house party (3tan) | myg
title: house party pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks rating/genre: pg ; angst ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: what happens at a house party. and what happens afterwards. warnings: pov switch (just one), house party, pining, alcohol consumption, cursing, timeskips, angst, i am so sorry but yeah there’s angst again, stress, min yoongi..., a brief brother appearance??, the ending :)) note: and we are onto the next part! i… already apologize for what’s in here but don’t hate me too too much until you read it all ok thanks :) huge thanks to @joheunsaram @kookskingdom and @sugasbabiie for being super last minute angel betas!! note 2: if you haven’t gotten around to the other three tangerines fics yet, i highly encourage you to read those first. it would make more sense! drop date: january 16th, 2022, 7:17pm est word count: 10k !!
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Yoongi’s only here because he needs to unwind.
No matter what other excuses he has—if he has any at all—he chucks them all to the wayside as he takes another sip of his drink.
It’s not like he frequents parties because of the thrill anymore. No. That died out a long time ago, back when they were pushing each other in shopping carts and drinking liquor straight out of bottles they may or may not have used fake IDs for.
Tonight, he’s simply hanging with his friends and entertaining the people that are brave enough to walk up to him. Same old, same old.
“Hey, handsome. I thought you weren’t gonna be here.”
“You’re here,” he responds, mouth in a curve with no heat. The sooner he flirts back, the sooner they leave—that’s what he’s figured out from all these years in the game. People that frequent these things with a certain energy want the chase, the difficulty, the ones supposedly too hard to get. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He would know. He was one of them.
“Always so cute.”
“You know me.”
“I do.”
They don’t.
“See you around, Min.”
“See ya.”
Predictable. As these things always are.
Maybe that’s why he’s staring into the rest of the crowded house but not really seeing anything. Beneath the thump of music and random conversations, the underlying drone of monotony keeps his eyes from blinking too much—drying them out faster than whatever’s in his cup.
More people. More drinks. Another passing flirt. Someone brave enough to latch onto his arm—at least she’s pretty and has her own drink. He hates when they grab at his liquor.
God, he’s so bored. Why did he think this would help him? Why did he even come if his best friend wasn’t even in town?
Hmm. Speaking of that household...
Yoongi wonders about you.
You were the first unpredictable thing that happened to him in a minute. In a life full of unsurprising, dull nights just like this one, you served as a spot of color that cut through that haze. Like sunlight.
Ironic, since you came with the rain.
Taking another swig, he wonders if you’re okay.
Despite the handful of moments he saw you in the last few months, he hasn’t heard much from you directly. You were always just out of his reach, not in any position to have true one-on-one conversation with. Hell, the closest he got was on new years and that certainly wasn’t good enough for him. He could’ve stayed on that balcony with you all night.
Ever since then, it’s been random passings or quick party games you both got roped into. Nothing major or anything to his tastes.
Although, there was that one time.
He laughs to himself instead of at the girl on his arm remembering the time you walked into your kitchen, almost tripping over yourself seeing him there so early in the morning. It was adorable as hell.
Just like you were that one rainy day. The day he thinks about quite often—more times than he’s allowed himself to anyway.
There was a brief period where he really did feel bad about it. But when he remembers how you looked in his bed, how you were so natural with it, how you fit him so well, any regret is suddenly nonexistent.
To say he hadn’t taken a cold shower or two since then is also a lie.
“What’s up, Yoong.”
“Sup,” he responds, shaking hands and bringing people in.
“Why’s it so crowded?”
It’s Jimin walking up who answers, smiling when Yoongi’s attachment gives him doe eyes. “Cus all the university kids are out.”
“Figures.”
“You stocked, Chim?”
“Yeah. Kitchen.” The man fixes his hat before his voice drops. “Wanna come with, beautiful?”
And Yoongi is more than happy to have his arm freed.
As the flow of people keeps persisting, he goes through the motions. Saying hi, getting roped into a game, lap occupied and neck even more so. It’s all the same. He’s convinced that he can do all of this while asleep, and this realization overwhelms him enough to consider a quick exit.
Until he sees you.
Why is he surprised?
No. It’s not exactly surprise that he feels. Maybe it’s a different type of feeling springing from his chest—less like shock and more like relief. Which is odd, but he’ll think to analyze it later and not when he’s clearly starting to get a bit tipsy.
But Yoongi knows he can’t stare too long. Or do anything, really. All he can do is be cool with knowing you’re in the same space and that you’re having a good time.
Besides. As much as he wants a repeat of that day, there really isn’t anything he can do unless you approach him again. The risk of getting caught seems to always multiply when people do things more than once, so he’s been holding back. A lot.
Another sip.
Yoongi’s done what he could: extend vague offers. Because no matter how many times he’s told you that you can come back, you haven’t.
“Y’all want another round?”
“Hell yeah.”
“We’re gonna go upstairs.”
“What about Min?”
He feels his hood being played with before it’s slowly pulled over his hair, and a giggle that he’s heard a million times tickles his ear.
“Nah, he seems busy.”
“When is he not? Shit.”
It makes sense. Your brother has been in town more often lately because his job doesn’t need him traveling, so even if you wanted to, he figures you couldn’t just slip away again.
Yoongi does wonder if you even want to, though. That’s also something he’s been thinking about despite not knowing what the hell for.
Maybe you moved on. Found someone else. If that’s the case, whoever it is better know damn well how to take care of you.
A hand ghosts up his zipper. “Do I get you to myself tonight?”
“Depends,” Yoongi says in response, eyes lidded more out of sheer boredom than anything else. He doesn’t forget to smile, though, in case his attitude is blatantly obvious. Not like he really cares either way.
“On what?”
Fuck, his eyes land on you again, watching you talk to people he recognizes but doesn’t exactly know. They seem fine, though. And they’re making you laugh.
He likes seeing you laugh.
Goddamn, he’s gotten fucking soft. He needs to get it together and stay in his lane; there’s people here that know you both and your brother. Not one for drama, Yoongi doesn’t wanna bring any negativity into your life, which would absolutely happen if the guy ever ended up suspecting shit.
“You seem out of it, baby,” the same voice chides before a manicured nail tilts his chin, and he reluctantly shifts his gaze. What the fuck was this chick’s name again? Did she even say? “Lemme fix that.”
Yoongi’s hands don’t move as he gets full lips on his mouth, but his eyes shut in order to force himself to get you out of his sight. Arms are slinging around his neck to pull him closer, but they’re too aggressive. Too firm.
They make him remember the way your hands felt on his shoulders. So delicate, so unsure but still gripping with purpose. Nothing like what he’s been used to all this time. You were so damn refreshing.
Can he wish that it was you on his lap instead? Is he allowed to want you to be the one he’s making out with in front of everyone? Can that ever be the case?
Fuck no.
All he can wish is for you to stay preoccupied with whatever you’re doing. For you to be happy on the other side of the room.
And he’ll just have to be fine with that.
…Until around an hour later, when he catches you stumbling through a hallway to get to the kitchen, teetering on your toes and stupidly reaching for a bottle.
Shit.
Is no one stopping you?
“Yoong, go. Your turn.”
“Play without me,” he says offhandedly, dropping cards onto the plastic fold-out table at his waist. “I got the next round.”
“‘Kay!”
With a sigh, he makes his way over to you, trying not to react to your giggles as your pouring outright misses your cup.
Damn, he shouldn’t be the one doing this. The voice in his head is fighting him the whole walk over. But, with a quick scan, he doesn’t see anyone you normally come to parties with. Where are the people that he’s seen around you before?
Plus, the feeling he has in his gut is something he tends to not ignore too often. It’s how he’s survived this long despite being a complete idiot.
“Hey,” Yoongi mutters, standing and waiting for you to notice him. When you finally do—several seconds later—he asks, “You good?”
The faraway, searching look in your eye is already enough of an answer, but the outright flirty way you greet him boldens it.
And as much as he loves that tone coming from you, he pushes the inside of a cheek before confiscating your bottle. “That’s a no. Who’d you come with?”
Another fit of giggles bubbles from your pretty lips before you make a raunchy joke out of his question, and Yoongi looks away while trying not to be amused.
“I need you to focus.” The sooner he finds someone to take you home, the better. Truthfully, he’s just glad he found you at this point. How much did you even have?
“You’re no fun.”
“Tough shit,” he tuts while setting the glass down with a clink. “I need to know who you got here with, so fess up.”
Where are your friends? The rowdy ones from new years?
“No one,” you slur like you’re proud of that wrong answer, leaning on him and making his job ten thousand times harder.
“Yeah. Time to go,” Yoongi orders, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Your skin feels soft against his sleeve, and his fingers curl around your bicep just enough to stable your wobbling.
It seems that you suddenly realize what’s happening because you’re looking at him with wide eyes, whispering his name and saying hi—a real hi. Took you long enough.
Hold up.
Did you not know it was him before? Are you really that gone? It’s completely possible that you assumed he was a total stranger, which frightens Yoongi to a degree that he will absolutely not acknowledge.
“Hey,” he murmurs back, not knowing what else to say and wanting you safe in your bed already.
Fucking hell. Why did he take his eyes off of you in the first place? Why does he feel responsible for all this? Fuck, he’s actually mad at himself and nothing even happened.
You’re timid now, shoulders folding inward. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you home.”
“What?” You grab a tiny fistful of his shirt, which he finds much too endearing. “Can’t people see?”
He’s damn lucky you’re still whispering. But even if you weren’t, he could easily chalk this up to you being drunk off your ass if anyone overheard. Feeling a bit better now that you’re starting to gain some sense back, his eyes soften when he corrects, “Your home, doll.”
“No, I don’t wanna.”
“Too bad.”
A new voice chops the conversation short as a body steps right in front of Yoongi, dark shoes just barely missing his kicks. “What’s going on? Is this guy bothering you?”
Who in the fuck…
Yoongi looks at the way his footwear was millimeters from scuffing, tongue lolling around in his mouth before he shifts his eyes back upward.
If you didn’t burst into an introduction, things would’ve turned out much, much differently.
“Oh, hey! This is Yoongi.”
Tilting his head and checking the new guy out, Yoongi can already tell they’re just as gone as you are.
Is this who you came with? How has he not seen this dude before?
“Yeah,” Yoongi tacks on, annoyed beyond belief. “And who the fuck are you?”
— — — — —
Pulsing.
Angry, horrible pulsing in your head.
Even opening your eyes strains your muscles, and you squint staring at light bleeding through your blinds.
Wait, no.
What the fuck, those blinds aren’t yours.
Where the hell?
Immediately, you’re disoriented, yanking covers that also aren’t yours off your body and inspecting your form.
Clothes. These clothes are yours. Okay.
Wait, something about this place feels familiar.
Really familiar.
Blinking and wincing when your head pounds even harder, you scan the room around the bed you’re in—a bed you’ve most definitely occupied before in another circumstance. You see the same desk you saw before, the same bathroom door you’ve walked through before, the same nightstand that was reached into before… To…
Oh.
You’re dreaming.
There’s no way you’re in Yoongi’s room.
Thumping your head back down, you bury your nose into your pillow and breathe in, amazed that this dream even has his scent embedded inside its confines.
You’ve missed smelling him this close. If only this massive headache would leave you alone so that you can enjoy this moment of solace by yourself.
Wow. Even the sounds of him humming beyond the door grace you in this dreamscape. And even the smells of coffee and food make a presence…
Your breath ceases.
And your eyes slowly blink, hard.
Because you realize that you’re not in a dream at all.
Holy shit. You’re really back here.
Why the fuck can’t you remember how this happened?
Sitting up on an elbow, you notice your phone charging on the nightstand nearest your sweaty, icky form. Beside it sits a glass of water and some pain meds, all of the items watching you like they were judging you in your sleep.
You’re too shocked to react in earnest, simply sitting up as best as you can to grab the pills and water to take. When you’re done, your phone is next off the table, and you unhook it from the cord before inspecting your lockscreen through a squint.
Geez. At least you won’t forget who you went to that party with. His name is all you can see while scrolling through your texts, all of them wondering if you made it back okay and apologizing for not being able to take care of you.
He’s nice. But you don’t see that going anywhere.
Fuck, you feel sick.
You need to freshen up before Yoongi can see you like this. There’s no way you’re walking out there feeling this horrible and looking even worse.
Gingerly slipping out of his bed, you feel strange walking to his bathroom fully clothed after what happened last time. Which is odd, considering what you’re doing now is the normal operation of things.
When your feet hit tile, the first thing you notice is that it’s slightly damp like the air around you, which can only mean that Yoongi showered not too long ago.
Why couldn’t you have woken up sooner!
Shaking your head, you inspect his tidy space in earnest—though the white light isn’t kind to your headache in the least.
It’s all so very… Him. Black finish on all the accessories and even blacker towels to match. The only things he has out are items you assume he uses daily, save for some choice hair dye boxes that have one of your brows lifting.
But you don’t dwell on them for too long because the next few head pulses shove you into a tiny section of cabinets whose handles dig right into your sides.
“Fuck!”
What the hell! Your hangovers have never, ever been this bad. Why did you go so far last night? And seriously, how the hell did you end up at Yoongi’s?
“You okay?”
“Oh, shit,” you whisper as you right yourself, gripping one of the mean metal bars while pretending to be civil with them. Clearing your hoarse throat, you fake an okay mood to the man holding a doorknob across the room. “Hello.”
“Hey.”
Oh fuck.
Yoongi’s wearing glasses.
Of fucking course he is.
If the obvious fact that he’s not wearing a shirt under his hoodie isn’t enough to torture you further, his dark hair—freshly washed and mussed—serves as the final nail in your coffin.
And it’s completely unfair how, in comparison, you must look like an absolute trainwreck.
“If you’re good,” Yoongi drones, “Then come out before the food gets cold.”
Good? You’re the farthest thing from that! Forget the sick you’re feeling; his looks alone are destroying you. Hell, you might not even make it to his door if he keeps standing there like that. You’d disintegrate!
“K,” you rasp out. “Thank you.”
He only nods before shutting his door, and your shoulders instantly drop before you breathe normally again.
— — — — —
After you finish struggling to make yourself presentable, you make your way out of Yoongi’s bathroom plagued with the same thoughts as before.
He took you back to his place instead of yours.
What the actual fuck happened last night? Yoongi doesn’t seem particularly chipper, though that word wouldn’t really describe him in the first place. Is he mad at something that went down? Is he upset with you?
Thousands of possibilities run through your brain, all of them negative and yet entirely plausible. The only thing you can remember for sure is that you saw him at the party last night. Multiple times. And suddenly you’re in his bed?
Fuck, what if you kept him from something? There were plenty of girls on him from the tiny blips that you remember. What if he was supposed to go home with one or more of them? As much as that pains you to think about, you know that is always an option with Yoongi. You can’t think that you suddenly have this strange claim on him. That is territory you need to flat-out avoid.
Goddamn it. Whatever happened must have been a huge inconvenience to him regardless. Judging from the look he gave you just minutes ago, you don’t think you should stay much longer—no matter how much you yearn to.
Both hands cover your agony as you try your best to quell your headache. It’s starting to reside a bit due to the medicine, but you know you’re gonna need some food in your stomach before it truly works. And you also know that a huge fucking apology is in order as soon as you walk out there.
But when you open the door, the aroma that envelops you is… divine.
What the hell? Who even is this man? Whatever he’s preparing smells incredible.
Not that whatever he’s whipping up matters. You should head out now and totally, completely ignore the stare he’s directing at you from his stove. And his ass in those sweats.
You clear your throat while making your way past his table, mouth salivating and stomach rumbling against your will. “Thank you for the medicine,” you croak. “I’ll just… Head out n—”
“Sit down.”
His voice is much deeper than you remember. The tone is enough to halt you in your tracks while shivers race down your arms. Stuttering, you refute, “I’m okay. Really.”
Yoongi sets down his wooden spatula with a clunk, aiming a sharp look your way. “Eat,” he commands, leaving no room for arguments. “Then you can go.”
Ouch. Why does it hurt when he says it?
“Okay.” You backtrack, the pulsing in your head accentuating Yoongi’s insistence. Both of them make you wince.
After unnecessary struggle, you end up picking the same chair you sat in last time you were here.
You stare at the table as you hear sounds spilling from the kitchen, not wanting to watch Yoongi work lest you yearn for him even more. Fuck, you can’t be feeling this way, but you do. Especially now that you’re both alone again. Here.
If only he didn’t seem so pissed with you. You really want to know what you did so that you can at least say sorry. Maybe you hurled on him?
Oh god. If you messed up his shoes he has every right to be furious. You figure he would want to keep his kicks spotless.
A plate of basic breakfast food—complete with sliced fruit—is placed in front of you, and you flicker your eyes in time to see Yoongi settling down into the chair on your side.
The same one he sat in last time.
“Eat. Unless you’re allergic.”
“No, I’m…” How the fuck did he know exactly what you needed? Your eyes are already feasting and the rest of you is jealous. “Yeah, I’ll eat. Thank you.”
“No prob.”
Damn, his glasses suit him so well. It takes you much longer than necessary to shift your eyes away, and you busy yourself with picking at your food.
There are still so many questions swimming around in your alcohol-muddled brain, all of them fighting to be the first one out of your mouth so that Yoongi can just answer them. Any of them.
But of all things, one jumps to the forefront and launches out of your mouth before you get a single bite of substance,
“Did we…Umm.”
Beside you, Yoongi stops his movements, staring into your soul. “Did we umm?”
“Did we… You know.” Damn it. You know the words should leave your mouth easier now that you’ve gone all the way with him—a thought that makes you heat up from the inside. But they don’t.
You expect just a yes or no, but he just looks outright confused with a full bite of food in his mouth. If you were a betting person, you would even go so far as to say he looks offended.
“Fuck? Why would we? No.”
“Oh.”
Yoongi just looks at you, brows slightly furrowed and food swallowed. “Do you not remember anything?”
One shake of your head is all you can manage, embarrassment taking over your shoulders. “No. One moment I was at that party and the next… I woke up.”
“Damn.” He moves some of his food around. “You were more gone than I thought.”
“What even happened? Why am I here?”
The way he stares at you then makes you crumble. It’s a look you’ve seen before on people that had a tendency to hide things.
You don’t like this look on Yoongi.
“Long story short, you would’ve thrown yourself outta my car if I didn’t bring you here.”
“Oh, my god.” Your head slowly falls into your hands as shame fully encases your form. “Did I really.”
“Yup.”
“I’m scared to ask what else now.”
“You wanted to sleep naked. Dunno if that’s a personal preference or…”
“What the fuck!” you whisper into your hands, mortified. Explanations and excuses gush from your throat, “I mean, sometimes? I usually just sleep with a shirt— I mean— That’s not usually my preference so I don’t know why… I…”
“It’s cool.” Yoongi leans back as he lazily shifts hair from his specs. “Once you passed out it was chill.”
You sigh, hating how you can’t remember shit from last night even though you were a handful. More than a handful, apparently. And a brat at that. No wonder he’s so stern with you now.
“Sorry you had to do all this,” you whisper with resentment towards no one but yourself.
“Don’t sweat it. That party was ass anyways.”
“I guess it was if I blacked out. Got all dressed up for nothing!” You fold your hands to inspect your fingers. “Even did my nails and everything.”
Yoongi leans on his elbow, food abandoned and looking right at you. When he agrees, part of you wants to melt into his floors,
“They do look nice.”
“Thanks.”
He rests his cheek on a fist. “Now eat. The rest of you looks awful.”
“Wow.”
It occurs to you that the last time you were both sitting in those chairs, something happened that changed your life forever. You start to lose yourself in thinking about that day again, to the point of outright staring into nothing.
But you finally eat after you burn under Yoongi’s glare.
— — — — —
Finishing your outstanding meal doesn’t take you too long, but it feels like eons because you’re being watched. Does he have to see you physically swallow so that he knows you’re getting nourishment? What the hell is going on in his mind?
When you’re almost done, Yoongi finally talks. “Still the same, huh.”
Ah. Busted. You know he’s referring to earlier, when you couldn’t even say the word you wanted to. And you know this because you were just thinking about the exact same thing between bites. “Mostly,” you admit. “But.. A bit better.”
Yoongi nods, seeming to contain what he really wants to say. Yet another thing he’s keeping to himself. “Good. You should’ve been from the start, but. I feel like I’ve said my piece.”
“You definitely said a lot of things.”
“Ah… Did I?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what?”
“Umm.” You fold your lips together before looking away. Out the window by his table, you can see signs of rain. “Something about me riding it like a… Like a slut.”
When you look back at him, Yoongi’s pushing his lip upwards in thought, nodding sagely. “Sounds like me.”
“And you kept not believing that I was trash.”
“I still don’t.”
“So you still think I’m an amateur, huh?”
He gives you a once over before looking down at his table. Tapping its surface with a finger, he scoffs, “How can I not?” Tired eyes level with yours, unblinking behind his glasses. “I don’t have any new evidence.”
In a move as bold as the question you asked him the first time, you plead the scratch marks in his table for courage before blurting,
“And I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
You figure that time with Yoongi was a one-time deal. You’re free to joke with him because there is absolutely no way he would take your offer seriously.
Does that pain you? Yes. Of course you lament that every single night you’ve wanted to go over there but didn’t. But it’s better to expect nothing to quell the disappointment whenever he—
“Cute. But you should go.”
Does something like that.
Already resigned, you don’t feel hurt. Much.
“You’re right. I will.”
Leaving the table much calmer than last time, you dutifully take your plate to his kitchen space, feeling just a bit of warmth when you feel his eyes on you. Your hands find cleaning supplies easily, and you lose yourself in thought while you wash your dishes.
Seconds pass. And then more.
Interesting. Even though you’re sporting a gnarly hangover and Yoongi doesn’t seem pleased, you feel incredibly… At peace. Just being here. Standing in Yoongi’s tiny kitchen while water runs over your hands.
As to why this thought comes to you, you aren’t completely sure. Is it because he took so much care of you unprompted? Or is it because you’ve already traveled to this place countless times after you’ve fallen asleep—so many times that it now seems wonderfully and frighteningly familiar?
Before you realize what’s happening, the light haze around your mind dissipates when a warm, rough hand covers yours around the plate you think you’re still cleaning.
“Don’t waste my water,” a deep voice rumbles way too close to your ear, “Or I’ll make you pay for it.”
“Shit, sorry.” You rush to turn the faucet off with your free hand, embarrassed to think that you had been standing there with the water pouring over already spotless porcelain. Quickly fishing for an excuse, you whisper, “Damn headache.”
Yoongi does nothing but take his hand away, setting it on the counter next to your side. It’s at that moment that you realize he’s right behind you, and the knowledge is enough to spike the hairs on the back of your neck.
Fuck. No matter how many times you’ve visited him in your dreams, nothing compares to the way he makes you feel in person. Because Yoongi’s merely existing and you’re already threatening collapse.
Every single one of your senses is heightened. You smell the cologne sticking to his freshly showered skin; you feel the heat radiating from his body; you see the way his veins move in his hand as he shifts it on the granite top. Your brain is too busy processing everything in the moment that it forgets to tell you not to turn your head.
So you do.
And you wait.
The kitchen suddenly becomes filled to the ceiling with tension, both of you waiting for the other to say something—anything. You want to know what he’s hiding, what he’s thinking, why he’s acting the way he is. But you also feel like he won’t say anything if he doesn’t want to.
Fuck, this is agonizing. You finally crack and move your jaw to talk—
“I know what you’re doing.”
Your teeth snap together before you speak. “What? Me?”
Yoongi moves away from you, and you finally get ahold of oxygen again, not even realizing that you ceased breathing. “Yeah. You.”
“What am I doing.”
“Stalling.”
“Stalling?” You face him fully, arms folded. “I’m not stalling.”
Yoongi just watches you with that face—another face you don’t seem to like on him. It’s the one he wears when he simply doesn’t believe you.
Pursing your lips, you relent. “Okay. I’ll admit I’m zoning out. But I’m not”—you wave one of your hands—“Whatever you’re calling it.”
“If you wanna stay, stay. But I’m going to sleep.” He walks back to the table to grab his plate. “I’m about to pass out.”
“Sorry,” you say, heart slipping down your rib cage because it knows what your decision will be. “I’ll go. But I’ll get that first.”
As Yoongi slowly hands you his dishes to wash, you stare directly at them, avoiding the gaze he’s pinning you with entirely.
— — — — —
It’s gloomy outside, which shouldn’t affect your outlook, but it does. It just got done raining last time you left, so maybe that’s why you feel this heaviness in your chest now.
But, as you see your driver inching closer on your phone, you know you made the right decision. You don’t want to burden Yoongi much longer, especially since you overstayed your welcome as soon as he put you in his car.
Damn it, you want to stay. You want your hangover and this weird feeling between the two of you to go away so that you can shove him into his bedroom for a much needed round two. So that you can thank him for taking so much care of you when he didn’t even need to.
But reality has other plans and they’re not ideal in the slightest.
It’s a bit of a stifled exit as Yoongi waits for you to put your shoes on. He’s quiet and brimming with things he won’t say, and it sucks to feel like he just wants you gone. Like he can’t get rid of you fast enough.
Trying to tuck away this awful sadness, you clear your throat before straightening. “Thank you again, Yoongi.”
“You talk in your sleep, you know that?”
“What?” Brows furrow just as your ride app notifies you to head out, and you search his tired eyes. Is that why he couldn’t sleep? “No.”
He just nods to himself a couple times before opening the door. “I see.”
“What did I say?”
“Nothing important. Now go,” Yoongi murmurs as a hand is placed on your back. The touch burns right through you. “Ride’s waiting for you.”
“Seriously, I…” you whisper, wanting to hold on just a bit longer. You know he just wants to go the fuck to sleep but you need him to know how grateful you are.
And something tells you that you may not get another chance.
Admiring how handsome he looks in glasses, you map his face with purpose, trying to capture it perfectly in the hopes that his afterimage stays with you for a long time. “Thank you. I’ll pay you gas money, for the food, the stupid water bill—everything.”
And finally—finally—Yoongi’s eyes spark just a tiny bit. A mere flicker to set your soul on fire. “Don’t worry about it.” He tilts his head and offers a hollow smile. “Go.”
So you do. And it isn’t until you’re back home that you break, tossing yourself onto your bed and wondering what the fuck happened for things to turn out this way.
Did you fuck up again?
Probably.
Most likely.
Goddamn it.
— — — — —
Three months.
It’s been a whole three months since then. Three months full of wondering and speculating and getting absolutely nowhere…
So when Yoongi’s the first person you see when you walk into your kitchen one night, the sound you make is enough to startle even your brother.
“The fuck?” He looks at his friend before turning back to you, jacket collar shifting with his movements. “Never seen Yoongi before?”
“Fuck off!” you whisper before sniffling, quickly turning away from the both of them. Of course you look like an absolute wreck in his presence; of course the first time Yoongi sees you in months is when you’re sick.
You halfway hope this is just a fever dream, especially with the way he looks in that tracksuit. Fuck!
Frustrated, you hastily grab some water and something from a nearby fruit bowl, making sure your back is all Yoongi can see—if he’s even looking. “I just didn’t expect you to be home.”
“We’re heading out now. Don’t wait up.”
“Oh okay,” you acknowledge, hating that you slide your eyes sideways to catch one more glimpse before they go. But you can’t help it. It’s been way too long since you last saw him, and that expanse of time seemed to make him even more attractive.
When you look, shock registers in your brain.
Why does Yoongi appear somewhat amused? Isn’t he supposed to be over you? Avoiding you? Whatever the hell he’s doing?
Or is it because you look terrible? Fuck, he really does probably want nothing to do with you now. Maybe your drunk look slightly edges out your sickly look, and this man has now seen both. Wonderful.
You hear the shift of clothing and jewelry as they head out, and your brother shouts over his shoulder, “Don’t forget the dishes!”
Bitch! He knows you’re sick. Admittedly, you already feel like you’re on the getting better slope, but still. Annoyed with all the sudden surprises and his teasing, you huff, your threat following them down the hall to the front,
“I’ll cough on you in your sleep.”
Yoongi hisses out small laughs—shocking you one last time—before your brother swats him. “Try it! See ya.”
“Bye.”
And silence booms when the door shuts.
When you get to your room, it’s only then that you realize why Yoongi looked so amused.
The only thing you grabbed other than water was a tangerine.
— — — — —
Hours must have passed since the time you ventured back into your bed. You were barely able to down all the water and eat the whole fruit—one that you peeled successfully while throwing curses at a certain individual—before falling into a deep, warm rest. As you finally come to, your blinds only shield you from moonlight.
Damn. Hopefully you’ll be able to go back to sleep. You may not be able to until way into dawn now.
Rest still weighs on your eyes as you turn to face your nightstand, squinting when you reach for your phone and succumb to light. The lock screen shows some notifications—a lot from the same guy that wouldn’t leave you alone since the party—but there’s one in particular that has you almost throwing your device on the floor.
What the…?
Immediately, you click to open a thread that had previously only held short messages only pertaining to your brother. A thread that you never would have guessed would be used again.
Yoongi [11:55pm]: you awake?
What the hell. What the actual hell?
What do you do? All you can feel in your head is the overworking of wheels and cogs, grinding against each other and causing steam to hiss out of your ears.
Maybe you’re still dreaming. He’s been annoying like that for months, visiting you while you slept and not letting you forget how he made you feel. Sometimes it’s about that day last year; sometimes it’s about the time you both watched fireworks on new year’s. But most of the time, you’re simply transported back to his apartment, doing nothing and everything while being completely content. No awkwardness. No stress. No tension.
So maybe this is just another dream. You’ll wake up soon and have zero notifications from Yoongi on your lock screen and—
Yoongi: Incoming Call
What the fuck!
Audibly shuddering, you bite your lip while shakily pressing Accept, almost slipping in your haste and hitting Decline. Voice impossibly meek and head buried under your covers, you answer, “Hey.”
“Hey. Sorry if I woke you.”
Still suspended in disbelief, you try your hardest to stay calm, making sure to keep yourself neutral in case your brother is in his vicinity. “Oh, it’s okay. What’s up?”
“Your brother is an idiot. I’m taking him home.”
“Wait, what happened?” You pull your phone away from your face to inspect the time. “It’s only midnight.”
With a quick thought, you lament the fact that you really aren’t going back to sleep any time soon.
“Still can’t hold his liquor is all.”
“Oh, my god.” Figures. Thank goodness Yoongi is actually lucid enough to drive him back.
Or is he?
“Wait, are you good? Do I need to come get you?”
A small chuckle crackles through your receiver.
“Don’t worry. We’re almost there so unlock the door.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks.”
The call ends after that, and you thrust yourself out of your covers before scampering to the front, not wanting Yoongi to see you again in this state. After you undo the lock, you hear the sounds of a car rolling up, so you hightail it back to your room.
Only to slow in your fast walk when you realize.
If Yoongi needs help getting your brother to his bed, you need to assist. He already left a party to lug his ass home, so the least you can do is give him a hand here.
Ugh. He’s written you off anyways. What more can your sleep-riddled, baggy-shirt state do?
The scrape of shoes on concrete hit your ears, so you head back to crack open the front, peeking through and seeing your groaning sibling slung over Yoongi’s displeased shoulder.
“Idiot…” you sigh, widening the door when they reach the threshold and getting slammed with the strong reek of alcohol. “I keep telling him to be more careful.”
“Same,” Yoongi winces as he shoves him up a little more.
You shut the entrance to help him get your brother down the hall. “Well. If anyone can get to him, it’s you.”
“You think so?”
Both of you struggle as the annoyance between you is relying more and more on your bodies instead of his own legs. Holy hell, how much did he really have?
“Yeah,” you grunt. “He loves you.”
A tsk.
“Whatever. You feel the same.”
Yoongi’s silence is telling enough as you push open your brother’s door, your sibling’s groaning still persisting in your ear. Stumbling through the dark space, you both manage to get him onto his mattress, a trash can and towel being set up soon after.
Knowing the time, you figure that this is just a temporary leave from the party they were at. So you turn to Yoongi before assuming, “You heading back?”
Even though you don’t want him to leave so soon, you don’t want to be that person. Desperate or clingy or whatever he might call it. So much is still left unsaid between you, but you can’t pry. You mustn’t.
It might just make things worse.
Yoongi has his hands in his pockets, staring at your brother immediately falling asleep. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” You try not to let disappointment squeak through your mouth as you both make your way out of the room. “Thank you for taking him home.”
“You’re good. I didn’t want you to have to do it.”
Umm.
Of all things, that’s not what you expected to hear.
Mind racing, you question him while shutting your brother’s door behind you, “Why?”
Yoongi just shrugs. “You’re sick.”
“I mean,” you sputter out, “I’m not deathly ill or anything. But thank you.” You don’t know how to process what’s happening or even how to properly feel. But Yoongi’s always so damn considerate that you don’t know why you’re even surprised. It doesn’t matter how he feels about you; he’s just being Yoongi.
As the two of you make your way down the hall, you hear him ask, “How do you feel now?”
“I’m…” You absentmindedly play with your shirt. “Feeling better. Still getting over it but the worst part has passed. Like I’m not feeling like I’m dying so that’s good.”
“Nice.” He opens the door while keeping his eyes on you. “Make sure he’s okay.”
“Okay. Have fun.”
As he walks back to his car, you stare at his strides before closing the entrance and sighing.
It truly sucks how different things are between you now. You thought that, after that day and New Years, there would at least be something persisting.
That kiss on New Years had to mean something.
But you’ve been wrong about things before, and your dynamic with Yoongi is one of them. Apparently there isn’t one now, the delicious tension fizzing out into a stale drink that’s quickly abandoned on a railing.
You make your way into your kitchen, sadder than you thought you would be. Both of you were completely alone again for the first time in a long time, but neither of you broached the line.
It’s really over, isn’t it?
Yoongi’s really done.
The fruit bowl from earlier slips into your vision, and you remember what he told you that first day. Whether or not he was joking, you still wanted to repay him those little citruses that you just halfway peeled on his table. You want to do anything to bring some normalcy back into… Whatever this is.
You break.
Yes, this is just an excuse. Yes, you’re grasping at straws. But damn it, you hate whatever the hell is happening so you’re gonna fight through it. Fuck consequences.
And if this is just Yoongi keeping you at a distance like he should have before…
No! None of that. You just have to fucking try.
You scurry back to your room and swipe your phone from the bed, hoping he didn’t make it too far from your place. Is it a super strange time to repay this favor? Yes. But you don’t know when the next chance will present itself. You’ll try anything at this point.
Yoongi: Outgoing Call
It rings a few times before he answers, and the fact that you didn’t expect him to makes you suck in a breath.
“You good?”
Focus. Just relax. Breathe. “Yeah. It’s just… Umm.”
“What’s wrong?”
This was stupid. Hang up. Oh, god, hang up before you start crying. “Nothing! This is too silly, never mind. I’ll go.”
“Talk to me, doll.”
Fuck. The sudden nickname drop makes you squirm, and you have to compose yourself before continuing. It affects you much differently when you haven’t heard it in ages, like a tiny memento you didn’t know you lost. Muttering into your receiver, you slowly explain, “I just have tangerines… if you wa—”
You can’t even finish your sentence before hearing a proud chuckle on the other line.
“How the hell did I know?”
“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you bite back through the widest smile you’ve beamed in awhile.
“Took a wild guess.”
You don’t know what to say. All you can do is grin to yourself and shake your head at his stupid intuition. Already, calling him is worth it. “So, yeah. I told you it was stupid.”
“It’s adorable.”
“I am not adorable,” you pout, slipping back into your bed, the original reason you called quietly forgotten. It’s a strange feeling to finally talk to Yoongi one-on-one again, but strange in a way that has your blood pulsing. Why is he even on the line still? “At least, not now.”
“You are.”
“Lies. If anything I’m terrifying.”
“’Cus you’re sick?”
“Yeah.”
A scoff.
“You just look like someone that’s sick. Nothing bad.”
“Still embarrassing,” you retort, even though every doubt from before has been effectively squashed. You should have known he’s probably used to seeing women in all sorts of ways by now. “Why couldn’t you have seen me on a good day?”
“The fuck is a good day?”
“I dunno. Like a day where I don’t look like death?” You go through your proverbial files in your mind, trying to think of an example you could give him. “I did look nice before a party like, two weeks ago.”
You can still hear the telltale hum of Yoongi still driving. His voice turns airy as he asks,
“Ah, so for the boyfriend, huh?”
“The what?”
…Huh?
Your brain dashes on overdrive. Zero to a hundred. Not a single thought can finish as you sprint through the last few months. Did you have a boyfriend? What boyfriend? Yeah, you had a fling, but that was— You only— Wait. Boyfriend? What is he—
“Oh, done with that already? The dude at Jimin’s?”
The dude at Jimin’s? Blinking multiple times, you’re trying to think of who he could possibly be…
Oh, shit. You remember. It’s the guy. The guy that texted you multiple times after that night, and then proceeded to text you nonstop ever since then. “What du— Oh, my god. No, he’s— No. That was not my boyfriend.”
Prolonged silence.
“Umm.”
“What?”
“You should probably break that to him. Based on what he told me that night, he didn’t know that.”
“Motherfucker…” Your eyes shut in utter exhaustion, all the notifications you’ve been getting now clicking into place. “That’s why he keeps blowing up my phone.”
“Word of advice. Guys like that need a clear answer. So if you’re dodging him then give it to him straight. Otherwise they’re just gonna keep thinking whatever they think is true.”
“Yeah, I am. I will.” You slap your head with a palm. “…Tomorrow. I don’t wanna deal with his texts now.”
“Good girl.”
Holding your breath for a moment, you sink further into your sheets, wondering when Yoongi’s going to end the call. You’re still shocked he’s still speaking to you. What were you even talking about before the whole misunderstanding?
Oh. Right. “So, umm… About that good day. Do you want me to describe it?” Eyes lowering, you take another dive of faith tonight, testing the waters that you threw yourself into. “Or send it?”
And the atmosphere shifts immediately.
“Show me.”
“Okay.” Buzzing, you scroll through your photos and send him one of the pics you took on the night you described, decked out in the first outfit in a while that you sincerely liked. From your confident pose, no one can tell that your heart wasn’t truly working.
It takes a second for you to get any response, but when you do, you feel something beat in your chest.
“Goddamn.”
You cough, swallowing your saliva and excitement. “So yeah.. That would’ve been a good day.”
“I guess. But it doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re attractive. That’s it.”
If you weren’t already lying down, you know you would have melted into the ground. Knees wouldn’t have worked properly; ankles would have given out. A clear memory of you telling him something about him being honest blips through your mind, and you know it isn’t just your sickness that has your forehead running hot.
But suddenly, you hear a car door shut, so you know Yoongi got back to the party. The jingling of keys rings through your receiver.
Fuck, you really want to stay on the line with him so damn bad.
“Thank you,” is all you can say, knowing your time is running out. “And Yoongi?”
“Hmm.”
“I probably shouldn’t say this, but…” you bite your lip, hoping to everything that he won’t be mad or feel some type of way. But why the fuck would you say it now! He’s about to go back into a party and forget all about you and this entire conversation. “Ah. Never mind.”
“Say that one more time and I’m hanging up.”
“Sorry.” You sigh, closing your eyes and knowing this is gonna be a big mistake. But you can’t help the sentiments from sliding out of your lips. “About the boyfriend thing. I didn’t know.”
“No sweat.”
“And I just… I miss you.”
Fuck. You said it. It’s out there now. The one thing you’ve been wanting to say ever since standing on that godforsaken balcony with eyes straight ahead and a heart looking sideways. Whether or not you’re allowed to feel that way, he knows, and you can’t take it back.
All that greets you on the other side of the line is silence. The receiver gives you nothing other than the shuffling of some clothes, and you hear keys jangling before a door is unlocked.
Wait. Does he just have keys to the house party? Or is the party at his place?
Why isn’t Yoongi hanging up?
“Probably shouldn’t say this, either.”
And you hold every bit of your breath back as you hear a door close.
“But I miss you, too.”
Butterflies spring into the far reaches of your chest, lifting you from the bed and into the blanket of stars above you. You almost think you misheard him, and with eyes wide you respond, “You do?”
“Yeah.”
Your breaths are shallow as you try to calm yourself, failing miserably and hilariously. “I… guess I just didn’t expect that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it seemed like you were avoi—Oh.”
Oh.
Everything makes sense now. All those thoughts burdening your mind suddenly fade, leaving you free to feel the same things that you did before. The saying about absence comes to your mind, but in this case, it’s Yoongi’s consideration that makes you fonder than ever.
That, and the fact that he’s a complete idiot. You both are.
You hear the smallest huff on the line, and you just know that he’s smiling. Hot all over, you clear your throat before deflecting, something you do best in his overwhelming presence. “I thought you would’ve forgotten me already, honestly.”
“The fuck? You showed up at my door and told me to fuck you. Kinda hard to forget that.”
“Yoongi!” You panic, hoping no one around him heard him lest they figure out who he’s talking to. “Can’t people hear you?”
A soft laugh tickles your ear.
“Relax. I’m home.”
Stunned, you furrow your brows while feeling a bit too attracted to him in the moment. Didn’t he say he was going back to the party? “Why home?”
“Just felt like it, I guess.”
“You’re an old man now, that’s why.”
“Good night.”
“No, no!” Laughs bubble from your sore throat, your mind still on a high from him admitting that he misses you, and the air clearing between the both of you now. Holy fuck, you can breathe so much easier even though you’re sick. Incredible how that even works. “I’m teasing.”
You’re about to tell Yoongi that he’s in fact not an old man when you hear clothes being stripped, and you salivate immediately wondering what he must look like now. Because yes, you can feel these things. You’re allowing yourself to.
“You might be right, though. I’m tired already, shit.”
“Ah, okay,” you murmur through the speaker, slightly deflated because that means the call has to end. Trying not to sound disappointed, you offer, “I’ll let you go then.”
You hear some activity coming from his end, random sounds muffled by static. Awaiting an answer or at least to see if he heard, you simply listen and wonder what he could be up to.
Is he changing? Finding something to eat? Getting ready for bed? You don’t know why, but the image of Yoongi brushing his teeth while on the verge of sleep makes you laugh.
“What.”
Oops. “Nothing,” you respond, mischief spread across your voice. “I just said I’d let you go.”
“Oh, okay. How is he now?”
“Umm, lemme check, one sec.” You reluctantly leave your covers and venture to your brother’s room, leaving your phone nestled by your pillow.
Once you see the log is just fast asleep, you go back to your room, touched at how caring Yoongi really is. Goddamn, between everything he’s been doing lately, your heart keeps fluttering so much that you can’t believe it didn’t work for months.
Sliding back under your covers, you pick your device up and lovingly cradle it next to your ear. “He’s fine.”
You hear what sounds like a tiny snort before amusement fizzles into your receiver,
“Did you leave your phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought so. Almost thought I got hung up on.”
“You wanna be?”
More huffs of laughter.
“That’d be hot.”
“How? You’re so weird.”
For some godforsaken reason—the sickness you still have, the giddiness you feel, the unbelievable fact that you’re still on the phone with him right now—you make a split second decision.
And you do hang up.
It all happens so fast that you’re staring down at your phone, blinking once twice five times before realizing what you did. And the dread of that being the last of your conversation with him shoots through your limbs so fast that you start to outright sweat.
Why the fuck!
Do you call him back?
You fucked up.
Yoongi: Incoming Call
Flatlining. You feel your heart giving out, beating its last pulse. It was inevitable. Wincing, you answer and have no idea what to expect.
“I’m impressed.”
Burying your head, you berate yourself for going through all these massive emotions while he’s still as chill as ever on the other end of the line. Finally putting Yoongi on speaker, you hope he can still hear you while you’re completely face down. “I can't believe I did that.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never done that before!”
“Hung up on someone?”
You shift your head so that only one eye peeks out. “I don’t think so. At least, not like that. Sorry.”
“You kidding? If he wasn’t there I would’ve gotten back in my car.”
Back in his car? To do— Oh. You’re back to face planting. “…Really?”
“Dead serious.”
Pure frustration blows from your mouth, heating up your entire face as it spreads through your pillowcase. You hate how your circumstances don’t allow much of anything to happen between you and Yoongi. So many things could have been different if your situation was something else. Why did things have to be this way?
You sum up your irritation in two syllables. “This sucks.”
“I know.”
Turning onto your back, you cover your eyes with a hand. “That day after I stayed at your place… Fuck, I wish I knew about the whole boyfriend thing.”
“Hey, don’t.”
“Yoongi, I’ve been wondering what happened for months. I thought… And just… This whole time you thought I was off-limits.”
A low laugh precedes the next statement, his voice deep and rueful even through a tinny speaker.
“You’re off-limits either way, doll.”
“I know.” You sigh before repeating yourself, emotions seeping out of your tired and sore body. It’s all so damn infuriating, and regrets keep weighing you down. Throwing any sort of caution to the wind, you ask without hesitation, “What would you do? If I wasn’t?”
“You really wanna know?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a moment of quiet on the line. Just the persisting hum and fizz of static. But then you hear movement. What is he doing? God, you wish you were there.
“Well. If you’re talking about tonight, I would’ve taken you with me. To the party.”
“Oh.”
“But honestly, we wouldn’t’ve made it there anyway.”
Your breath hitches. “..Oh…”
“And if you’re talking about in general. We wouldn’t be doing this on the phone.”
Shudders take over your body, and you cannot blame your sickness on any of them. It’s quite ridiculous how Yoongi’s able to make you feel this way with just his voice. You’ve never wanted to run somewhere so fast in your entire life. “What, umm”—you clear your throat—“And just what would we be doing?”
“We’d already be fucking, babe.”
Your breath comes out in a rush, and you don’t even think about hiding it this time. “Fuck,” you whisper, rubbing your legs together at a torturous pace. “I think about that all the time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” Admissions fly out of your mouth, your body constantly shifting under your covers and your panties getting more wet by the second. “The amount of times I’ve thought about going over there… Yeah. But I didn’t wanna bother you.”
“You wouldn’t bother me at all.”
“I guess I just. Didn’t think your offers were real, you know?”
“They all were.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“What’s done is done. Don’t worry about that.”
You rub your forehead again before thumping your arm down, staring up at the ceiling and vowing revenge in your next life for whomever made you off-limits to this man. Why did things have to be this way? Why does your brother have to be the way he is?
Is it because you’re all he has? You can chalk up his overprotectiveness to your environment, but it could be much worse. And besides, he has to leave for work sometimes, so it’s not like…
Wait. You remember him mentioning something a couple days ago over breakfast. Something that has your heart beating slow and fast all at once.
It didn’t mean much at the time. But now? Your breaths are already quickening as you think of the millions of possibilities that can stem from this if Yoongi somehow lets anything happen.
“My brother… He has a work trip coming up.”
His answer is immediate.
“I know.”
Your thighs slide against each other as you fidget, and your teeth find your bottom lip. All you have to do is say one more thing. Just one. One more stupid sentence to end all this suffering. Say it! Why can’t you speak?
“What’s on your mind, doll.”
Fuck.
“If you don’t tell me I’ll never know.”
Double fuck.
Psyching yourself up, you squeeze your eyes shut, your statement coming out in a whisper,
“I’ll bring the tangerines.”
“That’s my girl.”
And you cough twice when your anticipation gets caught in your throat. On the other line, you are very sure you’re getting laughed at before you hear him send you off through a grin.
“See you then. Amateur.”
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tbc. :)
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A/N: i told you to wait until the end! LOL anyways.. the next part is.. already getting worked on and i’m already gone - just so you all know lol. and if you’re new to the 3tan fam, hello! happy to have you on this journey and i hope you enjoy this couple pairing as much as i do🥺 lastly, happy two months to three tangerines! i can’t believe it’s only been that long.. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist ++ oh, yeah... next up: the weekend >:)
