, a part of him just shut down. Seeing you wear that ring again? To him, it will look like a promise. It will look like a path back to exactly how things used to be."
He reaches across the island, his warm, solid hand briefly covering yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting.
"But you don't remember 'how things used to be' yet. And that is okay," Jin reassures you, giving your hand a light, supportive squeeze before drawing back to give you space. "You are allowed to just go on dates. You are allowed to move at a snail's pace. But that ring carries history you're still trying to piece together. Just... be careful with his heart while you're figuring out your own. He will wait a lifetime for you, but the suspense might actually kill him."
A small, bittersweet smile tugs at Jin's lips, breaking the heavy tension just enough for you to breathe. He taps the edge of your wine glass with his fingernail, a soft clink echoing between you.
"Now, retrieve the sourdough before it turns into the charcoal you modeled the other day," he orders, his tone shifting back to its familiar, lighthearted warmth. "The broth is perfect, the chef is hungry, and we have a lot of mess left to make.
Before you can even reach for the oven mitts, the front door flies open. The quiet, aromatic sanctuary Jin had so carefully constructed is instantly wrecked by a tidal wave of footsteps on the floor, overlapping voices, and the unmistakable, chaotic energy of a family arriving in full force.
"Is the food done! I'm hungry!" Taehyung’s voice echoes down the hall first. He catches sight of the marble island and drops his keys with a dramatic clatter. "Jin! Tell me the sea creatures are ready!"
"Wow. It smells like heaven in here." Jimin says right behind him.
"Hey, watch the elbows!" Namjoon grunts, navigating the doorway while trying to balance a giant cardboard box full of old vinyl records he must have dragged along from somewhere. He sets it precariously near the dining table, giving you a warm, dimpled smile. "Hey, Y/N. Don't let Jin boss you around too much."
"Excuse me! I am culturing her!" Jin defends himself, waving his wooden spoon at the incoming horde. "And who invited you all? This was a private masterclass! A culinary sanctuary! Look at you, tracking the outside world into my kitchen!"
"Oh, shut up, Jin, we brought dessert," Yura’s voice cuts through the noise and immediately slides into the space next to you at the island. But she isn't alone. Jungkook is attached to her hip, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, his chin practically resting on her shoulder as he eyes the steaming pan of clams.
"Hey, Y/N. Tell me he made the garlic bread. If there's no garlic bread, Yura's going to make me drive to the bakery and I've been driving all day." Jungkook looks up, flashing you a massive grin.
"We're married, Jungkook, not glued at the hip, move your big head," Yura teases, though she leans back into his chest affectionately, reaching out to steal a sip of your white wine. She winks at you. "How's the brain-breaking going? Still got charcoal under your fingernails?"
"Washed most of it off," you laugh, the warmth of the room instantly bubbling up in your chest.
Yoongi walks into the kitchen. He doesn't make a loud entrance like the others. He just slips into the room, his dark eyes instantly scanning the chaos until they land on you. Your breath catches for a fraction of a second. The memory of the stone alcove, the scuffed headphones, and the quiet, deliberate pressure of his lips against yours on Saturday rushes back.
Yoongi steps closer to the island, stopping just a foot away from you. There's a subtle, careful hesitation in his posture. A quiet, mutual awareness that things have changed between you. He gives you a small, private nod, his eyes softening.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," you reply softly, offering a tentative smile.
Your stomach does a nervous flip under Yoongi's gaze. Instinctively, your fingers find the familiar shape of the silver band on your middle finger. You twist it around your knuckle, the dark stone catching the light as it spins.
Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement.
The moment his gaze lands on the jewelry, he freezes. The subtle, relaxed warmth in his posture completely vanishes. His dark eyes zero in on the ring…the engagement ring he had chosen for you, the one you practically snatched from him.
You can see the gears turning in Yoongi's head. The different emotions cross his eyes. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't even breathe. He just stares at your hand, his jaw tightening slightly. The weight of it feels massive, exactly like Jin said it would.
"Is it... is it okay if I wear it?" You ask softly, trying not to draw attention to the two of you.
The question is timid, almost fragile. You want him to know you aren't trying to force a memory that isn't there yet, but you also want him to know that you want this…this connection, this piece of him…close to you.
Yoongi’s eyes slowly snap back up to yours. The raw vulnerability flashing across his face is staggering, but he forces a slow, deep exhale through his nose, purposefully relaxing his shoulders. A tiny, incredibly gentle smile tugs at the corner of his lips, erasing the sudden tension.
"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble that carries a depth of emotion that makes your chest ache. He steps just an inch closer, his eyes locked on yours. "Yeah, Y/N. It looks perfect exactly where it is."
"Min Yoongi!" Jin shouts from the stove, aggressively dishing out mounds of steaming pasta into wide bowls. "Instead of giving Y/N lovey dovey eyes, why don't you be useful? Get the sourdough out of the oven before it turns into charcoal!"
"I've got it," Yoongi says quickly, his hand moving to guide you out of Jin's immediate splash zone. His fingers briefly brush against the small of your back.
"Alright, clear the table!" Hobi cheers, appearing out of nowhere with a stack of cloth napkins, practically vibrating with hunger. "The feast has arrived! Move the records, Namjoon, or they're getting marinara on them!"
The kitchen erupts into a flurry of moving chairs, clinking silverware, and the collective, ravenous appetite of a group that clearly eats together often. You and Yoongi work side by side in a quiet, synchronized rhythm, transferring the hot bread to a cutting board, your shoulders brushing occasionally in the narrow space. It's careful, and it's a little delicate, but as you look around the loud, messy room, the hesitation starts to feel less like fear and more like anticipation.
The table is a magnificent, chaotic battleground of passing plates, clanking silverware, and overlapping voices. Jin’s "tragedy of a clean kitchen" has officially commenced, and nobody is holding back.
"Pass the clams, Namjoon…no, the other left!"
"Jungkook, if you eat the last piece of sourdough before I even get a bite, our marriage vows are legally null and void." Yura groans.
You laugh, taking a bite of the perfectly tender seafood, the rich, buttery white wine broth exploding with flavor. Yoongi is sitting right next to you, his thigh occasionally brushing against yours beneath the crowded table. He isn't talking much, content to quietly eat his pasta, but every time you reach for your wine or laugh at one of Jimin’s jokes, you can feel his eyes on you.
"So, Y/N," Yura says, leaning across the table and wiping a stray drop of sauce from the corner of her mouth. "I was looking up some stuff this morning and I stumbled across this watercolor class. It focuses on landscapes and blending techniques."
"Watercolor?" You blink, a sudden, familiar spark igniting in your chest.
"Yeah. I think the charcoal might have been a little too much to get you back into the swing of things," Yura continues, her eyes bright with encouragement. "But watercolor is gentler. It's all about letting the water do the work, building layers. I remember you used to say it was the easiest medium for you to lose yourself in. I thought... maybe it would feel easy now, too. A good way to just play around without any pressure."
"Actually, that sounds really amazing," you murmur, genuinely intrigued. The thought of vibrant pigments bleeding into wet paper feels like a comforting, distant song you almost know the words to. “I feel like….”
Directly right across from you, Taehyung lets out a frustrated, deeply pathetic whine. He is currently engaged in a losing battle with a particularly stubborn, tightly sealed mussel. His bottom lip is poked out, his knuckles white as he tries to pry the shell apart with his bare fingers. His grip slips, nearly sending a spray of broth directly into Jimin's face.
"Taehyung, stop wrestling with the seafood," Jin snaps.
"It won't open!" Taehyung groans, his oversized cardigan sleeves dipping dangerously close to his pasta bowl. "It's locking me out! It's a vault!"
Without even breaking eye contact with Yura, completely untethered from the conscious thought of what you are doing, your hands move on instinct.
"....I wouldn't need such a heavy hand," you finish your sentence smoothly.
In one fluid, seamless motion, you reach across the small gap between your placemats. Your left hand grabs Taehyung’s wrist to stabilize his slippery fingers, while your right hand slides an empty half-shell from your own plate right into the tiny crevice of his stubborn mussel. With a quick, practiced twist of your wrist, you use the shell as a lever.
Pop.
The stubborn mussel springs wide open, revealing the plump center. You slide your hands back to your own glass of wine, picking it up and taking a casual sip.
"Anyway, Yura, send me the link to the class. I'd love to look at it." You smile at her.
Yura doesn't answer.
In fact, nobody answers.
The clinking of forks against ceramic abruptly dies. The loud, boisterous chewing halts. The chaotic symphony of the dinner table is instantly sucked out of the room, replaced by a sudden, heavy, dead silence.
You freeze. Your wine glass halfway to your lips.
Slowly, you look around the table.
Taehyung is staring down at his perfectly opened mussel, his mouth slightly agape, his fingers still hovering in the air exactly where you had held his wrist. Next to him, Jimin’s fork is suspended halfway to his mouth. Jungkook has stopped chewing entirely, a piece of sourdough gripped in his hand, his eyes wide as he looks from Taehyung’s plate to you.
Even Jin has gone completely still, a serving spoon hovering over the pasta bowl.
Next to you, you feel Yoongi go rigid. His breath hitches, a sharp, quiet intake of air that cuts through the silence. You look at them, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs as a cold prickle of self-consciousness washes over you.
"What?" You ask, your voice sounding small in the quiet room. "Did I... did I do something wrong?"
"No," Taehyung whispers, his voice unusually soft. He looks up at you, his large eyes shifting from a state of shock into something deeply vulnerable, almost fragile. "You... you always used to do that. Whenever I got a stubborn one. You wouldn't even look."
A wave of dizzying realization hits you. You hadn't thought about it. Your body had just known. Muscle memory, deep and buried, had bypassed your broken recollections and simply executed a routine you had performed dozens of times before. Namjoon clears his throat, his expression a mixture of profound awe and a quiet, aching sadness.
"Exactly like that," he echoes softly. "You’d keep talking to whoever, pop it open, and carry on."
"Your hands remember." Yura’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, a trembling but massive smile breaking across her face. She reaches across the tabletop, covering your hand with hers.
The heavy tension in the room breaks, dissolving not into sadness, but into a collective, warm burst of emotion.
"That was amazing," Jimin breathes, finally dropping his fork and shaking his head. "For a second, I thought I was having a hallucination. It was like a ghost just walked into the room and opened a shellfish."
"A ghost with excellent technique," Jin chimed in, though his voice was rougher than usual as he aggressively blinked away moisture. He pointed his wooden spoon at Taehyung. "See? That is what I mean by respect! Y/N has the touch!"
"I'm keeping this shell forever," Taehyung declares, holding up the empty half-shell you had used as a tool like it was a holy relic.
"Don't put garbage in your pocket, Taehyung," Jungkook groans, though he's smiling widely now, shoving the rest of his bread into his mouth.
The table instantly explodes back into motion, the sudden burst of noise a relief against the heavy silence that had just gripped the room. Taehyung carefully sets his holy relic shell next to his water glass with a stubborn, defensive glare at Jungkook, while Jin begins aggressively shoveling more clams onto everyone’s plates as if a surplus of seafood could heal a timeline.
"Eat, eat!" Jin demands, his ears slightly pink. "The emotional shock has burned through your calories. We need sustenance!"
Everyone descends back into their normal chaos, Jimin trying to steal a noodle from Namjoon, Yura enthusiastically texting you the watercolor link under the table. You feel the tight knot of panic in your chest slowly begin to unwind. Your hands are still trembling slightly against the stem of your wine glass. You look down at your fingers. They knew exactly what to do.
"Hey."
The murmur is right at your ear, so low it’s meant only for you.
You look over. Yoongi has shifted in his chair, turning his body slightly toward yours. The rigid tension you felt in him a moment ago has melted, replaced by an intensity in his dark eyes that makes your breath hitch all over again. He isn't looking at the table. He's looking entirely at you, his features soft, a quiet, fierce pride radiating from him.
Slowly, beneath the edge of the crowded table, his hand slides over yours. His palm is warm and slightly calloused. Instead of just a fleeting brush, his fingers slide between yours, locking his hand with yours in a firm. His fingers brushing against the ring sitting on your middle finger. It's hidden from the rest of the room.
"You okay?" He asks softly.
"Yeah," you breathe, a genuine smile finally breaking through your shock. "Yeah. It was just... weird. Like my brain got bypassed."
"Your brain tries too hard sometimes," Yoongi says, his mouth twitching into that faint, knowing gummy smile you’re quickly realizing is your favorite sight in the world. He squeezes your hand again, leaning in just a fraction closer. "Your heart and your hands have a better memory than you give them credit for. Trust them."
Before you can answer, a heavy piece of sourdough lands with a soft thud directly into Yoongi’s pasta bowl, splashing a drop of buttery broth onto his thumb.
"Yoongi, stop hoarding the bread basket and pass it down!" Jungkook calls out from down the table, completely oblivious to the quiet moment he just interrupted.
Yoongi lets out a low, irritated huff, but the warmth doesn't leave his eyes. He slowly lets go of your hand, though his fingers linger against yours until the very last second. He picks up the bread basket with his other hand and glares at the youngest.
"If you drop sauce on my shirt, Jungkook, you're doing Jin's dishes alone," Yoongi warns, though there's no real bite to it.
"I'll help you do the dishes, Y/N!" Taehyung chimes in, finally eating his hard-won mussel. "Since you saved my life from starvation."
"She's a guest, you freeloaders, none of you are making her do dishes!" Jin scolds, waving a napkin.
You lean back in your chair, taking another sip of your wine, the rich flavor settling over your tongue. The noise, the bickering, the warmth of Yoongi's leg resting firmly against yours under the table. It doesn't feel like a puzzle anymore.
It just feels like home.
"I am a martyr," Jin announces to the ceiling, his voice echoing off the tile backsplash over the sound of rushing water. He aggressively attacks a copper pan with a soapy sponge, bubbles flying in every direction. "A culinary saint trapped in a house of ungrateful, lazy heathens. I feed you, I culture you, I give you the gift of my presence, and how am I repaid? Desertion!"
"Jin, I literally just offered to dry," Jimin says, leaning against the counter with a dish towel draped over his shoulder, looking thoroughly amused.
"No! Get out of my workspace!" Jin snaps, waving a sudsy hand dismissively. "Your technique is sloppy, Jimin. You leave streaks. If anyone is going to touch my fine ceramic, it will be me. But that doesn't mean you all get to sit there and watch me suffer in silence!"
"He's in his element," Yoongi murmurs near your ear.
He’s standing right next to you, helping clear the last of the empty water glasses. A faint, lingering warmth remains on your skin from where his hand had been locked with yours under the table just minutes before. He gives you a subtle, lingering look before heading toward the living room to escape the splash zone.
You chuckle, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe down the immaculate marble island. The kitchen is exactly what Jin had wanted for you earlier. There are stray flecks of parsley, a ring of white wine on a coaster, and a faint smudge of marinara near the edge where Jungkook had aggressively defended his bread territory.
As you lean over to wipe a stubborn drop of buttery broth, a deep, crackling hiss echoes from the corner of the dining room. Namjoon has finally freed his vinyl records from the cardboard box. With meticulous, surprisingly delicate care, he places a heavy black disc onto the turntable. The needle drops with a soft, warm pop, and the room is instantly filled with the smooth sound of an old-school jazz track. The tempo is slow and romantic, cutting right through the clatter of Jin's dramatic dishwashing.
"Ah, now that is a classic," Namjoon says proudly, crossing his arms and admiring the sound spinning from the speakers.
"It's too slow! It's putting me to sleep!" Taehyung complains from the couch, though he's already half-buried under a throw blanket, looking thoroughly defeated by the massive amount of carbs he just consumed.
Before you can finish wiping down your section of the island, a whirlwind of energy materializes right beside you.
"Oh, absolutely not. We are not letting the post-dinner coma win tonight," Hobi declares. He appears out of nowhere, his bright eyes locked onto yours, a brilliant, blinding smile stretching across his face.
Before you can even register the laugh bubbling up in your throat, Hobi gently but firmly plucks the damp cloth right out of your fingers, tossing it onto the counter behind you. He grabs your right hand, his grip warm and full of infectious enthusiasm, and places his other hand lightly on your waist.
"Hobi, wait, I'm supposed to be helping…" you protest, laughing as he easily steers you away from the island and into the open space between the kitchen and the dining table.
"The table can wait, Y/N. The music is calling!" He exclaims.
He doesn't drag you into some high-energy dance. Instead, he perfectly adapts to the lazy, swaying rhythm of Namjoon's record. He guides you into a smooth, effortless slow dance, stepping in time with the deep thrum of the double bass.
Hobi moves with a natural, fluid rhythm that makes it impossible not to follow him. He leads you in a slow, elegant sway, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief and joy as he exaggerates a dramatic dip that makes you gasp-laugh, gripping his shoulder for balance.
"See? Perfect form!" Hobi beams, pulling you back up seamlessly into the lazy tempo of the jazz music. "You've got the rhythm in you, Y/N. You just have to let the music do the work."
Over Hobi’s shoulder, you glance back toward the kitchen island. The chaos has shifted into a quieter, domestic rhythm. Yoongi and Yura are working side by side, completely in their own world as they pack away the leftover clams and pasta. Yura is holding open a stack of glass tupperware containers, while Yoongi uses a large metal spoon to carefully transfer the remaining food, ensuring not a single drop of the precious buttery broth is wasted.
Even from across the room, you can see the relaxed slope of Yoongi’s shoulders. He says something in a low voice that makes Yura laugh out loud, shoving his shoulder playfully. He looks up then, his dark eyes instantly cutting through the room to find you. He watches you swaying with Hobi, a soft, incredibly tender expression crossing his face that makes your heart skip a beat.
Hobi catches the direction of your gaze, a knowing, brilliant smirk spreading across his lips. He doesn't miss a single beat of the music.
"Hey, Yoongi!" Hobi calls out, his voice ringing loud and clear over the brassy hum of the turntable. "You're slacking on your boyfriend duties! Come take over before I steal your dance partner for the rest of the night!"
Yoongi freezes, a plastic container lid hovering in his hand. His ears instantly turn a bright, telling shade of pink. Yura lets out a delighted squeal, snatching the lid out of his hand and giving him a hard shove toward the dining area.
"Go! Move your feet, Min Yoongi! Don't be a coward!" She laughs.
Before you can even prepare yourself, Hobi tightens his grip on your hand just enough to guide you into a smooth, sweeping spin. The room blurs for a fraction of a second. The gleaming copper pans, Jin's soapy suds, Namjoon's dimpled grin…and then, the spin slows.
Hobi releases your hand at the perfect moment, launching you right into Yoongi’s space.
Yoongi steps forward automatically, his hands coming up on instinct to catch you. His large, warm palms settle firmly against your waist, steadying your momentum as your chest bumps lightly against his chest.
"Gotcha," Yoongi murmurs as your palms land flat against his chest.
Suddenly, the living room erupts.
"Ooooooh!" Taehyung howls from the couch, throwing off his throw blanket and sitting up straight with a massive, boxy grin. "Look at him! He's blushing!"
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Jimin starts chanting rhythmically, slapping his hand against the kitchen counter in time with his words. Jungkook immediately joins in, banging a spoon against an empty glass.
"Yeah, come on, we missed it the first time!" Yura shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth with zero shame. "Give the people what they want!"
"Stop peer pressuring them, you animals!" Jin yells, though he has completely stopped scrubbing his pan, leaning over the sink with a massive, expectant grin plastered across his face.
Your face flushes incredibly hot, the heat blooming from your neck all the way to the tips of your ears. You look up at Yoongi, a helpless, embarrassed laugh escaping your lips.
"They are entirely shameless," you whisper, your eyes wide.
Yoongi is looking down at you, his own face flushed a deep, beautiful crimson that stretches all the way to the back of his neck. He lets out a breathless, flustered laugh, his head dropping for a second as he tries to hide his gummy smile from the roaring crowd.
Yoongi shakes his head, his shoulders rolling with a silent, breathless laugh as the tips of his ears burn an even deeper shade of crimson. He looks out over the living room, his small, knowing gummy smile completely giving away how flustered he actually is, despite his best efforts to look unbothered.
"You guys are absolute idiots," Yoongi calls out, his voice a low, raspy drawl that barely carries over Jimin’s rhythmic kitchen counter drumming.
Before the crowd can boo him for stalling, Yoongi’s eyes flash with a sudden, playful spark. His large hands shift from your waist, one sliding smoothly down to catch your right hand while the other gives you a gentle, surprisingly firm push. With a slick, effortless flick of his wrist, he mimics Hobi's earlier move and spins you right out of his personal space, sending you sailing across the polished floor toward the dining room.
You gasp, laughing as the room blurs again, only to be stopped by a broad, solid chest.
Two muscular arms catch you instantly, wrapping around you with a secure, heavy grip that halts your momentum perfectly. You look up, blinking back your dizziness, straight into Jungkook’s massive, mischievous boyish grin. He’s still holding his spoon in one hand, but he adjusts his hold on you seamlessly, tossing the spoon onto the table behind him.
"See? I told you he’d chicken out!" Jungkook brags loudly to the room, adjusting his stance and immediately moving you into a bouncy, overly energetic box-step that has absolutely nothing to do with Namjoon’s slow jazz record. He shoots a smug, challenging look over your head at Yoongi. "I'm a way better dancer than Yoongi anyway. He’s got no upper body strength."
"I have enough strength to throw a glass tupperware at your head, Jungkook." Yoongi scoffs from the kitchen island, folding his arms across his chest.
Jungkook completely ignores the threat, his eyes crinkling with that competitive energy that usually signals impending chaos. He looks down at you, his grin widening into something deeply menacing and full of adrenaline.
"Hey, Y/N," Jungkook says, his voice dripping with absolute confidence as he takes a deeper, sturdier stance on the hardwood floor. "Watch this. I bet I can flip you right over my shoulder. We can do a full acrobatic routine right into the living room."
"No!" The entire room screams in unison.
"Jungkook, do not drop her!" Yura shrieks, abandoning the leftovers entirely and lunging forward to point a threatening finger at her husband.
"Jeon Jungkook, if you break a single piece of furniture or the guest, I'll make sure you are sleeping in the garage!" Jin bellows from the sink, waving a soapy sponge so aggressively that a sudsy bubble flies across the room and lands directly on Namjoon’s vinyl player.
"Don't do it, Y/N, he has no sense of spatial awareness!" Jimin shouts, actively jumping over the back of the couch to intervene.
You look at Jungkook, your eyes wide with absolute terror and amusement as you feel his grip tighten on your waist, his knees bending as if he’s genuinely preparing for a lifting cue.
"I'm serious, I can do it!" Jungkook protests, a look of pure, stubborn determination. He shifts his weight, his large hands anchoring firmly at your waist as if he’s genuinely timing his launch to the slow, heavy thrum of the double bass. "It's all about leverage, Y/N! Just trust me, on three…"
"If you launch her into the ceiling fan, Jungkook, I will personally dissolve our marriage," Yura warns, sprinting around the marble island to swat at his arm with a dish towel.
"Don't you dare!" You yell, laughing so hard your stomach aches as you frantically grab onto Jungkook’s solid biceps. "Jungkook, put me down! I just ate three plates of pasta!"
"Put her down!" Jin screams from the kitchen, running out with a dry tea towel to rescue Namjoon’s turntable from the flying soap suds. "Namjoon! Move the record! The child is losing his mind!"
"I'm on it, I'm on it!" Namjoon says, his dimples vanishing in a flash of pure panic as he carefully lifts the needle, cutting the smooth jazz off with a sudden, tragic skrrrt.
“What if she hits her head again!” Hobi exclaims.
“What if that's a good thing!” Taehyung smiles. “It might knock some sense into her. Why didn't we think of that before?”
Taehyung starts throwing pillows from the couch to create a makeshift landing pad, while Jimin has successfully sprinted across the room, tackling Jungkook from behind in a chaotic, full-body hug to pin his arms down.
“Down, down,” Yoongi demands, pointing his finger.
"Abort mission! Abort!" Jimin grunts, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s neck. "He’s too strong, Namjoon, grab his legs!"
"Get off me, I was going to stick the landing!" Jungkook laughs, his deep, boisterous cackle echoing through the house as he stumbles backward under Jimin’s sudden weight, safely letting go of your waist to prevent anyone from actually falling.
You stumble back a step, breathless and giggling, only to feel a warm, steady hand immediately grip your elbow, pulling you safely out of the pile of squirming, shouting boys.
You stumble back a step, breathless and giggling, only to feel a warm, steady hand immediately grip your elbow, pulling you safely out of the pile of squirming, shouting boys.
"Come on," Yoongi’s voice mutters right next to your ear, low and laced with quiet amusement. "Before Jungkook decides you’re a human projectile again."
While Jin is busy lecturing a tangled heap of Jimin, Taehyung, and a fiercely protesting Jungkook on the living room rug, Yoongi steers you towards the front door before anyone can even notice you're gone.
"Unbelievable," Yoongi huffs, a small, soft smile playing on his lips as he guides you down the driveway. "Give them five minutes and they'll realize they lost the guest of honor."
"I think Jin is too worried about his ceiling fan to notice," you laugh.
He steps back just an inch, leaning his hip against the side of your car. He looks at you, his dark eyes softening under the amber glow of the streetlamp.
"It's like old times," he says softly, a hint of nostalgia warming his usually quiet tone. "Sneaking out of the chaos. Just you and me. It's nice."
"Even though I don't remember... it felt really nice inside. It was comfortable." You nod.
Yoongi’s expression softens even further, a look of pure, unconditional tenderness crossing his face. He steps back into your space, tilting your chin up slightly with the gentle brush of his knuckles until you're looking at him.
"You don't have to force yourself to remember," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. He takes your hand in his. His fingers straighten the ring on your finger. "We can just make new ones."
Before you can reply, he leans in. The kiss is slow, warm, and deeply reassuring…a perfect blend of a slightly muddy past and a promised future. It tastes like the quiet safety you always seem to find whenever he’s near.
“WOOOOO! GET IT, Yoongs!”
The loud, piercing screech of a whistle shatters the romantic silence.
You both freeze, breaking the kiss to look back toward the house. The large bay window is practically overflowing. Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung are pressed flat against the glass, their faces distorted into ridiculous, teasing grins. Behind them, Jin is shaking his head but grinning, while Yura, Hobi and Namjoon are waving enthusiastically. Yoongi lets out a deep, long-suffering sigh, dropping his forehead against yours with a soft groan as you burst out laughing.
“Trust me,” he whispers. “Nothing's changed.”
Everyone eventually disappears from the window one by one, dragged away by Jin yelling something about “fingerprints on the glass” and Namjoon panicking over the vinyl still sitting unattended on the turntable.
Jungkook is the last face pressed against the window.
He gives Yoongi an exaggerated thumbs up.
Yoongi flips him off without even turning around.
Somewhere inside the house, you can still hear muffled arguing, the clatter of dishes, Taehyung loudly insisting he could have caught you if Jungkook dropped you. Yoongi shakes his head fondly.
“Idiots,” he murmurs.
But there’s no real irritation in it. Only affection. Your laughter softens into something quieter as you look at him. The soft flush still lingering across his cheeks. The way his hair falls into his eyes. The tiny crinkle near his mouth from trying not to smile too hard.
And suddenly, the ache in your chest doesn’t feel empty anymore.
It feels full.
Not with memories…not all of them, anyway.
Just... with this.
With warmth.
With garlic and jazz records and overcrowded dinner tables.
With hands reaching for yours under the noise.
With people who stayed.
“What?” He asks quietly after a moment of watching you and you shake your head slowly, smiling.
“I think…” you murmur, glancing back at the glowing house behind him, “I think I finally understand why this place feels familiar.”
“Yeah?” His eyes soften instantly.
“Because it feels like home.” You nod.
For a second, Yoongi just stares at you. His entire expression breaks open into that small, devastating gummy smile.
The one that always feels honest.
He reaches for your hand again automatically, like it belongs there, threading his fingers through yours as naturally as breathing.
“IF NOBODY HELPS ME PUT THESE LEFTOVERS AWAY I’M THROWING THEM OUT THE WINDOW!” Jin shouts from inside the house and Yoongi sighs deeply.
“You hear that?” He deadpans. “Romance is dead.”
You burst into laughter again, and this time when he smiles back, there’s no hesitation left in it at all.
Together, hand in hand, you head back toward the noise.
Towards Home.
<Next>
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