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Their blanket forts were always too stuffy, but they never minded. That night was mid-winter, cold, if Taehyung remembers correctly, because they had big travel mugs filled with cocoa and marshmallows, under strict warning that any spillages on the new fleece blankets would result in a slow and painful demise at the hands of Taehyung’s mother. That particular blanket fort wasn’t their best – they still have photos of every single one they made, from ’99 onwards – but it was decent, sloppy on the outside, but pretty within, twinkle lights strung across the woolly ceiling with clothes pegs, Taehyung’s ghost lamp glowing in the corner to keep them company.
‘What age d’you wanna be?’ Taehyung asked him.
‘When?’ Yoongi murmured. He had Taehyung’s Gameboy in his hands, navigating his way through some sandy Dragon Realm. Taehyung had his drawing book and favourite pencils lying next to him, but he’d forgotten about them some time before when he’d started telling Yoongi about the wedding he’d been to the weekend before – his first wedding. He’d felt like a proper grown up in his suit, eating fancy food at fancy tables and being told by distant relatives how big and handsome he’d gotten since they’d last seen him. He was pretty eager to repeat the experience, weddings on the brain.
‘When you get married, hyung,’ he said.
Yoongi scoffed softly, not taking his eyes off the screen. ‘Don’t wanna get married,’ he muttered. ‘Ever.’
‘Oh.’ Taehyung turned his head on the pillow to frown at him. ‘Why not?’
‘Don’t like people,’ he grumbled, shrugging. ‘I don’t even like parties.’
Frown deepening, Taehyung rolled onto his side to look at Yoongi properly. ‘What about me?’ he asked, and Yoongi must’ve heard the edge of hurt in his voice because he finally glanced over.
‘What about you?’ he muttered, pausing the game, tinkly background music still playing low when he shut the screen down with a soft click.
‘You don’t like me?’ Taehyung asked, knowing fine well that wasn’t true, but he was going to be dramatic about it anyway, mouth in full pout mode, eyes big.
Yoongi rolled his own eyes with a soft snort, opening up the Gameboy again. ‘Fine, maybe you, then,’ he grumbled, then seemed to think about it for a moment before un-pausing. ‘ Just you, though.’
Taehyung was quite satisfied with that, grinning wide and rolling onto his back again. He remembers thinking the way the light came through the gaps in the loose knit ceiling blankets looked like big, yellow stars. ‘We’d have a really fun wedding,’ he sighed, thinking of his cousin Jaehyun’s wedding and the chocolate fountain, how they’d definitely have one at every table.
‘Yeah,’ Yoongi agreed, and Taehyung glanced over to see him grinning like he was thinking about the chocolate fountains, too. Taehyung had spent half the evening telling him about the little marshmallows shaped like hearts and the endless supply of strawberries, all for dipping in the chocolate instead of fingers – because that was bold and not polite, Taehyung had learned (the hard way).
‘Not like hyung’s wedding, with all the stupid speeches,’ he added now, because those had lasted for hours and hours, even before Taehyung had fallen asleep against his dad.
He hears Yoongi hum in agreement, nodding only once, but very firmly. ‘I hate speeches.’
‘We wouldn’t have any,’ Taehyung promised, then turned his head to grin at him again as another thought struck him. ‘We could have karaoke instead.’
That got a soft giggle from Yoongi. ‘I really wanna see my dad do karaoke,’ he said, and Taehyung immediately rolled away cackling at the thought of quiet Mr. Min getting up on stage to wail out a hearty trot ballad.
‘Hyung, hyung , he—he could do a duet with my dad instead of speeches,’ he managed to hiccup out between fits of giggling, and that image seemed to finally steal Yoongi’s attention away from the Gameboy entirely, dropping it off to the side as he covered his crumpling face with his hands.
‘Oh, my god , Tae,’ he squeaked, legs kicking the blankets into a frenzy as he dissolved into hysterics, too, both of them muffling the laughter with pillows. The only thing to finally sober them up was Taehyung almost knocking over his mug of cocoa, his whole life flitting fast before his eyes till Yoongi scrambled to catch it. It wasn’t difficult to calm down after a scare like that, both of them breathing hard and clutching their chests dramatically as they set the mugs outside the blanket fort once and for all.
‘What about cake, hyung?’ Taehyung asked, once they were back inside and fully recovered. He’d rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows to make for a better discussion position. This, after all, was perhaps the most important matter – cake was always important. ‘You don’t like strawberry cream, but that’s my favourite.’
Yoongi was quick to fix it, though, always a problem solver. ‘Two cakes,’ he said, with an easy shrug.
Taehyung’s eyes went wide, mouth dropping open slightly at the mere thought of it. ‘ Two cakes ,’ he gasped, the best pair of words he’d heard all day. It was one of those moments – many of which he’d later find dotted throughout his life – where Kim Taehyung was quite very certain that the tousle-haired, pouty-mouthed, bespectacled boy in front of him was a genius. A true genius. A fact only backed up on this particular occasion by his next words:
‘ And cupcakes,’ Yoongi added. ‘The ones I had at my birthday, with the gooey chocolate and they looked like Death Stars.’
Taehyung shook his head, astounded. ‘They were the best cupcakes ever,’ he whispered, tone almost reverent.
‘We gotta have ’em,’ Yoongi agreed, nodding very solemnly as he turned to stare up at the ceiling.
He was thinking about the cupcakes. Taehyung could tell because he was also thinking about the cupcakes. At eight years old, very little made his eyes glaze over as lovingly as good cupcakes, and Yoongi was always a kindred spirit in the most unexpected ways. That’s why Taehyung was certain he’d be the best person to marry. Getting married meant staying together forever and arguing only sometimes and only over silly stuff and they already did that. They both liked watching Star Wars and playing video games and eating cupcakes and making cosy blanket forts to sleep in. And Yoongi liked taking photos with his hyung’s Polaroid and Taehyung liked making scrapbooks, and Yoongi didn’t much like to draw, but he liked to watch Taehyung draw and Taehyung liked to watch him play piano. They only argued over Trick or Treat pickings at Halloween and Digimon vs. Pokémon and Taehyung’s soft spot for Star Trek, Yoongi’s arch-nemesis. They fit together in so many ways, made the best team, and Taehyung knew they’d make the best married team, too – but there was a slight hiccup.
‘We’d have to kiss, though,’ he pointed out, pouting slightly at the thought.
Yoongi wrinkled his nose a touch. ‘Gross.’
‘Yeah,’ Taehyung agreed. He’d kissed Yoongi on the cheek once when they were smaller and Jimin had dared him, and he remembered Yoongi’s cheek being kind of nice and soft, but Yoongi had also burst into tears, so Taehyung wasn’t keen to recreate the experience.
‘D’you think we’d have to?’ Yoongi asked, frowning. ‘Maybe you don’t have to do that part.’
Taehyung shrugged his shoulders up ’round his ears. ‘I think so,’ he said regretfully. ‘Everyone does it, hyung. Even Jaehyunnie-hyung, and Mom said he used to run away from girls, so he probably didn’t wanna either.’
Yoongi looked a little amused by that, smirking as he sat up to fix the blankets from the mess they made earlier during the near-spillage incident. ‘Maybe we could just kiss on the cheek instead,’ he suggested, and Taehyung made a face, not wanting to mention that one incident in the kindergarten playground. ‘Or hand?’
Taehyung’s nose crumpled in disgust. ‘Only if you wash your hands first,’ he said, and Yoongi paused in his fixing of the blankets to frown at him.
‘I always wash my hands.’
‘Do not !’ Taehyung argued.
Yoongi’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. ‘I do, too!’
‘I bet they don’t even smell like coconuts right now,’ Taehyung said, pointing a small, accusing finger at him, which Yoongi batted away with a scowl.
‘ Why would they smell like coconuts?’ he demanded, incredulous.
‘Because you just went to the bathroom and our soap smells like coconuts!’
Yoongi rolled his eyes, sighing heavily, a long-suffering sort of thing. ‘Tae, that was, like, ages ago. They wouldn’t even still smell like coconuts.’
‘ Boys ,’ came Taehyung’s mother’s hushed voice from beyond the tent, and they both almost jumped clean out of their skins. They’d been making too much of a ruckus to hear her come in. ‘Keep it down in there, you’re gonna wake the baby.’
‘Sorry, Mom,’ Taehyung called, lowering his voice to a more respectable indoor level.
Yoongi did the same, glowering as Taehyung shot him a sheepish sort of look. ‘Sorry, Mrs. Kim.’
‘What’re you bickering about anyway?’ she asked, her voice closer as she bent to collect the cocoa mugs from outside the fort’s opening.
Neither of them replied immediately, exchanging a look, because suddenly it seemed like such a secret thing to have been talking about. Taehyung had to keep his lips pressed tight against a rush of oncoming giggles, especially when Yoongi started to grin, too, a glint of mischief in his dark eyes.
‘Our wedding,’ he called out in reply, and Taehyung squeaked, the laughter bursting forth as he dove to bury his reddening face into a pillow.
‘ Hyung .’
‘What?’ Yoongi asked, but he was trying not to giggle, too, cheeks pink when Taehyung rolled over to look up at him.
‘Don’t tell her,’ he hissed, kicking at his thigh.
‘What, we weren’t gonna invite her?’
‘I’m gonna stay out of this one,’ his mother said gently, but she sounded like she might’ve been laughing, too. ‘Just let me know what colour hat to buy, I don’t wanna clash with your colour scheme, okay? Night, boys.’
‘Night!’ they called, practically in unison, waiting till the door clicked shut before they burst into muffled cackling again. All Yoongi’s good work with the blanket-fixing was undone in another flurry of kicking limbs, and in the chaos, Taehyung grabbed a hold of his hand.
‘What—’ Yoongi hiccupped, through his giggles, turning to see what Taehyung was tugging on his hand for, but he squawked when he finally realised. ‘Yah, stop smelling me!’
‘I don’t smell coconuts !’ Taehyung accused in a gleeful hiss, grinning with wild triumph.
Yoongi rolled his eyes, trying to tug his hand away, but Taehyung held tight. ‘We had snacks ,’ he said. ‘They smell like Pringles . I bet your gross hands do, too.’
‘Don’t make excuses, hyung,’ Taehyung said, making his voice all singsong because he knew how much Yoongi hated it, rolling his eyes yet again. It was a new habit of his at the time; he’d picked it up from his hyung and Taehyung thought it looked pretty funny when did it.
‘Whatever,’ he grumbled, and Taehyung took that as a win, giggling softly as he lay down again, scooting in under the tangled blankets.
It fell quiet for a moment after that, the hyper rush of getting caught by mom ebbing out slow, leaving them with warm cheeks and heavy eyelids. Yoongi picked up the Gameboy, but only to save his game and turn it off, tucking it over into the corner underneath Kumamon for extra safety. Meanwhile, Taehyung played with the fingers of his left hand, bending and unbending his pinkie, mostly. Yoongi always had very bendy pinkies.
‘I wanna wear a Starry Night suit,’ Taehyung finally said, voice much softer now because sleepiness was starting to creep its lazy way into the fort.
Yoongi snorted. ‘That’d look dumb.’
‘I don’t care,’ Taehyung said. Anyone who thought it’d look dumb was wrong – even Yoongi-hyung and he was right about more things than anyone else Taehyung knew in the world.
‘Can I be dressed as Darth Vader, then?’ he asked, another crooked grin tugging at his mouth, but Taehyung shook his head after a moment of very serious thought.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You can’t wear a mask if we gotta kiss cheeks, remember.’
Yoongi hummed thoughtfully, eyes on the ceiling as he seemed to consider the problem. ‘I could take it off, though?’ he suggested. ‘Like when brides push back their mosquito net thing?’
Taehyung snorted softly at him. ‘I think it’s called a veil, hyung.’
‘I think it’s dumb,’ Yoongi said, mouth pursing into an absent pout. He said that about most things he didn’t understand.
Taehyung shrugged. ‘So, don’t wear a mask,’ he said simply.
‘Can I at least have a cape?’ Yoongi asked, eyebrows raised hopefully as he turned his head on the pillow to look at him.
Taehyung didn’t have to give that one much consideration – capes were cool, no exceptions. He nodded once, decisive. ‘Definitely,’ he said.
Yoongi grinned, very toothy. ‘Awesome,’ he murmured, reaching up with his free hand to take off his glasses, carefully folding up the arms and setting them over by Kumamon as well. He rolled onto his side, then, like Taehyung, facing him, though his eyes were shut. He always got tired first on sleepovers and outings, that’s why Taehyung called him grandpa sometimes.
He wasn’t thinking of teasing that night, though. He was sleepy himself, his mind elsewhere as he watched his thumb poke very gently at Yoongi’s pinkie. He’d never liked holding hands much with his mom or his dad because it was always only when they wanted him to stay close in the supermarket instead of having adventures through the aisles. He’d never thought about holding hands with Jimin either because they were always too busy playing games, climbing trees and conquering new parts of the playground. Yoongi, though – Yoongi always liked to sit quietly, play with figurines and video games, watch movies and design new forts, and Taehyung liked to hold his hand because sometimes it was nice to just be quiet.
‘Maybe we could just hold hands,’ he said softly, making Yoongi’s eyes flicker open again – he must’ve been pretty close to sleep, a little bleary looking. ‘Instead of kissing on the cheek.’
‘But we do that all the time,’ Yoongi pointed out, jiggling Taehyung’s hand a bit as if to emphasise. ‘I thought weddings had to be all special fancy stuff.’
Taehyung saw there a window for mischief and also the dreadful singsong voice that he knew Yoongi hated. ‘ You just wanna kiss my cheek,’ he cooed.
‘I don’t even wanna kiss you ever ,’ Yoongi grumbled, seeming too sleepy now to properly retaliate. He just sort of pout-scowled and squeezed at Taehyung’s hand. ‘I’m just saying .’
Taehyung grinned at him, even though Yoongi had already shut his eyes again. ‘It’s our wedding; we can do whatever we want and everyone has to agree or we can scream at them like the bride girls on TV shows.’ He paused for a moment as Yoongi wriggled under the blankets a bit to pull the best, warmest fleece one further up over them. He didn’t let go of Taehyung’s hand. ‘Anyways, I think holding hands can be special,’ Taehyung murmured quietly, squeezing just a bit on Yoongi’s fingers.
Yoongi squeezed back. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘And we can pinkie promise easy in secret if we’re holding hands already,’ Taehyung went on, because his mom had told him the promise was the most important part.
Yoongi frowned at that, eyes opening once more. ‘Pinkie promise what?’ he asked, and Taehyung felt very proud and important that night to be the knowledgeable one for once.
‘Mom said that at weddings, you gotta promise to be together forever, or something like that.’
‘But we already did that,’ Yoongi pointed out, as if he was stating the very obvious – which he was, but Taehyung still had some concerns.
‘It’ll be, like, a million years before we get married, though,’ he said. ‘We might forget.’
Yoongi snorted softly. ‘I won’t forget,’ he insisted, then he shot Taehyung a meaningful look. ‘ You might forget.’
‘I’m not gonna forget!’ Taehyung argued.
‘You forget your own surname ,’ Yoongi said, looking almost like he might laugh at him, which only made Taehyung ever more indignant.
‘Only sometimes!’
Yoongi did laugh that time, a sleepy giggle that crinkled up his eyes and showed his gums. ‘You’ll probably forget we’re even supposed to get married, idiot.’
‘I won’t ,’ Taehyung whined, but he was biting back a laugh himself, losing a battle against his own grin because even at that tender age, he knew how scattered his brain could get. He had no choice but to quietly accept defeat in the matter, slumping down into his pillows again. ‘You’ll remind me anyway, hyung,’ he mumbled, muffled, tugging on Yoongi’s hand to make sure he was still listening. ‘You always remind me about things.’
‘Yah, I’m not your slave,’ Yoongi grumbled, eyes already shut again, and for good this time, Taehyung could sense it, knew it was time for sleep.
‘No, you’re my hyung,’ he said, scooting closer under the blankets to curl his cold toes against Yoongi’s warm legs. He tucked his nose down between Yoongi’s shoulder and the pillow, nuzzling a bit because his pyjamas smelled like popcorn and cocoa. ‘That’s way more important.’
A Million Years Later:
It’s so hot underneath the woolly canopy of the blanket fort that Yoongi swears he can practically see the steam rising off his own chest as it heaves with his laboured breaths. Above him, the light from their bedroom lamp pokes through the holes in pinpricks like yellow stars, glimmering as his vision swims a bit. He’s got sweat sticky on his skin and trailing down his temples into his damp hair, but it’s worth it for how good it looks shining on the golden-brown planes of Taehyung’s back next to him. He’s breathing hard, too, hasn’t moved in some minutes now, and they’re kind of a fucking mess, but blanket fort sex has never been the most graceful venture. They knew fine well what they were signing up for.
‘Fuck,’ Yoongi whispers, bringing up a trembling hand to scrape his bangs back off his forehead.
There’s a vague groan of agreement to his right, then movement as Taehyung rolls onto his side to face him. He flops closer, too, practically nuzzling into Yoongi’s armpit, but Yoongi is beyond questioning any of the weird shit his boyfriend does at this point. He curls an arm around him, fingers scratching into his tangled hair.
‘You good, hyung?’ he mumbles.
Eyes shut, Yoongi makes a displeased sort of face. ‘I can’t feel my toes, Tae.’
Taehyung giggles, low and mischievous. ‘You’re welcome,’ he says, pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s chest and giving his stomach a few placating pats.
‘I like my toes, though,’ Yoongi says, opening his eyes again to give him a pointed sort of look, but Taehyung’s already grinning at him in the worst way, propped up on an elbow now.
‘ I like your toes, too,’ he drawls, eyebrows waggling.
Yoongi makes a half-hearted noise of disgust in the back of his throat. ‘You fuckin’ creep,’ he mutters, though he still tilts his chin up when Taehyung moves in for a kiss.
It’s slow and sweet with the feeling of Taehyung’s lips curving against his own, and they’re a far cry from the filthy kisses he was giving not five minutes ago, but just as welcome. Yoongi hums quietly, low in his throat, when Taehyung bites down softly on his lower lip.
‘You love me,’ he murmurs.
Yoongi snorts, eyes slitting open again. ‘Nah, you got the wrong guy,’ he says, bumping their noses playfully as Taehyung’s grin widens.
‘You said it, like, ten minutes ago, hyung,’ he says, pulling back just enough to give Yoongi a pointed look, his hand pushing down past Yoongi’s hip to his thigh. He dips in for another kiss, still smiling. ‘Or should I say, moaned it. Repeatedly .’
‘Doesn’t count during sex,’ Yoongi tells him, laughing when Taehyung rolls over on top of him again, burying his face into the crook of his neck to nibble at his skin. Yoongi gives his head a shove, but it doesn’t do much good. ‘I tell my dildo I love it, too.’
When Taehyung props himself up again, he’s got his pout and puppy eyes combo out in full force, no holds barred. ‘I bought you that dildo,’ he grumbles, giving Yoongi’s chest an indignant poke. ‘You can’t tell me you love it more now.’
‘We live in a cruel world, baby,’ Yoongi tells him, reaching up to stroke his damp hair behind his ear, just a little patronising. ‘A cruel, cold world.’
‘Shut up,’ Taehyung sighs, breaking into a smile again as he hitches Yoongi’s thigh up around his own hip. When he kisses him this time, he catches the laughter on Yoongi’s lips, licks it away, presses deeper still. Yoongi curls his arms around his neck, a low hum of satisfaction rumbling in his chest because this is good: Taehyung’s tongue all fucking gentle in his mouth, his too-long hair tickling Yoongi’s forehead, his hand sliding hot up over Yoongi’s hip – that’s the healing shit, that’s the stuff that makes his soul warm.
When Taehyung pulls back once more, Yoongi gets a good look at him, his overgrown bangs all shaggy over his shining eyes, cheeks a deep, dusky pink that stretches all the way down to his chest. He’s rose-gold in the dim, buttery light filtering in through the blanket canopy, kind of glowing from the inside out. Yoongi’s seen himself post-sex, walked by a mirror. He usually looks like he’s been dragged through a bush backwards, kind of wild-eyed and wobbly and a bit bruised up, but Kim Taehyung really has the whole afterglow thing down to a tee, hair just the right amount of post-fuck tousled. He’d look nothing less than godly if he wasn’t grinning all huge-cheeked like a drunk fool.
Makes Yoongi’s chest ache a bit, all of it, from the glow to the smile to the soft circles Taehyung’s fingers are tracing just under his ribcage now. That’s around about where the ache is, too, starting just above his diaphragm and spreading out in waves, high into his throat, low into his stomach. Reminds him of the sickness that comes with heartburn, but it’s a deeper ache than that, and so much sweeter.
Swallowing hard, Yoongi slides his hand out of Taehyung’s hair, down the back of his sticky neck to pull him in close again.
‘I wanna show you something,’ he says, and it comes out as more of a whisper than he intended, but fear’s always had that effect on him, clamps round his throat and makes it hard to speak.
Taehyung seems to hear it, brows pulling together with slight concern even though he’s still smiling. ‘Hyung, last time you said that in such a serious voice, I ended up blowing you in my parents’ guest bathroom,’ he says.
Yoongi almost laughs, but it gets kind of stuck. ‘It’s not my dick,’ he assures him, after clearing his throat, reaching up to rub a bit underneath his Adam’s apple because now would be a really bad fucking time to lose his voice for real.
Taehyung’s distracted, though, smirking all filthy. ‘Pity,’ he says, hand sliding down to scratch teasingly just under Yoongi’s belly-button.
Yoongi rolls his eyes at him, slapping his hand away as he moves to sit up, arms still shaky from bracing himself on Taehyung’s chest for so long earlier. They made quite a mess of the blankets meant to act as makeshift bedding, half of them turned into a sort of nest while the rest ended up kicked down by their feet. He has to do a bit of digging to find what he’s looking for, but it’s the only hard object in the fort save for the lube bottle, so it doesn’t take long for him to pull it from the wreckage.
‘What’s that?’ Taehyung asks, pushing himself to sit up now as Yoongi comes back with the heavy book in a shaky hand (though he’s starting to think the shaking is a lot less to do with the exertion than he originally suspected, with his heart beating thick halfway up his throat somewhere).
‘Look,’ he croaks, pushing it into Taehyung’s hands before he has a chance to notice the trembling. He moves in behind him as Taehyung looks the thing over curiously. Yoongi tucks his chin onto his shoulder, arm snaking around his waist, fits himself in close to his back as Taehyung finally lets out a small gasp of realisation.
‘Oh my god, it’s the first Book ,’ he says, opening the cover to find the little note scrawled in six-year-old Yoongi’s barely legible chicken scratch: Blanket Forts, 1999-2004 . ‘Hyung, where’d you get this?’
‘It was in that box of stuff your mom sent,’ Yoongi murmurs, reaching round him to start flipping the pages because he knows that, given the chance, Taehyung would spend all night going through this thing page by page, and Yoongi doesn’t think his heart could take that kind of suspense right now. It’s already beating so hard he’s shocked Taehyung can’t feel it hammering against his back. Yoongi swears it stops dead for a long moment when he finally finds the right page, the right fort, with all those flimsy wool blankets. It wasn’t their finest fort, structurally, made in a hurry too close to bedtime and with very little planning, but Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever really forgotten about it.
‘Here it is,’ he whispers.
‘November 2004,’ Taehyung reads from the label, running his fingers over the two Polaroids taped to the pages, one shot each for the outside and the cosy interior of the fort. Yoongi can tell, though, from the way Taehyung read it out with such ease that he doesn’t know, doesn’t remember the significance.
‘You remember?’ he asks softly.
Taehyung shakes his head. ‘Nope.’
‘I knew you’d forget,’ Yoongi says, but there’s too much of that ache and the fearful thickness in his throat to really bask in the triumph of being right once again. Instead, he curls his other arm around Taehyung’s waist as well, clinging a touch tighter, mumbling his next words hoarsely into the back of his shoulder. ‘That’s the night we planned our wedding.’
Taehyung is quiet and he’s quiet for so long that Yoongi’s pretty fucking sure he still doesn’t remember. It was a long time ago – almost two decades – and years and years before the idea of dating ever came up; Yoongi couldn’t fault him for forgetting, but his galloping heart can’t quite deal with the thought.
‘The Starry Night suit,’ he finally says, so soft, and even though Yoongi can’t see his face from this angle, he can hear the smile warm in his voice.
Yoongi lets out a breath of relief, eyes slipping shut. ‘And the Death Star cupcakes,’ he adds, pressing a kiss to Taehyung’s shoulder blade.
‘Our dads’ karaoke duet ,’ Taehyung squeaks suddenly, like the memory just hit him hard. He twists his head to try and see Yoongi, his eyes crinkled right up in a fond grin. ‘Oh my god , hyung. I can’t believe we forgot about this.’
‘ I didn’t forget,’ Yoongi points out.
Taehyung makes a dismissive noise at that, turning his attention back to the photographs. ‘Well, of course you didn’t,’ he mutters, lifting the book up higher to squint at the smaller details of the interior through the grain of old film. ‘Look, my ghost night-light! I wonder does Mom still have that somewhere, oh my god…’
He keeps muttering stuff, but Yoongi isn’t listening to him, his blood rushing too loud in his ears, his eyes on Taehyung’s long fingers as they travel over the waxy surface of the photographs. He loves those fucking hands, kind of wants to reach out for one now, but the angle doesn’t suit and he has a thing to do – he can’t get distracted. He shuts his eyes again instead, breathes the warm smell of Taehyung’s skin.
‘Tae.’
‘What?’
Taehyung’s reply hums against Yoongi’s mouth where he’s still got it pressed to the back of his shoulder, catches him by surprise, makes him jump a bit and then prickle all over with numb panic when he realises it’s already his turn to speak again. He doesn’t, not right away, hesitates long enough that Taehyung notices, turns to look at him with puzzled eyebrows.
‘Hyung?’
Yoongi buries his face down into his shoulder again, more out of habit than anything else, basic protective instinct, but he can’t do that, not for this. He’s got to look at him — that’s a thing, right? He’s got to look at him even if it makes his heart burst. He kisses Taehyung there, at the sloping juncture where his neck starts – a mighty fucking neck – and then he lifts his head again. He finds Taehyung’s eyes already on him, all dark and shiny in this low light.
‘Consider this your reminder,’ he says.
Taehyung’s face doesn’t change – if anything, his eyebrows only start to look ever more puzzled – but Yoongi can only convince his throat to cough up so many words at a time right now.
‘Reminder to what, hyung?’ he asks, and he’s got a touch of teasing softness sneaking into his voice that means he probably thinks exhaustion or the heat or the wine Yoongi had earlier is starting to get to him, muddle him up a bit.
On the contrary, that wine did almost nothing to muffle the screaming nerves keeping him wired. Now, the sex , on the other hand, that helped a bit, but the afterglow has all but faded out and Yoongi’s skin feels too tight for his body once more. He clears his throat, though he feels that lump getting thicker when Taehyung seems to realise there’s something more than wine and heat and sleepiness at play here, when he reaches up to touch Yoongi’s cheek in some kind of gentle encouragement.
Yoongi leans into it, letting the soft pad of Taehyung’s thumb run underneath his eye. ‘To marry me,’ he says – whispers – croaks, maybe. It’s barely a word by the time it makes it out into the humid air between them in the fort, and Yoongi’s worried Taehyung doesn’t hear him, that he’ll have to say it again, but…
‘Hyung…’ he says softly.
There’s no particular inflection in the word that might let Yoongi in on what’s going on behind those big, shiny eyes. It’s more like he said the word because his brain didn’t know what else to spew forth, so it chose that one – a sound so familiar that he mumbles it in his sleep most nights, the first word he grumbles in the morning, the last one he whispers at night. And it’s during that tender beat where Yoongi’s cardiac muscles feel raw and worn with the workout that he realises just how shiny Taehyung’s eyes are getting – so shiny the shine is spilling out over the edges, lighting faint, golden tracks down his cheeks.
Yoongi feels his heart jump in his chest, panicked, his hands lifting on instinct to reach for Taehyung’s face, get rid of those tears. ‘Hey—hey, Tae, fuck, don’t—’ Cry , he’s about to say, but he doesn’t get the chance to before he has an entire Taehyung body-slamming him back into the blanket nest, the book tossed off to the side, forgotten for the moment. ‘Fuck ,’ he grunts, muffled, because a whole Taehyung is a lot and he was not prepared and he sort of can’t breathe, but that’s mostly because Taehyung’s squeezing him tight, nuzzling into his neck, and Yoongi still has no idea what’s going on, but he curls his arms around Taehyung’s broad shoulders anyway and feels a little better.
‘Are you serious?’ Taehyung mumbles against his skin, so muffled that Yoongi feels the words more than he hears them.
Even through all the choking and the holy fit his heart is throwing in his chest, he snorts softly at the dumb fucking question. ‘No, you’re on candid camera.’
‘ Hyung ,’ Taehyung whines, emerging once more. He’s all pink, eyes still gleaming and brimming a bit. He is so fucking beautiful; Yoongi feels weak with it as he brushes his thumb lightly over the droplets clinging to Taehyung’s lashes — impossible lashes, endless, spiky miracles. There’s no way this creature’s thinking of saying yes to him, there’s no—
‘Yeah, I’m fuckin’ serious,’ Yoongi mutters. ‘And I’m not gonna ask twice either, so—’
This time, Taehyung cuts him off with a kiss and Yoongi’s ready, he’s so ready for the kissing part, he’s so ready for the talking part and the white-hot terror in his veins part to be over, to be done with, but Taehyung pulls away again after a split second, leaving Yoongi’s lips parted and wanting. He’s breathing hard, his whole face kind of wild, glowing with some feverish thing.
‘You didn’t even ask ,’ he points out.
Yoongi knows that, though, feels his mouth curve a bit. ‘Well, no — I was reminding you , technically.’
‘So, I gotta ask?’ Taehyung demands, but he doesn’t really give Yoongi a chance to reply to that one before he’s kissing him again, pressing his head deep into the cushions, quick and feverish, like he can’t quite help it.
When he pulls back, it’s not by much, his forehead still resting on Yoongi’s, burning hot, sticky, his face a barely discernible blur. He’s breathing harder now than he was right after the sex and Yoongi feels his heart and lungs trip over themselves because this is fucking happening. Taehyung’s holding him all fucking tight and he’s licking his lips and he’s speaking the thing into existence: ‘Hyung... marry me?’
It’s fucking happening.
This whole fiasco was Yoongi’s genius idea, but here he is now with no words and no air and Taehyung is not kissing him and in the moment, that’s terribly problematic for his overall functionality.
Taehyung pushes himself up a bit, holding all his weight up on his arms to peer down at Yoongi, his bangs dangling and his eyebrows soft — he looks so fucking young in that vulnerable way he gets sometimes. ‘You really wanna marry me, hyung?’
For just a second, Taehyung sounds genuinely baffled and Yoongi wants to hit him — almost does, but he’s still too weak to lift his arms with any real strength. He pokes him instead, gets him hard right under his ribs, makes his arms give out and he collapses on top of Yoongi again with a muffled whine.
‘Yes, you dumb fuck—who else would I fucking marry?’ Yoongi growls in his ear, slightly winded himself, but he’d never let that get in the way of a decent scolding. Taehyung nuzzles a bit there, where he’s fallen, with his face smushed into Yoongi’s chest. Yoongi feels lips pressing on his skin and he shuts his eyes. ‘I told you before,’ he says, softer now, with Taehyung’s hair tickling under his chin. His throat and jaw are stiff with that thick ache that only ever means one fucking thing, but Yoongi swallows it back, shuts his eyes against the burning. ‘No one else, Tae,’ he breathes against his temple, squeezing gently at the back of his neck. ‘Just you. It’s always—it’s always b-been just—’ There’s no hiding the way his voice cracks, Yoongi accepts that as soon as it happens, croaking a rough curse under his breath before he turns his head away to scrub at his eyes.
‘I know, baby,’ he hears Taehyung whisper against his cheek, still kissing him there, his cheekbone, his temple, just above his eyebrow as he reaches up to turn Yoongi’s face back towards him. ‘Me, too.’
Yoongi still has his eyes shut when Taehyung kisses him again, but he doesn’t need to see his face when Kim Taehyung kisses the way he does. Not a hint of a filter in his kisses, never, and he never holds back either. It’s always there, everything, all of it, in his eager lips and the hot press of his tongue and the way his teeth graze when he lets out those soft noises of contentment or pleasure or passion or frustration or whatever the fuck it is he’s feeling, because it’s always right there. Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, but Kim Taehyung’s is on his lips and doesn’t it taste so fucking sweet.
Yoongi’s head spins with it, the force of all that stealing the breath right out of his lungs and making that ache in his throat burn stronger as he threads his fingers into Taehyung’s hair.
‘God, I love you so much,’ Taehyung whispers.
‘Well, I fucking hope so,’ Yoongi grumbles against his chest, sniffling hard before he pushes away a bit to breathe again, rolling onto his back. ‘Tae, I really don’t feel well,’ he croaks, grimacing as he rubs at his chest where his heart is still assaulting his ribcage from the inside. ‘That’s the worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ever done to my body, I’m never doing that again.
Taehyung ducks his head to press his quiet laugh to Yoongi’s shoulder. ‘You don’t have to, hyung, that’s the whole point,’ he says, and isn’t that the fucking truth. ‘But did you really think for a single second that I’d say no?’
Yoongi turns his head on the pillow to look at him and the soft smile playing around his mouth, Yoongi can’t quite stop staring at it. He reaches up to brush fingers up Taehyung’s jaw, presses a thumb absently into the swollen plushness of his lower lip. ‘You know I fuckin’ love you, too,’ he murmurs, and it’s kind of belated, but he’s beyond caring at this point. Taehyung is glowing like he’s a single smile away from going fucking supernova, and Yoongi’s mind is too busy glitching on one train of thought to care about much else right now:
Fiancé.
That’s your fucking fiancé, Min Yoongi. How the fuck did you pull that one?
Yoongi has no idea how. He feels like that’s a question he’s gonna spend the rest of his life finding the answer to, but what a fucking blessing that is.
Right now, said fiancé’s eyes are wide with shock. ‘What, really?’ he asks, voice pitched high, and it’s faux shock, Yoongi realises — he’s being a shit. The fiancé is being a shit. ‘The tears and proposing did not give you away at all, hyung, you gotta stop being so subtle— ouch .’ He cuts off with a yelp, ducking his head into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, when Yoongi pinches a nipple, too hard to be entirely fun.
‘Don’t fuck with me right now, Kim.’
Taehyung grins all crooked and mischievous. ‘Yes, sir,’ he says, rolling in close to nuzzle a couple more sneaky kisses into the crook of Yoongi’s neck. ‘We’re gonna get married , hyung,’ he mumbles, and Yoongi feels a slow smile catch at the corners of his mouth as a vague memory comes back to him.
‘You know we’ll have to kiss, though,’ he points out, tone dubious.
Taehyung lifts his head again, nose wrinkled in disgust, though he can’t quite fight the grin. ‘Gross,’ he says, already leaning in to catch Yoongi’s lips with his own.