• linger like whiskey on my tongue •
summary • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 In the quiet of Yoongi’s birthday evening, sharing a secret bottle of whiskey leads to a late-night kiss that changes everything between you…
pairing • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 yoongixf!reader
word count • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 5.6k
elements • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 attraction; humour; birthday; friends to lovers; first kiss
author's note • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 Thank you to Anon for this request. I tried to get it done as soon as possible, but time constraints, life etc prevented that from happening. Anyway, I’ve finally managed to get it finished - sorry it's a bit late but I hope it is close to what you had in mind? 🥹 It's my first for Yoongi, so I was a little nervous to write this one but the idea was so cute I had to try! As ever, please excuse any errors I may have overlooked.
bts masterlist • 𓂃𝜗𝜚
Finally, the apartment is reaching a sort of quiet.
Music still drifts in low tones from the speaker in the corner, some mellow playlist Yoongi must have put on hours ago and forgotten about −but the loud laughter and overlapping conversations from earlier are gone and only now do you feel the air around you loosen and you can begin to breathe.
You lean back into the couch, nudging aside a few empty bottles and crumpled napkins as you stretch your legs across the coffee table.
“Your friends are messy,” you state.
From the kitchen, Min Yoongi snorts. “You were one of them.”
“I was the neatest one here.”
“That’s not impressive,” he replies, voice dry.
You watch him from the couch while he methodically rinses two glasses at the sink. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his wrists, and the soft glow of the light above the counter makes the silver rings on his fingers glint when he moves.
You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way he’s relaxed now that everyone else is gone. His shoulders are lower, his movements slower and less guarded. When other people are around, Yoongi always carries a thin layer of alertness, discreetly monitoring the room, but when it’s just you, and the world has narrowed to just the two of you, he lets that drop.
Yoongi brings the glasses over and sets one down in front of you. “Last drink,” he says.
You glance at it. “Is that a rule?”
“That’s not how alcohol works.”
You smile and pick the glass up anyway to take a small sip of the whiskey. It’s smooth and definitely not cheap.
You wrinkle your nose slightly. “You only bring this out on special occasions.”
“It’s my birthday,” he says flatly, settling into the armchair across from you. “I thought we could share the good stuff.”
You smile. “You do realise it’s officially not your birthday now, we’ve passed twelve.”
Yoongi leans back and for a moment you just look at him. You’ve seen him a thousand times at late-night studio sessions, lazy movie nights and grocery runs where he complains the entire time −the two of you sitting on opposite ends of the couch like this, talking about nothing for hours.
But tonight something feels ever so slightly different. Perhaps it’s the drinks, or the leftover warmth of the party −or maybe it’s just that birthdays have a way of making people pause and re-examine things they might usually ignore.
Yoongi catches you staring. “What.”
“You’re old now,” you tease.
He exhales through his nose. “You’ve told me that already.”
“Just making sure it sinks in.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the emotional support.”
You grin. “For someone who claims to hate birthdays, you seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier.”
“That’s because everyone was drinking my expensive alcohol.”
“They’ll never see it again.”
You laugh, swirling the whiskey in your glass so the ice clinks the sides. “Your friends really love you, you know.”
Yoongi makes a noncommittal noise. “They love free food.”
A warmth descends on you, almost too warm, and you pull your sweater sleeves up slightly.
“Thanks for staying,” Yoongi says suddenly.
Your eyes flick back to him. “You say that like I had somewhere better to be.”
“You could’ve left with the others.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. People usually leave eventually.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Do you want me to leave?”
The answer comes almost too abruptly, and Yoongi seems to realize that a second later. He clears his throat, glancing away toward the kitchen. “I mean−,” he starts, then stops.
You watch him struggle with the sentence for a moment before deciding to rescue him. “You like having me around,” you say.
“I’m not making it weird. I’m stating facts.”
He gives you a long look. “You’re very confident tonight.”
“The whole evening?” he asks incredulously.
Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief. “All this expensive stuff flowing and you’ve only had two drinks?”
“Careful,” you say, pointing your glass at him. “I might start recalling some of your embarrassing stories next.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You wouldn’t.”
“Remember the time you fell asleep on the studio floor and Jungkook drew a moustache on your face−.”
“You still had the marker on your cheek when you woke up.”
You grin wider. “You panicked when you saw yourself in the mirror.”
Yoongi leans forward, looking at you with a mix of denial and resignation. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Your suffering brings me joy.”
“That explains our friendship.”
You giggle, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Yoongi studies you across the table, his expression thoughtful, almost distant.
“You’re staring,” he observes.
He huffs quietly. “You talk a lot.”
“You like that about me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Then why do you keep inviting me over?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for his glass and takes a slow sip, eyes still on you over the rim. The look lingers just a second longer than usual before he sets the glass down.
Your eyes widen. “That sounds insulting.”
“I don’t mean it like that.”
He leans back again, head tilting slightly as he searches for the words. “You don’t expect things,” he says finally.
“I don’t know.” He gestures vaguely. “−Energy, attention, constant conversation.”
You stare at him. “You literally just complained that I talk too much.”
“You talk,” he says, “but you’re not… demanding.”
He says it carefully, as if trying not to offend.
You think about that for a moment. “So I’m low maintenance.”
“That’s your birthday compliment to me?”
You smirk. “Wow. I feel cherished.”
He rolls his eyes slightly, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth. “You know what I mean.”
You do, because you’ve always understood Yoongi in ways most people don’t. The quiet parts, the pauses, and the things he doesn’t say.
Your gaze drifts to the small cake box sitting forgotten on the counter. “Did you even get to try your birthday cake?”
He follows your gaze. “Oh.”
“How do you forget your own cake?”
“There were like twelve people here.”
You set your glass down and push yourself off the couch, walking to the kitchen. The floor is cool under your feet as you grab two forks from the drawer and bring the small cake box back to the coffee table.
Yoongi watches you the whole time. “You’re very bossy tonight,” he says.
You open the box. Inside is a slightly lopsided chocolate cake with a crooked candle still stuck into the centre.
You glance at him. “You didn’t even blow it out.”
“Everyone started singing and I got distracted.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It was loud.”
You laugh softly and push the cake box toward him. “Fine, birthday boy −do it properly.”
“Just blow out the candle, Yoongi.”
He sighs like this is the most exhausting task anyone has ever given him, but he leans forward anyway. The small flame flickers when he exhales and darkness swallows it instantly. For a second the two of you just sit there as the faint smell of smoke curls upward.
You hand him a fork. “Well,” you say. “Happy birthday.”
He looks at the cake, then at you, then back at the cake. “You’re not going to sing again, are you.”
You bite your lip and smile slowly. “Don’t tempt me.”
He points the fork at you. “If you start singing, I’m kicking you out.”
He huffs quietly. “Probably.”
It’s so quiet you almost miss it, but you hear it and something comforting spreads in your chest. You take a bite of the cake before he can protest.
“Hey!” he says with mock offence.
“You were taking too long.”
“You just stole my first birthday bite.”
You hold the fork out toward him. “Fine, here.”
Amusement flickers across his face, along with something you haven’t seen before. It’s soft and precious.
He moves his head forward and takes the bite. Your hand stays there a moment longer than it needs to, but neither one of you comments on it −but when Yoongi leans back again, his gaze lingers on you just a little too long, and the atmosphere in the room has changed somehow.
The cake is better than you expected.
It isn’t fancy, more like something someone grabbed from a bakery on the way over, yet it tastes rich enough that the chocolate sticks to the roof of your mouth. You take another bite while Yoongi watches with mild suspicion, as if he’s not entirely convinced you won’t eat the entire thing.
You take a third bite before passing him the fork, and he cuts a piece for himself this time. The vibe has settled into that comfortable late-night quiet where everything seems softer at the edges like a vignette.
The remains of the party linger everywhere in the dim lighting; empty glasses, a jacket someone forgot draped over a chair, and even a stray gold balloon sagging against the wall.
Your leg grazes against Yoongi’s under the coffee table, reminding you how close he is to you. It’s happened multiple times before, except this time a strange feeling seeps into you at the contact.
Yoongi takes another bite of cake, resting into the cushions of the armchair with a sigh. His hair has fallen into his eyes, slightly mussed from where he’s run his hand through it throughout the evening. He looks tired but content, and you’ve always liked this version of him best.
“You survived your birthday,” you say eventually.
“Everyone seemed happy to see you.”
“That’s because they only see me occasionally.”
“Don’t pretend you weren’t smiling earlier.”
“You smiled at Jimin’s story about the couch.”
“That was because he exaggerated it.”
“You did fall off the couch.”
Yoongi sighs quietly, like he’s already losing the argument and knows it. “You remember everything.”
He studies you for a moment thoughtfully. You’ve noticed that about him over the years, how observant he is when he thinks no one’s paying attention. Small things rarely escape him, and sometimes you wonder what he notices about you.
You reach for your glass again, the ice long since melted into the whiskey. “You’re quiet,” you say.
He shrugs slightly, gaze drifting around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time tonight. “I was thinking.”
“How lively it was earlier.”
“That’s pretty normal for a birthday.”
“I don’t usually have people over like that.”
That part is true. Yoongi’s not antisocial exactly, but he guards his space carefully. The fact that he opened his apartment to a room full of friends tonight probably took more effort than he let on.
Your eyes wander toward the kitchen counter again. “You got a lot of gifts.”
“You didn’t even open most of them.”
“You say that every year.”
“And I always open them eventually.”
You smile faintly. There’s something endearing about the way he treats birthdays, as if he were slightly baffled by the whole ritual of it.
You watch as he turns his empty glass slowly between his hands, the movement drawing your attention to his fingers. Long, precise fingers with small silver rings that catch the light when he moves.
“You’re staring at me again,” Yoongi says without looking up.
He finally looks up. “About my hands?”
You immediately feel heat rise to your face. “You’re insufferable.”
He huffs softly, something close to a laugh, and the sound changes the atmosphere in the room, loosening something between you. You reach forward and slide the cake box slightly closer to him.
“I’m not eating that whole thing.”
“You’re the birthday boy.”
“That doesn’t mean I want a stomach ache.”
The music in the background shifts to a slow song that melts into the air. Suddenly your senses feel heightened, aware of how Yoongi’s eyes linger when you move, and the way your foot is still touching his.
You pull your leg back slightly, and the loss of contact is immediate. You don’t look at him when you do it, but you notice the faint way his ankle shifts afterward as if he had noticed too.
Your throat feels suddenly dry −it was probably the whiskey.
“You’re thirty now,” you say.
He groans softly. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just acknowledging reality.”
“You’ve been acknowledging it all night.”
“You’re reflective now,” you tease.
“I was reflective before.”
He glances at you again, and something about the look makes your stomach tighten slightly. “I think about things,” he says quietly.
Yoongi lives in his head more than most people realize. The songs, the late nights, the way he sometimes disappears into silence mid-conversation because a thought has pulled him somewhere else.
Right now though, his attention seems very firmly on you, and it’s strange how noticeable that feels.
You sit up slightly, the question slipping out before you can stop it. “What are you thinking about right now?”
“Us,” he says eventually.
Your stomach flips unexpectedly. “Us?”
You relax slightly, though something still hums under your ribs. “What about it?”
He shrugs. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Seven,” he repeats quietly.
The number sits between you. You remember the first time you met him, how quiet he was, how difficult it was to tell if he liked you at all. Over time that distance had melted into something steady and reliable. Yoongi has always been one of the most consistent people in your life.
You smile faintly. “You didn’t like me at first.”
“You ignored me for three hours.”
“You were avoiding conversation.”
“I warmed up eventually.”
“That’s basically affection.”
You laugh quietly, the tension easing a little −but Yoongi doesn’t look away this time. His eyes stay on you, and there’s something in them you can’t quite figure out. Something quieter than flirting, deeper than casual.
The heat of the whiskey spreads slowly through your chest, and you realise just how late it is. Yoongi’s fingers stop moving on the glass, and for a second his gaze drops to the floor before lifting back to you. Your pulse feels louder in your ears.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “You always−.”
You frown faintly. “I always what?”
The way he says it makes something in your chest tighten because the moment doesn’t feel casual anymore. It feels like the edge of something, and for the first time tonight, you’re not entirely sure which direction the night is going to tip.
Yoongi focuses on you intently, fingers laced together, the empty glass dangling forgotten from one hand.
Your heartbeat feels louder than it should and you reach for the cake box again, mostly so your hands have something to do. The fork presses into the soft chocolate, leaving a clean line through the frosting. The motion feels strangely loud in the silence.
“You should put this in the fridge,” you murmur eventually.
Everything with him is later. Emails later, sleep later, cleaning later −the man could delay the end of the world if it inconvenienced his schedule.
You set the fork down again and the music shifts to another slow track, heavier on piano. The bass hums softly through the floorboards and Yoongi’s foot taps once in quiet rhythm.
You shift slightly on the couch. “You must be exhausted.”
His head tilts. “Not really.”
“You’ve been awake since early this morning.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of saying people invaded your apartment.”
A faint smirk touches his mouth. “They meant well.”
He shrugs a little, stretching one leg out further and his foot touches the side of your foot accidentally again. The contact is brief, but it sends a strange little spark up your leg anyway.
“Do you ever think about how weird it is we’re still friends?” you say after a while.
Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts. “That’s an odd question.”
“Seven years is a long time.”
“With you?” You glance at him. “You’re not exactly easy to befriend.”
He exhales quietly through his nose, clearly amused despite himself.
Your eyes drift over him again. The loose hoodie, relaxed posture and the softness in his expression that only shows up when he’s completely comfortable. You realize that you don’t see this side of him as often anymore. Fame and schedules and constant noise have taken more of his time in recent years.
But tonight feels like earlier days again, more personal.
“What are you analysing now?” Yoongi asks, catching your eye.
You hesitate. “Just thinking.”
You ignore the comment. “You’ve changed,” you say slowly.
His expression doesn’t shift much, but you see the subtle alertness return. “How.”
“That’s because I’m older.”
He studies you carefully at that. “That’s debatable.”
“You’re still observant,” he says, his thumb absently rubs the edge of one silver ring, a habit he has when he’s thinking.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
The simplicity of the answer makes your chest tighten slightly. “I trust you too.”
Yoongi suddenly stands, stretching his arms above his head, hoodie lifting just enough to reveal a glimpse of pale skin at his waist before falling back into place. You try not to notice, but your brain fails immediately.
He walks toward the kitchen. “Water,” he says over his shoulder, as if explaining his sudden movement.
You nod even though he isn’t looking. The sound of the tap running fills the apartment briefly. When he returns he carries two glasses, setting one in front of you. He sits down beside you on the couch instead of returning to the armchair.
That’s new. You sip the water to give yourself something to do.
“You remember the first time you came over here?” Yoongi asks.
Your eyebrows lift. “This apartment?”
You think for a moment. “You had just moved in.”
“And you criticized the furniture.”
“You had a single chair.”
“You’re sitting in it earlier.”
He glances sideways at you. “You stayed late that night too.”
You smile faintly. “I remember you falling asleep mid-conversation.”
You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you. Your pulse kicks unexpectedly as something unspoken flickers between you −something that has existed quietly for a long time finally being acknowledged.
“Now you’re staring,” you whisper.
His lips twitch slightly. “You started it earlier.”
You concede graciously with a nod as Yoongi studies your expression. “You’re nervous,” he states.
“You just took three sips of water in ten seconds.”
You glance at the glass and realise he’s right. You set it down quickly. “That proves nothing.”
Your eyes narrow at him, but the challenge in his gaze is unmistakable now. Your heart thuds harder.
“Yoongi,” you say quietly.
He doesn’t look away and the electricity in the air around you crackles with a sudden anticipation. You suddenly realize that you are very aware of his breathing, he hasn’t looked away since you said his name.
There’s something thoughtful in his expression, but there’s also a faint hesitation that you rarely see from him. Yoongi is normally someone who decides things quickly once his mind is made up, but when he pauses like this, it means he is weighing something carefully.
“What?” you ask quietly after a moment.
Yoongi’s arm settles along the backrest behind you, not quite touching your shoulder, changing the space between you immediately.
“You’ve been overthinking something all night,” he says.
“I could say the same about you.”
“You asked earlier why I was thinking about our friendship,” he continues.
“Yes,” you say carefully.
“I didn’t answer properly.”
A quiet tension gathers in your chest. “You said we’ve known each other a long time.”
“That was the safe answer.”
You let out a soft breath. “And the real one?”
Yoongi’s gaze drops briefly to your hands where they rest loosely in your lap. His fingers move slightly against the back of the couch, brushing the fabric once before becoming still again. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, but there’s a noticeable seriousness underneath it.
“I was thinking about the fact that you’re the person who always stays,” he explains.
You feel your stomach tighten slightly. “You already said that.”
“I know.” He pauses, choosing his words more carefully now. “But I didn’t explain what I meant.”
You don’t interrupt him. Something tells you that if you do, he might abandon the thought entirely.
Yoongi shifts slightly so he’s turned toward you more fully now. The movement is small, but it places you closer together, the side of his knee almost touching yours. “People come and go a lot in my life,” he says. “Schedules change, work gets intense and sometimes friendships fade without anyone meaning for them to.”
His tone is matter-of-fact, but you can hear the truth behind it. You’ve seen it happen around him for years.
“But you don’t disappear,” he continues. “You show up even when I’m busy. You sit around while I’m working. You complain about my furniture and steal my food.”
You smile faintly. “That last one is your fault for leaving it unattended.”
“My point is that most people don’t do that for seven years.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice makes it difficult to joke this time. “You make it sound like a loyalty contract.”
Yoongi exhales slowly. When you glance back up, his eyes are on you again. “Important,” he says simply.
You’ve always known that you and Yoongi were close, it’s never been something either of you needed to define out loud −but hearing him say it like this has you feeling something stir deep inside you.
“You’re important to me too.”
He nods once. “You wouldn’t still be here if I wasn’t.”
“That’s a confident assumption.”
“You could have left hours ago.”
Your pulse begins to pick up slightly, and you try to focus on the calm rhythm of the music behind you instead of the warmth spreading slowly up your leg where it touches his.
“You’re overthinking again,” he says.
You huff softly. “You’re the one who started a serious conversation at midnight −and now you’re judging my reaction.”
You roll your eyes, but the tension between you doesn’t disappear. If anything, the light teasing only makes the awareness sharper. Yoongi’s hand shifts along the back of the couch, his fingers grazing your shoulder.
Your breath catches slightly and Yoongi’s voice lowers just a little when he speaks again. “You’re definitely nervous.”
“You’re avoiding eye contact.”
You force yourself to look directly at him. “Happy?”
He tilts his head slightly, studying you again with that calm intensity that has always made it difficult to hide anything from him. “Because you’re pretending this feels normal.”
Your stomach flips. “Maybe it is normal.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out −because he’s right. Yoongi watches the realization settle across your face and leans a little closer.
Yoongi’s expression changes slightly as if he’s remembered something. “Wait here,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow. “Where exactly do you think I’m going?”
He doesn’t answer, disappearing instead toward the kitchen. You hear the low creak of a cabinet opening, followed by the soft clink of glass. Curiosity pulls you halfway up from the couch so you can glance toward the kitchen. Yoongi is standing with his back to you, one arm reaching into the highest shelf above the counter, the one he rarely uses.
When he turns around again, he’s holding a dark glass bottle you’ve never seen before. The label is minimal and elegant, the kind of bottle people keep for years before opening.
Yoongi returns to the couch and sets the bottle on the coffee table with a careful kind of respect, then reaches for two clean glasses from the shelf underneath.
“You’ve been hiding this,” you accuse.
“Saving it,” he corrects calmly.
He twists the cap slowly, the quiet crack of the seal breaking sounding oddly loud in the quiet apartment.
The amber liquid catches the light as he pours a small amount into each glass. The smell alone is richer than the whiskey you had earlier; deeper, almost smoky.
You watch him with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t bring this out for everyone else.”
Your suspicion grows. “That feels suspiciously intentional.”
Yoongi hands you one of the glasses and you take it. “It is,” he admits.
You stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he’s joking, but his expression remains calm in that quiet way he gets when he’s made up his mind about something.
You glance down at the glass. “This must be expensive.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You’re not paying for it, so stop worrying.”
You bring the glass closer, letting the scent rise for a moment before taking a careful sip. The flavour is smooth enough that the warmth spreads slowly instead of burning, settling comfortably in your chest.
You look at him again. “Okay, yeah. That’s good.”
Yoongi nods once, clearly pleased with your reaction. He lifts his glass slightly in your direction. “Happy birthday to me,” he says dryly.
You smile and tap your glass lightly against his. “And to questionable decision-making.”
“Opening your secret whiskey stash with me.”
Yoongi considers that for a moment before taking a slow sip. “That might actually be the best decision I’ve made all night.”
Yoongi sets his glass down after another sip, his gaze lingering on you a little longer this time.
“Can I ask you something?” he says. You nod slowly. “Have you ever thought about us differently?”
The question hangs in the air between you and for a second your brain refuses to process it. “Differently how?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “You know what I mean.”
You do. That’s the problem.
You swallow slowly, your mind racing through years of small moments that suddenly feel more significant than they did before. Late nights like this, the comfortable silences, the way he always seems to notice when you’re upset before anyone else does, and the quiet ways he makes space for you in his life. You hadn’t labelled any of it before because you were afraid of what that label might mean.
Your voice is barely above a whisper when you answer. “Sometimes.”
He nods once, his hand moving again now. This time it doesn’t stop at your shoulder, his fingers sliding lightly along your sleeve until they reach your wrist. The warmth of his hand wraps gently around you and a smile appears at the corner of his mouth.
“Definitely nervous,” he murmurs.
You give him a look. “This is your fault.”
Yoongi’s thumb shifts slightly against your wrist. He leans closer, slow enough that you see it coming. You don’t stop him. Your breath mixes with his in the small space between you. Up close you notice things you’ve somehow ignored for years, like the faint scent of whiskey still lingering and the softness in his eyes when he’s looking at you this carefully.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”
Your heart stutters. “You chose your birthday to confess that?”
You laugh softly, the sound barely escaping before his other hand lifts gently to your jaw, his touch warm on your skin.
Yoongi kisses the way he does most things. Carefully at first, testing the moment, making sure it’s real before committing to it. His lips move slowly against yours, warm and deliberate, and the tension that has been building all night finally releases in a rush that makes your head spin.
Your hand instinctively finds the front of his hoodie, gripping the fabric lightly, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs as the kiss deepens, still unhurried but more certain now. His hand slides from your wrist to your waist, drawing you a little closer against him.
For a while after the kiss, neither of you says anything, both of you slightly breathless. Yoongi hasn’t moved very far away from you, and your hand still rests against the front of his hoodie where you grabbed it earlier. Only when you notice do you slowly release the fabric.
“Well,” he says quietly after a moment, his voice slightly rougher than before. “That happened.”
You let out a short breath that turns into a nervous laugh. “That’s one way to acknowledge it.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying your face as if making sure you’re okay. “Too much?” he asks.
The question surprises you. Yoongi rarely asks for reassurance out loud; he usually just observes until he’s certain.
You shake your head quickly. “No. I just−” You trail off, searching for the right way to say it. “I didn’t expect that tonight.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Neither did I. Not exactly like that.”
You raise an eyebrow. “So you were expecting something?”
“I was thinking about it,” he admits.
That doesn’t shock you nearly as much as it probably should. If anything, it explains the quiet intensity in his behaviour all evening, and the way his attention seemed to stay fixed on you even when the apartment had been full of people.
The quiet stretches again before Yoongi leans in again, taking your face in his hands. “Can I do that again?” he asks.
You nod before your brain can overthink it, and he kisses you again. The hesitation is gone now. Yoongi’s hand slides more confidently to your waist as he pulls you closer, and the warmth of him settles around you in a way that feels strangely familiar despite the newness of the moment.
Your fingers slip into the fabric of his hoodie again, anchoring yourself there as you pull back. Yoongi exhales quietly.
“Well,” he murmurs. “That answers that question.”
“What question?” you ask, looking up at him.
He nods towards the half-empty whiskey glasses on the table. “Whether opening that bottle tonight was a good idea.”
He studies your face for a moment before answering. “Best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”
And judging by the way his hand stays warm against your waist, neither of you seems in any hurry for the night to end. You study his face, noticing the faint flush in his cheeks that probably isn’t just from the whiskey.
“Your standards might be dropping with age.”
He exhales a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling softly in his chest. “Or maybe my priorities are improving.”
“That sounds suspiciously sentimental.”
You smile, but you don’t move away either. Instead you lean into him, liking the way his arm slides more comfortably around your shoulders.
Yoongi glances down at you after a moment. “You realize,” he says thoughtfully, “−That this is going to complicate things.”
He considers the question, his thumb absently tracing a slow circle against your arm. “I’m probably going to want to kiss you again.”
“That sounds like a manageable problem.”
Yoongi hums softly, clearly agreeing.
Somewhere between the expensive whiskey, the quiet conversation, and the first kiss you’ve shared in seven years, Yoongi’s birthday has turned into the beginning of something neither of you had planned, and neither of you seem interested in stopping.
