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Yoongi hears the scoff before he even steps into the living room.
He freezes in the doorway, one sock half-off, hair sticking up in about seven different directions, wallet still in his hand from getting home. Hoseok stands in the middle of the living room with both arms crossed, staring down at something on the floor like it personally insulted him.
The lamp.
That stupid, ugly, ancient lamp.
The beige one with the peeling shade, slightly crooked neck, and a dent in the base from “that one time I fell asleep on it during the Danger era, hyung, let’s never talk about it again.”
Yoongi’s heart drops into his stomach.
“Hyung,” Hoseok says, drawn-out, slow, too gentle. Whenever he gets that tone, it means he’s trying not to strangle something.. or someone.
"You said you threw it out. You—didn’t we—? I thought we agreed?”
Yoongi shoulders sag immediately, defensive instinct bristling even though he knows Hoseok’s not actually mad. “We didn’t agree. You said it was ugly and I ignored you. That’s not the same thing.”
Hoseok closes his eyes like he’s seeking divine patience. “Yoongi-yah. Why is it back? I swear I put it in the recycling last week.”
Ah.
So that’s where his lamp had gone.
He steps in, kicks his shoes off properly this time. “Why were you throwing away my things?”
“I wasn’t!”
Hoseok huffs, palms flying up. “It’s just—okay, look. Look at it, hyung.”
He walks over and pokes at the shade with one unforgiving finger. “This thing is… it’s a biohazard. If it had feelings, I’d apologize, but it doesn’t. It’s a lamp. A very diseased lamp.”
Yoongi’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“It’s not diseased,” he mutters finally, offended. “It’s just old.”
“Old?” Hoseok laughs, incredulous. “Hyung, it looks like it was alive during the Joseon dynasty.”
“Good. It’s survived more than you have.”
“Yoongi-yah—!”
Before Hoseok begins a full dramatic meltdown, Yoongi reaches down and picks the lamp up. The cord dangles like a limp tail. The dent on the metal base glints under the afternoon sun.
And he can’t help it, he frowns protectively at it, brushing his thumb over the dent with a tenderness that Hoseok usually only sees when Yoongi pets Holly.
Hoseok goes silent.
His shoulders drop.
“...Hyung,” he says again, but this time softer. “You’re being weird.”
Yoongi’s jaw tenses. “I’m not.”
“You are. You’re—” Hoseok steps closer, peering at him like he’s solving a puzzle. “Why are you acting like someone said something bad about your child?”
“Because,” Yoongi says, voice unusually tight, “you kind of did.”
The room stills.
A tiny breeze from the open window nudges the lamp’s shade, making it tilt even further to the side, like it’s embarrassed.
Hoseok blinks. “...Oh.”
Yoongi places the lamp down on the couch carefully, like it’s fragile, then sinks into the cushions with a heavy exhale. “I know it’s ugly, okay?”
Hoseok sits next to him immediately, thigh to thigh, without a breath of hesitation. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, hyung. I swear. I just hate how it looks.”
Yoongi rubs the heel of his palm over his forehead. “I just—ugh.”
“It was from the dorm,” he mumbles. “The old one. Before debut. You know that.”
Hoseok’s face softens in an instant. “Yeah. I remember that room. You barely slept in a bed back then.”
“Mm.” Yoongi’s mouth twists. “I wrote half my early lyrics under this lamp. Fell asleep under it. Ate cup noodles under it. Got sick under it.”
His voice cracks, not much, just enough for Hoseok to hear. “It was the only light in that room that didn’t flicker. It… it made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”
Hoseok’s breath leaves him in a quiet, broken sound.
“Yoongi-yah…” He presses a hand to Yoongi’s thigh, squeezing gently. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
“You were making fun of it,” Yoongi mutters, looking away. “And I didn’t want to be—pathetic.”
“Pathetic?” Hoseok moves closer until their knees touch. His voice lowers, warm and firm. “Hyung, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known! But even strong people have… that one thing they hold onto because it reminds them they survived.”
Yoongi swallows hard.
He didn’t expect this conversation to go anywhere. He thought this would be another small domestic bicker, ending with Hoseok laughing and Yoongi sulking.
But instead, he feels… seen. Exposed. Unsafe, but safe.
He lets out a shaky laugh. “You really hate it though?”
“I hate how it looks,” Hoseok admits. “But I don’t hate what it means to you.”
He nudges Yoongi’s shoulder with his own. “And if it matters that much… we’ll keep it.”
Yoongi’s breath gets caught in his throat.
Hoseok grins softly. “I love you. Your ugly lamp is part of the deal.”
Yoongi shoves him, but it’s weak and affectionate. “It’s not ugly.”
“It is, hyung.”
“Shut up, Hobi-ah.”
Hoseok leans his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. “You know… maybe we could fix it!”
Yoongi blinks. “Huh?”
“The shade,” Hoseok says. “We can buy a new one that doesn’t look like it’s haunted. Maybe repaint the base? Give it a new vibe? You don’t have to get rid of it, but we can make it look… less cursed.”
Yoongi snorts, nose scrunching. “Less cursed, he says.”
Hoseok grins, pleased he’s getting a reaction. “Come ooooon! We can go to the hardware store. Make it a little project. Our stupid lamp. The Sope Lamp!“
Yoongi exhales slowly. “You’d actually help me fix it?”
“Of course.” Hoseok nudges him. “I’m not trying to erase your memories. I just don’t want our apartment to look like a horror movie set.”
Yoongi’s lips twitch upward, reluctantly.
They sit together like that for a moment, Hoseok leaning into him, Yoongi sinking into the warmth without fight. The late afternoon light spills across the living room, soft and gold, almost forgiving. It touches the lamp too, making it look a little less tragic.
Yoongi hums. “Okay. We’ll fix it.”
Hoseok beams like the sun. “Good. Because I did throw it out last week and felt guilty for two days straight.”
Yoongi turns slowly. “...you what?”
“I-I!” Hoseok slaps a hand over his own mouth. “I mean—I thought it was just clutter!”
“Jung Hoseok.”
“Hyung! wait, let me explain—!”
Yoongi lunges.
Hoseok screams-laughs, scrambling away and nearly tripping over the lamp’s cord. “I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY—!”
Yoongi tackles him to the couch, both of them dissolving into breathless, ridiculous laughter, limbs tangled, hearts light.
Hoseok caves first, wheezing. “Hyung—okay—okay! I’ll never throw away any sentimental ugly thing ever again—!”
“Damn right you won’t.” Yoongi pins him down with one hand on his chest. “I’ll hide everything I care about. Including you.”
Hoseok melts, instantly smug. “Mm. You care about me, hyung?”
Yoongi groans. “Don’t start.”
“You doooooo,” Hoseok sings, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s waist. “You love me and my beautiful face and you want to fix the haunted lamp with meee—"
Yoongi grabs a pillow and shoves it in his face.
Hoseok laughs into it, bright and unfazed. “It’s true though!”
Yoongi sighs deeply, collapsing on top of him, cheek pressed to Hoseok’s chest. “...Yeah, yeah. I do. Shut up.”
Hoseok’s hand immediately slides into his hair, stroking gently.
“Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll shut up. Only because I like when you lie on me like this."
Yoongi feels his chest loosen, slowly, beautifully, as Hoseok’s fingers comb through his hair in those soft, grounding motions that always manage to quiet the world.
“Hyung?” Hoseok murmurs after a moment.
“Mm?”
“Let’s keep the lamp.”
Yoongi closes his eyes.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Let’s keep it.”
He feels Hoseok smile against his hair.
They lie there together, quiet, warm, stupidly in love while the crooked lamp watches over them from the couch.
Ugly. Old. Sentimental.
And theirs.