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kithtaehyung · 2 years

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yoongi’s interlude: dal segno (m) (3tan) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: dal segno pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst, fluff, implied smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: dal segno—used as a direction in music to return to the sign that marks the beginning of a repeat. note: it is here! a little later than planned but hey, let’s go!! thank y’all for waiting and thank you for being so supportive throughout this whole process. let this be a little gift from me before 3tan9 drops, which will be an even bigger present when it’s done<33 note 2: if you haven’t read the three tangerines series yet, read that first (specifically basketball, stay, sidewalk talk, friends, and dalo.) this will be easier to read after that! warnings: multiple time switches due to flashbacks, cursing, yoongi pov, tense situations, penetrative sex, implied sex, minor scuffle, mentions of blood, threats, punches, angst, yoongi has a lot going on in his mind :((, jimin is a real one, actually everyone in here is<3 drop date: september 23rd, 10:50pm est word count: 9.7k

Another breath.

Another day.

Filled with the same plaguing thoughts as the last.

Hustler [19:58]: You’re welcome !

Hustler [19:58]: I wish I could’ve stayed…

As Yoongi stares at your texts, he automatically knows that you leaving was the much better option. There were too many eyes looking at too many things.

Not that he would tell you tha—

A hard thump catches his attention, and he lifts eyes to watch the game play out in front of him. How the same guys from before are now paying attention to the players instead of the sidelines.

And as much as he loved seeing you in that fit, he knew from the jump that a lot of other people would, too. Especially in a setting like this one where the only other things to stare at are sweaty dudes just like him.

A few more drops slide from his forehead.

Lowering his gaze back down to his screen, he blinks at the blank message box, wondering what he could possibly respond with and thinking he probably shouldn’t at all.

Honestly, he’s surprised you sent that last text. He figured you would’ve left it at the first one, or not responded at all.

On the other hand, he’s kinda shocked that he sent you something in the first place, too. A little messed up considering your brother is steps away.

But, caught up in the moment and finally being able to see you, he must’ve just reacted. Must’ve just wanted to keep teasing you, especially after seeing your adorable reaction to his hair.

You like it.

Why is that enough to stroke his ego—

“Yoong, you comin’?”

His thoughts dissipate as he lifts his bright, drenched head. “You done?”

“Yeah, we’re on again.”

“K.” Fuck, he’s out of shape. Pocketing his phone, Yoongi moves to stand, ready to play and anticipating the soreness already. “Yeah, I’m in.”

Yoongi knew that they were good.

But he didn’t expect them to run the court for this long.

After the fourth win since his joining, all of them collapse onto the sideline next to awaiting bags and backpacks, a heap of heavy breathing and heat.

“Why are we… still winning,” your brother pants, head hanging between crossed arms on his knees.

“Is that a question,” Jimin responds, breathy but not as faint. At least he’s fully in shape from all the goddamn running he does. “We’re just better.”

“Can we… Can we be worse for a little bit?”

Yoongi’s shoulders move as huffs into the water you gave him, but it’s Park that scoffs,

“Me? Worse? Never.”

“Bullshit,” he responds, and tired, mirthy hisses shoot out when he realizes that your brother said it with him.

Soon, the old days come flooding back. When it came to basketball, it would always be Jimin that shouldered all the penalties. Everyone knew they could never be the loser if he was playing, no matter what stupid game it was.

But he had gotten better since then. Loads better. With a passing thought, Yoongi thinks all the teasing is exactly what made him decent in the first place.

The man himself has to be reminiscing, too, because he simply grins while raking back light brown strands. “At least I’m good and in shape. You need me now.”

They can’t deny that. Intramurals can get tough, especially if they end up playing more than one game in a day.

“Y’all ready?”

All three of them look toward the court, noticing the same dudes from before standing in a group.

Huh.

They’ve won that much that they’re facing the same people a third time?

Damn.

Maybe he is still pretty fit. Or just prideful. Yoongi thinks he can go for a lot longer if it means winning until they leave.

After he stands and brushes his shorts, an inward laugh follows his last thought.

Because he ends up agreeing with you, after all. He kinda wishes you could’ve stayed now, too.

…Yeah.

It’s definitely pride.

The next game is different from the others.

A lot different.

Yoongi doesn’t know exactly what happened before this, but the guys seem more on edge this time. More upset.

And he loves it.

He doesn’t know if it’s because his team had been talking shit every game before that, or if these dudes can’t take losing well, but he starts getting confronted out of nowhere.

When the ball gets in Yoongi’s hands, someone pushes against his back with a taunt,

“Think you’re hot shit?”

Uhh. He knows he is. But that’s besides the point.

The point is that this guy doesn’t know what he just got himself into, and Yoongi figures that he should let him know.

Backing up, he dribbles low before spinning and making his way to the basket, scoring without a word.

As the guy’s teammates criticize his shitty defense, Yoongi simply looks at him while backpedaling to the other side of the court. And when he’s glared at, all he offers is a shrug.

Oh, he’s pissed already?

Too easy.

As the game continues, Yoongi observes that he’s the only one getting roughed up. A jab to the ribs here, a hard foul on a layup that has him laughing more than anything.

Goddamn, this dude is legitimately mad. Did he do something to him? If he did, he honestly doesn’t remember.

After Yoongi scores on him again, things start getting even more physical. During a shot, the guy purposely knocks into him, lying by saying he was the one that got hit when the ball misses. “Foul.”

Childish. Yoongi huffs a knowing laugh while Jimin instantly questions,

“What? How?”

“He ran into me.”

Ah, it makes sense now.

This dude’s only targeting him because he’s pissed he isn’t good. Isn’t better. Time and time again, it’s always the same people compensating for low skill.

“That’s not what I saw.”

“You calling me a liar?”

Whatever. It won’t help at all. His team’s gonna lose for the third time anyway. Signaling to Jimin, Yoongi waves the ridiculous call off,

“Fuck it, let him have it. Check up.”

Right after he concedes, there’s rougher and rougher play with each possession. But Yoongi doesn’t let it phase him as he keeps fighting his way to the basket, only choosing to be rough when the same guy guards him.

Because he’s completely fine being just as petty.

Suddenly, something is muttered that has Yoongi’s attention. Because it’s so laughable that he can’t leave it alone. “What’d you say?”

An answer doesn’t come until they stay put, both of them with hands resting on their knees while multiple sneakers scrape up the other side of the court.

“I saw that earlier. That’s your girl?”

Oh.

He’s one of the guys that were eyeing you?

Yeah, he’s getting ignored. Otherwise things’ll get real fucking funny real quick.

As the teams continue to fight over rebounds without them, the man tries to get under his sweaty skin again,

“You know what? I figured it out. You want her but you keep missing, huh. She left with someone else. You let that happen?”

Has this dude ever been told he sucks at shit talk?

Yoongi simply wipes sweat from his forehead with his tank, realizing with a tiny scowl that his top is now useless with how soaked it is.

As everyone makes their way back after a score, he thinks he can just brush this guy off now, deeming him not worthy of any more of his time.

Until a switch is flipped.

“Can’t be around that bitch forever. Might just see how tight that cunt is mysel—”

Yoongi has the guy’s collar before his mind can even process, shoving him back against the nearest chainlinks with force and erupting clangs.

“Whoa, whoa!”

“Hey, chill out!”

“The fuck is going on?”

In an instant, your brother and Jimin flank him, and Yoongi knows that they’re already assessing how things’ll go down if shit goes south.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Or the tenth.

Yoongi can feel heatwaves from the tense half-circle around him, but as long as everyone’s waiting on a signal, he knows he can speak freely.

So he does.

“Why don’t you say that one more time.”

“What’d he say, Yoong.”

Silence.

Mm. Nothing, huh. All that talk and suddenly he doesn’t have shit to say?

Yoongi tilts his head, knuckles tight and twisted in wet cotton. “Go on.”

“I don’t have to listen to you, man.”

His eyebrows raise with his mouth, grinning out of pure disbelief and something more.

He can take heat.

But when it comes to you?

Yeah, no one’s getting away with that shit.

“What’s wrong? You shy?” A fake, pointed laugh flies out of Yoongi’s throat before his expression completely drops, and his tone plunges into the ground,

“Hurry the fuck up.”

“It’s not even that serious—”

He shoves a slick forearm into the man’s collarbone, feeling the sharp contact as the guy reacts with a slight grunt. “Then say it.”

Yoongi feels it. All of it. All the stress that’s been building from the past couple weeks comes gushing out, from the studio clusterfuck to potentially ruined plans with you.

Now he has to deal with this?

What bad fucking luck for this dumbass.

After he’s greeted with more silence, irritation makes him jut his forearm forward.

“Fine,” the guy finally hacks out, grabbing Yoongi’s arm with sweaty hands. “Get off me.”

Obliging, he pushes off with force before he hears wheezes that sound laced with amusement.

“Little bitch. This is why I’ll have that pussy by next we—”

An abrupt crack echoes out as your brother comes in with a swing, and Yoongi calmly backs up before the dude is snagged with two hands.

Fuck, he didn’t expect a punch. Especially one to the face.

Maybe your brother is as stressed out as he’s been saying.

But, as Yoongi looks around, he notices something worked. At least, the hit must’ve been loud enough to make everyone think twice.

Because while the group moves a step forward, no one rushes in completely. Which makes things a lot easier because he came to play basketball—not pick fights like the faraway days. He’s way too old for this shit now.

Right.

As if he didn’t start this in the first place.

Why the hell was that his reaction, anyway? Yeah, he’s stressed, but he’s been able to keep his cool ever since work got hectic. He was even able to stay relatively calm—albeit alert—when these guys were watching you.

But now? Now, even while the guy sports a split lip, Yoongi wants him worse off. Preferably crumpled in half and kissing concrete.

Why he feels this strongly is something he’ll have to evaluate later. Even though he already knows it can’t spell out anything good.

While the guy sputters out a curse, bloody spit drips from his mouth as your brother gets in close.

“If I ever. Ever catch you around her. I’m coming with more than a swing. You understand?”

And Yoongi cocks a strong brow when the guy has the balls to say “Fuck you.”

But your brother isn’t deterred. “Cus we’re letting you off easy. And I’m telling you now that next time? Will be a lot different.”

“What…” A moist swallow. “Whatever, man.”

“Try me. See what happens.” Your brother shoves the man further into the fence before backing away, giving him room to retreat.

And the guy takes the out, nodding for his whole group to follow suit.

Yoongi hopes they can feel his glare. When he flicks his eyes to Jimin, he notices that he’s just as resolute and clench-jawed, fingers still balled into fists and eyes burning dark.

Fuck, everyone got lucky.

As the guys vacate the court and witnesses go back to minding their business, Yoongi can feel himself breathe again. Checking on your brother, he can tell that the man’s laser focused, remembering each face with rapid, stunning memory.

And they’re almost gone.

But not without the dude boring holes and dark vows into their eyes one last time.

When his glare pauses on your brother, he wipes bloody drool from his mouth before threatening,

“I’ll find out where you live, motherfucker.”

Shit.

That’s never a good sign.

You live in the same house.

…Fuck.

He shouldn’t have let anything get to him. Now he might’ve made things worse for you.

All he wants to do is fucking hit something.

But while everyone is turned away, he instead diffuses dense anger out from his hands, balling them into fists and slowing the flex outwards. Again. And again.

“Think he’s bluffing?”

Jimin watches them file through the gate. “Maybe. But you never know.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees as he rubs his sore forearm. “Can’t be too careful. Guys like him snap eventually.”

“Annoying as hell.”

“And they took the fucking ball.”

Your brother spins around with frustration. “What the fuck? Fuck, my hand hurts.”

“They weren’t shit,” Jimin sighs as his friend shakes hurt fingers. “I don’t think the swing was necessary.”

“It just came out. But you’re probably right.”

“He’s definitely right.”

“I hate to ask y’all. But when I’m gone—”

“Yeah,” Yoongi interrupts, already planning on doing whatever it takes. He feels shitty and responsible enough as is. “We will.”

“Thanks. Just this once. This should be the last trip for awhile.”

“Shouldn’t we tell her?”

Before Yoongi can cut in, he’s overshadowed,

“No. We should be okay.”

Which makes him purse his lips in thought.

He shares a glance with Jimin, but they end up agreeing in the end.

“K.”

Yoongi lightly squeezes his eyes before letting them open, facing a side of his bed he hasn’t touched lately.

Again, regret wakes him up too early.

His blinds still lie useless with no sunlight to block, only darkness persevering beyond the confines of his bedroom. Everywhere else, the world is quiet. Static.

If only his mind was the same.

Breathing in, he tries not to think. Tries hard not to think about everything that was, and everything that can’t be.

Fuck.

This isn’t like him.

He moves forward. He accepts. He leaves the past behind—mostly.

But ever since the week that made him face a myriad of emotions he wasn’t prepared for, he’s been stuck in a loop. Stuck living through all that went down from the beginning.

Every morning. Every afternoon. And every night.

It’s not always the same sequence, though. Sometimes it starts with the basketball game; sometimes it starts before then, when he purposefully lied about not having a pump in his car.

But other times, his mind drops him right into the first phone call you missed.

The one he made after the longest workday he’s ever had in his life.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

Yoongi hates the reason why he’s calling. Because he knows you’re not gonna like it.

But he wasn’t gonna break it to you through texts.

If you were someone else, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. The text would’ve just been sent and he would’ve moved on.

Yoongi didn’t wanna do that to you.

It could be because of the lingering guilt from basketball, but even if that didn’t happen and he couldn’t see you, he still would’ve given you the courtesy of a call. The least he can do is give bad news through the phone.

Hmm. It’s still ringing.

Don’t you usually answer right away?

Fuck, you aren’t picking up.

When it goes to voicemail, Yoongi feels a drop of dread ping into his stomach.

Forget whatever news he was gonna tell you. He decides right then that he needs to go check on you.

Swerving to head over to your neighborhood instead of his complex, he runs long fingers through his hair.

He knows it’s a further drive, and he knows he’s ten seconds from passing the fuck out.

But after whatever happened yesterday, he just needs to know if you’re safe. Whether he was the reason for your situation or not fuck.

Adrenaline. Guilt. Both make for a dangerous combination behind the wheel when his destination isn’t close.

Should he try you again?

Should he call Jimin?

Fuck, why didn’t he text you something more specific earlier? Yeah, he was busy, but that shouldn’t have taken precedence. He seriously needs to learn how to deal with work stress because it’s making him fall short in multiple areas.

Several minutes pass, and he tries his hardest to fill the loud silence with other thoughts. Like how he needs to learn quick to make up for losses at the studio. Or how he’s gonna be working overtime for weeks no matter what.

Hustler: Incoming Call

His eyes dart straight to his phone, and he answers immediately. “Hey.”

“I am so sorry! Fuck, I fell asleep.”

Good.

You’re okay.

There’s nothing to be sorry about at all.

But now, all the adrenaline in his system is draining at a blistering pace, leaving room for pure exhaustion to come back with a vengeance.

“S’okay.”

Fuck, he’s even more tired than before.

“How… How was your day?”

Yoongi rubs his face.

As much as he wants to stay on the line, if he keeps talking to you, he won’t be able to hide how exhausted and frustrated he really is. You have a way of disarming people that scares him, at least based on that conversation in the kitchen on New Years. And the phone call after he took your brother home.

There’s no telling what he’ll say if you make him comfortable again.

So he opts for a single sentence,

“It was fine.”

Shit, even that sounded rough.

Fine is pushing it, too. Maybe even too far off base. But he doesn’t wanna burden you with any of the shit he’s going through, especially if you wouldn’t know half of what he’s talking about.

“At least your day is done! Tomorrow will be fun, right?”

A long exhale.

Now for the news: he can’t see you tomorrow, either. The studio is so overwhelmed that he may not even see daylight multiple days of the week.

He sums everything up in a sentence.

“Same shit tomorrow, too.”

And he hates himself for it.

He pulls up on your road right after, scanning the area for any strange cars.

Hmm. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything looks familiar so far, which is ideal.

“Oh. I see.”

He definitely wishes he had other options, but he’d much rather give it to you straight instead of offering false hope. If he could find a way to figure things out, he’d tell you. There’s just nothing his fatigued mind can think of right now.��

He’ll make it up to you eventually. Whenever that may be.

Rolling up and parking, he looks around one more time before settling into his seat, realizing that he hadn’t responded out loud yet.

“Sorry.”

“No, no! It’s okay. Things happen.”

It’s admirable how you’re trying to mask it. But there’s no way you can hide how you feel right now.

Fuck, just one thing after another that he can’t get right.

Is this karma for the stupid decisions he made? Not only has he put you in potential danger, but he’s also being held from seeing you entirely?

Either way, he deserves the second one. Because he already knows he doesn’t deserve you in the first place.

Yoongi forces out a sigh before eyeing your front window.

He knows you’re home, judging by the silhouette shrouded by the blinds and curtains.

So he should go.

Go back home, shower, skip dinner, go to sleep…

“It’s okay, Yoongi. If you’re busy—”

Fuck it.

“I’m not busy right now.”

Getting out, he shuts his door before waking right up to your front porch. Knowing that he really shouldn’t be doing anything other than sleeping.

“Oh. Okay.”

The weekend ahead is long. There’s way too much to do. If they don’t get their shit together, there’s no way they’re making this deadline.

But your voice on the line is so fucking small.

It makes sense. He knows you want to see him, and he wants to see you, too. Against everything telling him this shouldn’t have been more than that summer afternoon—or anything at all—he still wants it. And you have no idea how much.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

He knows you’re safe, and that should be enough.

…

It’s not.

“Open the door, doll.”

Yoongi forces himself into a sitting position, squinting at his nightstand and grabbing his phone after a few tries.

His screen lights up with notifications, but if it doesn’t have anything to do with work then he can’t be bothered by it.

Scroll. Scroll.

Scroll.

Nothing.

And he doesn’t see your nickname, either. So he tosses it back and rubs his eyes.

Hustler.

He remembers when he changed your name to that in his phone, and he wonders if you’ll ever get to see that for yourself.

Would you be shocked? Would you tell him to change it back? Even if you did, there’s no way he would.

It’s too perfect.

And it’s much easier to deal with than any other name he wants to change it to.

Besides, he definitely called you that long before he found out you were hustling him in multiple ways. Seems like you’re just that person to him, tripping him up with underhanded business practices, or smiles that have his heart skipping.

It was nice to bring up old times while you walked around his complex. He knew it would shock you to know that he still remembers your little food stands, which made the whole reveal that much sweeter. Your reaction was absolutely priceless, just like the rest of the night.

At least, before you started getting inside your own head again.

“Hey… We can go back inside if you’re worried someone’ll see us.”

What?

Yoongi pauses as he looks at you, hating how you look so goddamn guilty just being outside. “Huh?”

“You keep looking around.”

Oh. Well, he is, but not because of what you think.

You shouldn’t ever need to worry about what he’s been shouldered with.

Yoongi walks toward you, wanting to wipe the sadness out of your eyes and the uncertainty from your lips.

The night has been calm as hell for him—other than checking over his shoulder like always. Even though he didn’t necessarily want to go outside, there was no way he was gonna let you go by yourself.

But he hasn’t felt this content in a minute. Simply talking to you and hearing you speak without hesitation relaxes him, and he thinks it’s because he’s already familiar with your company.

Yeah, he got around. And yeah, he only saw you as his friend’s sister. But you popped up so often that it became routine to see your face, a subtle constant in his life no matter how great or shitty it was going.

There just hadn’t been a way to hang out with you like this before now.

Which is a shame. Because he has to admit that you’re fun as hell to talk to.

When you left for university, he really did mean it when he sent you off with an offer. But it truly was pure in intentions at the time.

It was when you came back to visit that he may have been thinking of other things. And when you were quicker to correct him with any newfound knowledge did he start having some not so acceptable thoughts.

Where was the girl that switched up make believe prices on him? Who was this person that looked like she had matured and lived and been through some of the same bullshit that he did?

He didn’t know. And not knowing didn’t sit quite well with him.

But you somehow showed up on his doorstep after a whole year of him hating who he was. And whatever you did somehow repaired that broken record, allowing him to escape that headspace and do shit again.

Your voice is so tiny when you whisper, “I just thought…”

“Just a habit, doll,” he assures, hoping that you trust him even though he doesn’t deserve it. “It’s not you.”

Just this once.

Let him be the only one that worries.

“Okay.”

His jaw clenches.

Whoever you were with before? They didn’t deserve you. Not a single one of them deserved to chisel away at your confidence until you had to come to someone like him to fix it.

And truthfully, he doesn’t deserve those eyes looking at him like that, either. Like he holds all the answers when he really only comes with problems.

Like how he put you in this position in the first place, whether that dude was bluffing or not. Not only do you not know about what happened at basketball, but now you think he’s paranoid about being seen with you.

Fucking hell.

He brings a hand up to lightly touch your chin, and he focuses hard on the way you react. Innocent. Pure. One of his many, many favorites.

If someone sees him? With the woman so engrossed in cooking and music that she didn’t even realize she was being watched earlier? The same person that dumped cold fucking water on his tired head and blazed a trail of puddles throughout his apartment?

It’s minutes later, when you’re admiring the night sky with the same wonderment he holds in his, that he realizes that he could be fine with that.

More than fine with that.

If only circumstances were different.

Falling back onto his pillow, Yoongi stares at his ceiling, remembering the kiss that sprouted from simply not giving a fuck for two seconds.

If you remember anything about that weekend, he hopes it’s that moment. That lone pocket of time is one that he’ll always remember.

Because it scared the shit out of him.

He knew that he shouldn’t have done it. He knew that.

But he found himself not caring in the slightest, not being able to resist how breathtaking moonlight looked in your eyes. You were magnetizing. You were magic.

You kissed him back.

Did you know that would affect him days after? Did you know you planted something in his chest with your bare hands? Something that began to hurt when he realized he couldn’t do this with you forever?

When you held his hoodie…

It was crystal clear that things were more complicated than he planned for, including the need to protect you reaching levels that he still won’t fully acknowledge.

That strong urge caused him to do things he never thought he’d do again.

When he pulls up to your house, he notices you covertly checking the street, halfway amused and halfway very much not.

Of course you’re paranoid about being seen with him, being driven home in his car. But he wanted to be sure you got home. And, more pressingly, he wanted to give you something before you went inside.

Because he knew he could let you stay over the weekend. But it’s definitely pushing it if he flat out suggested staying for the week.

Is this going too far? Probably. But he’ll be damned if something happened to you when he wasn’t careful. If something happened because of something he did.

When you’re about to open your door, he decides. “Listen.”

Shit, you tensed hard.

“Hmm?”

Yoongi feels his heart lurch. You look like anything he’s gonna say will shatter you into pieces.

This is his reputation, after all. Something he just has to live and deal with.

So he does.

Because he’s about to give you something that he knows you’re gonna react to. Even though he feels awkward about it himself, he’s gotta be chill because that’ll be the only way he’ll get through this conversation.

“This is just for the week, got it?”

“What is?”

Fuck, why is this so hard? It’s a key. An object used to open another one.

Just hand it over. There’s no other real way to do this.

Reaching into a pocket that seemed quite heavy the whole drive over, he grabs his spare and holds it over the console.

And he watches as you stare for what seems like hours.

“Yoongi, what the fuck?”

Fuck, why is his heart racing? This is supposed to be for your safety, but… The situation finally hits him.

He hasn’t given anyone a key to his place in a long time, just like he hasn’t let anyone stay. It almost has him just as caught up as you look.

Relax. This is just whatever, not some grand gesture that he’ll think about before going to sleep in a bed without you in it.

Sure.

“I don’t know how the next few days are gonna go, but. Use it whenever.”

“I don’t…”

“It’s just a key, doll. Don’t overthink it.”

He knows you’re gonna. But you don’t need to.

Don’t overthink anything with him.

“I”—you nod, softly taking the spare and holding it tight—“Okay.”

All you’re doing is sitting there, looking at the key like you’ve never seen one before…

And all he wants to do is turn the car around.

Goddamn, he’s gotten more than soft. Surely, he can deflect whatever the hell he’s feeling somehow.

But what does he say? What can he focus on? What can he make you focus on?

Well. Better things. Things that are attainable, things that have nothing to do with him.

“Find something that makes you happy.”

“Huh?”

Yoongi sets a forearm on his steering wheel, averting his gaze so he doesn’t have to feel so fucking shy. “A job. Or whatever. It’ll make a difference.”

You nod. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” He turns back to regard you, eyes dropping to his spare when he realizes your stare is too much to handle. “Just text me if you end up using it.”

Your voice is back to dropping a few sizes when you whisper, “I will. Good night, Yoongi.”

While you exit his car and leave, he thinks about many things, and they all have to do with you.

Because over the last couple days alone, he’s discovered how amazing you really are.

And with each thing he learns, the more concerned he gets. About the way you’ve been treated, about anything happening to you, and about how he’s starting to feel.

When you’re halfway to your door, Yoongi breaks his gaze to look down the street.

Even with all the shit you’ve been through, it hasn’t made your heart any darker.

You didn’t need to seek him out when you needed reassurance. You didn’t need to be so considerate that you’d go the extra ten miles for him. You didn’t need to tell him that he could talk to you about things, without even really knowing him.

And you certainly did not need to figure out where he’s ticklish, but that’s a whole different issue.

But despite striking out so often, you’re still out there. Just as kind and considerate as you ever were, even to someone like him.

He turns to see you digging through your bag. Probably to find your keys.

Maybe that’s why he feels this deep, strong impulse to protect you now—and not just from what he caused.

Nah. It’s more than that. He wants you safe from everything, even yourself.

Because you’ve only settled. And you deserve a lot more than what you’ve gotten handed so far.

Maybe he needs to show you that.

When you unlock your place and step inside, he thinks it’s cool to drive off. But it isn’t until you turn back and see him that he actually leaves.

Wondering how the hell he’s gonna get through this week without getting himself into more trouble than he already is.

There’s a vibration at his side, and it takes Yoongi a second to realize that he’s being called.

Right now?

Who the hell…

Reaching to grab his phone, he squints to see who the fuck could be calling.

Work call?

Shit.

Groaning, he closes his eyes before answering with a groggy, “Sup.”

Jungkook sounds just as croaky and tired as he does.

“Hey. Think you can come in early today.”

“What’s early.”

“Now.”

Now? How is Kook even awake? This is usually when they head out or crash on their couches. “It’s five.”

“You were awake enough to answer.”

“Mm.” Yoongi breathes into the line. “True.”

“They’re already here. I just got up from a nap, but. Yeah. We need you.”

“Yeah, I can.”

“K.”

Yoongi drops his phone as soon as the call ends, dumping his head into the crook of his elbow.

And just like always, the memories continue, picking up at the time he made you worry for a whole damn night.

Hustler: Incoming Call

Fuck, he needs to answer you.

Excusing himself from the studio, he brushes off the manicured nails reaching for his sleeves.

Goddamn. He can’t believe Jungkook brought chicks in when they’re this close to a deadline. The guy swears they’re just his friends, but that’s definitely not the vibe Yoongi feels.

The whole thing is enough to piss him off, frankly, but it’s not a battle he’s decided to pick just yet. Not when he can just ignore them.

Kook’s voice follows him to the door, “Where you going!”

“Taking a call.”

“Tell them you’re busy!”

“Won’t take long,” Yoongi mumbles before leaving, wanting to add that there’s other people that need to be told that instead.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

As soon as you answer, he doesn’t hesitate, “You okay?”

“Much better. But you’re busy so I can wait.”

At least you’re okay. But didn’t you have something to smooth over with your friends? Did you end up doing that? “You sure?”

“Ah, yeah. I’ll just be in bed.”

“Yours or mine?”

…Why the hell did he just ask that?

That can’t be good for him. The two of you aren’t even close to dating, or have anything other than a couple hookups. Or whatever they are. He doesn’t exactly know.

But the words came out so naturally that he’s wondering where he stands.

Is this why he isn’t even entertaining those girls? Because his mind’s already made up that he’s seeing you?

“Oh.”

He hears the hesitance in your voice. You sound as shocked as he feels.

“I’m at home.”

Mm.

Maybe it’s because he would feel better if you were back at his place. Now that he knows you’re home alone, there’s something in him that wants you just a bit closer.

But how does he get you over there with the least amount of suspicion possible? How the fuck does he finesse this?

Well, there is one way.

He can always get you upset with him.

“You threw away that key, huh.”

“No!”

“Liar.”

“I have your key! I just.. I dunno. Using it when you’re not there is weird. Still feels like I’m intruding.”

He laughs, understanding how you would think that. There’s a reason he hasn’t given his key to anyone in awhile. Privacy is his biggest priority.

And yet… After he gave you his spare, he had no regrets. All the awkwardness he felt before went away in an instant.

But he’s not done with you yet. “Then give it up.”

“What?”

“Gimme the key back. I’ll come get it tonight.”

Because he’s gonna see you either way, whether you come over to his place or not.

It’s just way too fun to hear you flounder. If only you were here in person, too.

“…Damn you, Yoongi.”

More amusement flies out of his throat before he goads, “What?”

“You’re so… Ugh! Fine. I’ll keep it.”

“It’s all up to you.”

“Yeah? Then I’m going over there just to lock you out.”

There you go.

Laughing, he feels his chest beat quick, so fucking amused when you come at him like that. Like you don’t give a shit who he is. It does things to him that he’ll never quite admit out loud. “God, I love it when you’re—”

“Yoong! Hurry up, man!”

“Yoongi!”

“Yoongi! Come back!”

Ah, fuck. He said he wasn’t gonna take long, but it seems like he loses track of time when talking to you.

Covering his receiver, he shouts down the hall, “Yeah, one sec!”

Hopefully what he did is enough to convince you to go to his place. At the end of the day, he really does want you safe. Hard to think you would be when some fucker decided to threaten you and your brother. “Hey, I gotta go. But I’ll be back tonight.”

“Okay…”

“Am I gonna see you?”

It takes awhile for you to answer, and he hates how timid you sound.

“Do you want to?”

More than anything. “Course I do.”

Another few seconds pass until you answer again, but Yoongi will wait as long as he needs to.

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

“Thank fuck.”

He hears a tiny puff of laughter before you tut,

“Such a guy. But don’t leave until you’re done!”

Of course you want him to focus. You’ve been nothing but supportive this entire time, and he can’t thank you enough for that. “K.”

“I believe in you. You’ll finish.”

You’re cute. But that’s a big fucking stretch.

There’s still a lot that they have to do, and getting all of that done in a single night would be a miracle.

Who knows with you, though. You could be his saving grace, or a good luck charm.

“I dunno about that, but.. Thanks, doll.”

And when they do end up finishing after hours later, he celebrates with all the guys before driving home.

With the strongest urge to kiss his good luck charm stupid.

Yoongi grabs his glasses from his nightstand, putting them on after raking back his hair.

One breath.

Then two.

Get up.

Setting his feet on the ground, he lugs himself upward, hating how the cocoon he left feels more inviting than ever.

Well, not as inviting as when you—

Buzzes on his nightstand make him pause.

Is Kook calling again? Does he get to sleep in after all?

Leaning, Yoongi checks his screen.

Oh. Of course.

Sighing, he answers with a sleep-bogged tone, “Huh.”

“You actually answered! Morning, sunshine.”

“What do you want.”

“Ouch? Rude.”

Jimin laughs, too fucking awake as always.

“You heard about the game this week, yeah?”

“No?”

Shit, he’s already forgotten about intramurals. After what went down, he completely forgot about the league entirely.

A memory about the last game does come back to him, though. One involving the very person saying something on the line.

Someone he still needs to thank for a lot of things that week.

Yoongi walks into the gym they’re slotted to play in, still high as hell off the kiss you gave him before you left.

He’s gonna get you back for that one. You can’t be better than him at his own game.

In the center of the court, a bin of mesh jerseys sits, so he grabs one before approaching a familiar face. “Hey.”

“Ah, I see you lost the orange!”

He slips on the jersey while pointing out through a smile, “Said I was gonna.”

“Did you dye it this morning or did she?”

Huh?

Yoongi looks at him before grabbing a ball from the floor. The hell does he mean by that? Lips faltering, he answers, “I did.”

It’s Jimin’s turn to grin while they make their way to their designated basket. “You should’ve let her do it. Since she was there when I called.”

“Okay, fess up,” Yoongi tuts, stopping his dribble. “What’re you getting at.”

“Damn, relax,” his friend soothes through a smirk. “I didn’t say you did anything. I just knew she was there.”

“You know this week is—”

“I know.” Jimin suddenly drops all sense of amusement, his voice switching on a dime. “I freaked the fuck out two nights ago. I’m giving you shit because you didn’t tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“That she was with you!” He snatches the ball before dribbling in place. “Her friends called Taehyung flipping out that she wasn’t at the house—”

Oh, shit. That explains all the shit you woke up to.

“—and Tae couldn’t get ahold of her, you didn’t answer my calls—”

“I’m—”

“—it was a lot. But… Tae and I ended up driving over to your place. We didn’t leave until we found her car.”

Eyebrows shoot into Yoongi’s now-dark bangs. “Shit. You did all that?”

Jimin stops the ball before pinning it to his hip. Sighing, he looks at the ground before turning to regard him, tense silence filling the space before he admits,

“I did what I thought you would do.”

Shit.

He’s not wrong.

“Thanks.”

“Thanks?” He gets socked in the arm. “Apologize first! Fucking heart almost stopped three times that night.”

Yoongi’s already nodding at the ground. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Thank you,” Jimin huffs out, giving the ball back with a sigh. “Just tell me something.”

“What.”

A tiny, knowing chuckle slips between them as they watch the rest of their team warm-up. “You know what I’m asking.”

“I could ask you the same about Ta—”

“Ah, the game’s about to start!” Jimin spins around, giving all the answers needed. “Gotta warm up, you know?”

And after his friend retreats, Yoongi stares at nothing with a cheek prod.

Damn.

He didn’t realize everyone was so worried. You told him about your friends—shockingly—but he didn’t know about Jimin and Tae.

Hearing how everything went down? Knowing what threats were made and learning that you weren’t at home or answering your phone?

Fuck, he would’ve lost his goddamn mind.

Shaking dark thoughts from his head—and a handful of other scary ones—he forces himself to focus, warming up harder than he’s ever done before.

Blinking, Yoongi realizes he got so distracted that he totally missed what was said. “Sorry, I zoned the fuck out. What did you say?”

“Oh, we have a bye week. No game.”

He rubs his face before finally heading to his bathroom, wondering why the hell he’s being called at dawn for this. “Okay.”

“I was thinking we could do something instead.”

Ah.

A yawn selfishly pushes out first before he can ask, “Like what.”

“I dunno. Dinner? Shiv wants to go out again and Tae may be down for once.”

Yoongi bumps into the doorframe of his bathroom, letting out a sleepy grunt before rubbing his shoulder. “Out where?”

“Ask your girlfriend where she wants to go.”

Oh, he’s gonna do nothing but deny that. And ignore the squeeze of his chest. “She’s not my girlfriend, idiot.”

“Deny it all you want. Even Shiv noticed something was up with you at Solaria.”

Oh, yeah. That’s the place they went to last night. All he could really remember was how fucking good you looked.

Honestly, he could’ve been anywhere and you’re all he would’ve seen.

…Shit. Maybe Jimin’s teasing has some merit.

Yoongi hasn’t been this down bad in a minute.

But the more hope he allows himself, the worse he ends up feeling. So whenever any comes along, it’s promptly squashed.

“It’s nothing, Chim.”

“Bullshit.”

Jimin’s silent, which makes Yoongi strain his ears to listen more intently.

“It’s something if it makes you this annoying.”

Yoongi puffs into his receiver, his smile enough to stretch his cheeks. “Now you’re just wrong.”

“So she’s not your girlfriend, and you aren’t seeing her?”

“Huh?”

“Dude. She’s clearly into you. And you’re telling me all you’re doing is playing around?”

“Your point?”

A sigh.

“I guess my question is… And I don’t normally pry this hard, but I care about both of you, so…”

Yoongi waits.

“What are you gonna do once you stop?”

Fuck, how many people has he dodged tonight?

Even now, as he gently lifts an arm off of his, he’s wondering if everyone just decided to show up to Dalo just to see him.

“Awhh, Yoongi, you’re no fun.”

“Correct.”

Another unsuccessful pout.

He keeps trying to look into the crowd, hoping to still see you despite the sea of bodies.

But again, someone else approaches with a bounce in their step. “Yoongi! Baby!”

He doesn’t reciprocate the hug, instead looking at Jimin for assistance while extricating himself. “Uhmm…”

“What’s wrong? Remember me?”

He should feel bad for this lie, but he doesn’t. “I don’t, sorry.”

“Oh.” The obvious follow-up flows right out as he tries to scan the crowd, “I can help you remember…”

Calmly taking fingers off of his dress shirt, Yoongi doesn’t acknowledge the comment as Jimin slips in,

“I don’t think we’ve met, gorgeous. Why don’t you forget him for a sec?”

The girl doesn’t even think twice as she moves away with him, and Yoongi can breathe again.

Goddamn. He hopes you didn’t see any of this. Even if you already know this haunting part of his lifestyle, it’s another thing for you to watch it in motion.

It’s almost enough to make him sick of the whole thing entirely. What the fuck does that mean? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to think about it right now.

All he wants to think about is what he sees in front of him: you, like he’s never seen you before.

Fuck, what he would give to have you dance on him like that.

Truthfully, he’d probably tug you away and pin you against the nearest wall. Or take you straight to the bathrooms, whichever was closest.

Confidence suits you better than anything he can picture you in, and when you turn to look right at him, he has to prod the inside of his cheek to not shy away from your eyes.

What the fuck are you doing to him?

If you came up to him right now?

He’d give you anything you wanted.

All you’d have to do is say it.

Yoongi holds the phone to his ear, unmoving because of the cold of morning—certainly not because of what he was just asked.

Fuck, he doesn’t have an answer.

Jimin sighs on the line, not offering anything else until he finally says,

“Sorry.”

“It’s all good,” Yoongi replies. “I get it.”

“I just—”

“I know.”

“Do you really? Or are you just ignoring it?”

Fuck.

Yoongi’s silent once again, knowing that Jimin isn’t gonna let this go until he decides to himself.

“I meant I’m sorry for bringing it up now. But I’m not sorry for saying it.”

“Mm.”

“You’re happy, dude.”

Well. That’s definitely not where he thought he’d go with this. “Huh?”

“Admit it. I saw you at the party. You are.”

He’s not ready for this conversation. Not when he’s still fucking shaken from what you said to him before he left your room.

That’s the memory he tries to keep at arm’s length the longest.

Hardening his resolve, he brushes off his friend, feeling like a total ass. “I got work, Chim.”

“Seriously?”

“Why else do you think I’m up.”

“To talk to her? I don’t know.”

“Park.”

“What?”

“I can’t fucking do this right now.”

“You can’t fucking—the fuck is up with you? Where’s the Yoongi that almost pulled my arm off at Dalo?”

Yoongi clenches his jaw.

“I’ve never seen you like that. Ever.”

His heart’s starting to slow. His tongue won’t move. Everything is starting to come back again, and he can’t do anything to stop it.

At his side, Jimin offers a flirty goodbye before sliding next to him.

As both of them lean on the bar, Yoongi takes a sip of his drink. “Thanks for that.”

“No sweat. She was hot.” Jimin takes a sip from his glass, as well. “I know you’re just watching out tonight, but. I might call her if you’re cool with it.”

Isn’t he with Taehyung now? The guy even went to their game.

He’s never seen any of Jimin’s hookups anywhere other than places like this and late-night diners.

Leaning over, he points out, “I don’t think I’m the one you need to ask.”

Jimin scoffs before looking away, taking another sip. “We still don’t know what it is.”

“He came to the game.”

Jimin looks back at the crowd before the ghost of a smile appears on his face. “Gotta admit that I didn’t expect that.” He puts his drink down behind Yoongi’s back. “Good thing she did, too. I’ve never seen you play that hard.”

Yoongi smirks. “I dunno what you’re talking abou—”

“Oh, fuck!”

“Shit.”

“Stay he—”

“Fuck tha—”

“Call Tae and stay the fuck back here!”

Yoongi’s forcefully shoved into the bar, heart racing right out of his chest and speeding after Jimin barreling through the crowd.

Fuck!

There’s no way. No fucking way. All week, they were fine.

How the fuck did that dude know you were here?

Everything is swirling in his vision as his limbs freeze.

Jimin’s got it. He has to he has to. What is he supposed to do? What does he— Oh. Taehyung.

Hands shaking, Yoongi fishes out his phone before—

“I’ll call security.”

Yoongi swivels to see the bartender holding up a walkie, and he shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“You sure, honey?”

He doesn’t respond as he finds Taehyung in his contacts, ringing him up and hoping to everything that he picks the fuck up.

“Okay. But just in case, there’s a small hallway to the right, next to our kitchen. You should be okay there.”

Yoongi eyes the girl again before looking towards where she said—

“Hello?”

“Get over here. Dalo.”

“Shit, okay. What’s going on?”

He can hear scrambling on the line. “Just hurry.”

“Fuck, okay, I’m coming. I’ll be there.”

Hanging up, Yoongi darts his eyes through the crowd, no air existing in his lungs.

One second.

Too many seconds.

Fuck it, he’s going in, too—

He sees you.

You’re with Jimin, sheltered under a leather sleeve as you’re moved through the crowd.

And fuck, you look so shaken. But you’re there. You’re safe.

Letting himself breathe again, he turns to say a quick thanks to the bartender before facing forward again.

“Of course, honey.”

He can’t stare at anyone but you.

“And take your girl home.”

Fuck, he got distracted again. He can already feel Jimin getting ready to pop off as he walks to his closet.

But his friend sounds outright done as he scoffs through the speaker,

“You know what? Fine. Go to work or whatever. But we aren’t finished.”

Thank fuck.

“O—”

The line is cut off before Yoongi can finish two syllables, and he lets his arm drop like a weight.

Jimin can try all he wants. But he’s not gonna say anything.

His girl?

Girlfriend?

No chance.

Yeah, he does wanna call you just to hear your voice. And sure, he does wanna tell you that you shouldn’t worry about your interview today at all.

But that doesn’t mean you’re actually his.

If anything, that says something about him.

Pulling a shirt over his head, Yoongi grabs a chain from his dresser before making his way out of his room. It’s gonna be another long ass day, so he bustles around the kitchen for coffee and something to hold him over later.

What would you do if you were here?

Probably tell him to go back to sleep so you can do all this for him.

Because that’s just who you are.

Yoongi remains still as he waits for the brewing sounds to stop, eyes unblinking and aimed at the dining table he’s come to not hate anymore.

Once a space that saw many destructive arguments and silent, unfinished meals, your appearance started giving it new life. New energy. Energy that he can physically feel as he passes it on the way to his room.

You have no idea how much you’ve changed his life. Whether you’re his or not, that fact remains the same.

He gets up when he needs to, he applies himself, he actually cares about what he does and doesn’t let the slightest inconvenience turn him off.

All because of you.

Fuck, you’re just…

Heart clenching, Yoongi rests both hands on his counter, overwhelmed by the war inside himself that rages on. Conflicts of multiple interests present themselves every second, pulling him in direction after direction until he’s completely and utterly lost.

Jimin means well.

But Yoongi can’t think about doing this again.

Not after what he went through last time.

Besides. It isn’t just about how you feel, or how he feels. His best friend has no fucking clue, and there’s no easy way to break all this to him if it comes down to it. If there came a time where he’d have to fess up.

He would not take a single sentence of that well.

And Yoongi wouldn’t blame him in the slightest.

But even if you weren’t off-limits, even if things were different, he still doesn’t think he could take that step. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because it would be best for you in the long run.

And he knows how ridiculous that is, because how could he think that but still want what he wants? How can he say this shit but think about taking you out and showing you off like you deserve?

How can he keep allowing himself to say that you’re his when you shouldn’t be?

It makes no fucking sense. But he can’t help but think the worst. Every single time.

Besides. You haven’t said a single thing about wanting to be with him.

He’s asked you multiple times what you wanted, when he knew that you knew what he meant.

And nothing.

But it’s fine. It’s better that way. Maybe you’ll grow tired of him or move on like you should.

What happened before is enough to ground him. As long as he’s reminded of the past, he can’t fuck up the future.

There’s a reason he keeps that guitar where it is.

It’s the first thing he sees when he walks into his place—a constant reminder of how things are supposed to be.

His shoulders bunch as he leans on the counter, remembering how stupid it was to try playing for you. That was the most powerless he’s ever felt in years.

But he did it anyway. Because it used to be a source of comfort for him, and you looked so fucking defeated that he wanted to do anything to make you okay again.

The coffee has long since been done brewing.

But Yoongi’s only thinking about the end of that night. The night that started this internal war in the first place. The night that will haunt him for the rest of his life.

He already knows you’re beautiful, but you’re indescribable when you come.

Maybe it’s because you feel so strongly in general, in all aspects of life. It’s only natural that you would exude pure emotion at your most vulnerable moment, disarming even the frostiest, darkest hearts just like his own.

But also. Maybe it’s because of the way you say his name. Because he can’t help but live in that moment hours after every time it happens, wishing that there was a future out there that included that situation every day of his life.

With your eyes closed, you can’t see how he watches you.

And it’s better that way.

You keep saying his name, and other things that are thawing his insides, but he finally breaks when you whisper a thank you.

Lips at your temple, he vows,

“That won’t happen again, love.”

You somehow reply, but your words are jumbled and slurred. And it takes Yoongi a few solid minutes to get you to your bathroom and dress you into a shirt he had to find.

When he guides you back to your bed, he decides to join you until he knows you’re asleep, eyes charting your face and ingraining it into his memory.

No one’s doing that shit to you again.

No fucking chance.

Resignation slips over his eyes as he feels awash with something that terrifies him. He tells himself to get up and keep watch until your brother comes, but he knows distancing himself right now is also pretty fucking important.

He’s way too weak to fight how he feels about you.

How he’s truly felt about you for awhile now.

Just as he’s about to move, he feels the tiniest resistance, wondering how you gained enough strength to hold his arm while you slept.

Still so adorab—

“Wish you were there, Yoongi.”

He freezes.

“I was so scared.”

Yoongi hits his counter with a fist, face burning anger into granite before he drops his head.

All that fucking time. All those fucking nights.

Only to have you just out of reach and almost…

Fuck.

He did this to you. He should’ve been there.

As someone that would rather be reminded of the past instead of dwell in it, he sure as hell feels like he’s stuck there. Hoping and praying and wishing that you’re safe and reliving that span of seconds where he thought that you weren’t going to be.

He should’ve fucking been there.

This is exactly why he can’t be with you. This is exactly why he wants you to be his.

Fuck, he’s gonna be sick.

Maybe work is exactly what he needs right now.

Exhaling from his nose, he shuts tired eyes, wondering how the hell he can’t do anything right. Pissed off that he can’t do everything that he wants to do.

Frustrated that he’s gonna keep seeing you despite knowing that he has to let you go.

He gathers his things with stiff fingers before heading out the door, looking for the cat he wants you to meet before walking to his car.

Another breath.

Another day.

Filled with the same fucking thoughts as the last.

tbc.<3

A/N: well. there you have it🥺 i know we always see reader’s mind spirals and their vast array of overthinking patterns. but.. i wanted to showcase yoongi’s because i honestly think his is incredibly worse :(( there’s a lot we didn’t know about him and i know y’all have been wanting his POVs! i separated this from 3tan9 because i thought it would’ve been way too much to read on top of everything going on in there LOL A/N 2: as always, thank you so much for all of the support. whether you’re new, or an OG, i truly appreciate you being here and going on this journey with me and the 3tan crew. if you could let me know what you liked or thought about this, whether through a reblog, comment, or message, i would be so grateful! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send 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 comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

#oh gosh i'm nervous af but i hope you enjoy<33 #bts #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #bts fanfiction #bangtanbathhouse #bangtanarmynet #btshoneyhive #*latest #ryenwrites #*ryenfictalk #yoongi #3tanDS

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lovelikedestiny · 1 year

Text

Just some humor and romance with our immortal idiots as a little treat before the weekend💕

“Your eyes look like stones.”

This phrase on itself isn’t something Nicolo would consider as an intelligent observation and certainly isn’t proud of, and the way he says it aggravates the embarrassing situation tremendously: blurting it out like the words could burn his mouth if they stayed in a second longer, so sudden that he startles Yusuf who was drawing peacefully in front of the fireplace until now.

Until Nicolo ruined the relaxed ambience.

Instantly, Nicolo wants to take back every word he has ever said but although he cannot die, the power of turning back time isn’t part of his gift. Unfortunately.

Yusuf blinks perplexed, restless fingers stopping in motion. “I beg your pardon?” He says confused and Nicolo wants God to strike him down with a lightning or the earth to swallow him whole as his face starts to burn suspiciously.

And because his brain shortcuts, leaving him helpless on his own, and Nicolo has the ability to get himself into a right mess, he repeats his remark in a voice not sounding tender or gentle but direct and weirdly loud. “Your eyes look like stones.”

“Oh…” Something closely resembling disillusionment erases a spark in Yusuf’s endless night skies and Nicolo thinks he can detect a hint of disappointment in his tone which is more than he can bear. “Uh…I suppose I should thank you for…that?”

Before Nicolo can work up the courage to explain his hugely failed attempt, he turns back to his drawing, brushstrokes somehow more sloppy than before. Any trace of boldness Nicolo had left dies in his throat.

Because his effort to compliment Yusuf’s magnificent eyes has gone badly wrong.

Clenching his fists at his stupidity and incapability to do something right for once and weave colorful metaphors like Yusuf, Nicolo leaves their cabin. Seeking comfort in the presence of their goats, he vents his annoyance while petting their he-goat. “Why is it so hard for me to do one thing right? Just one thing?”

He waits in vain for advice from his furry companions.

Truth is, Yusuf is always the one forming breathtaking pictures not only with paint but with his captivating words too. With his voice, his facial expressions, his eyes, with his whole being, Yusuf is the definition of passion and creation.

He compares Nicolo’s eyes to a reflection of the moon on a motionless lake or shards of sea glass, having trapped the stunning forces of nature inside their fragile heart.

He shows Nicolo eagerly the sketches he made of him every time he has captured him in simple charcoal when he was cooking, goat milking or only daydreaming, in such a way that Nicolo dares to think of himself as…average looking. Because Yusuf manages to turn his flaws - the too big eyes or his huge nose or his large mouth, not able to smile even - into some kind of charm.

He compliments Nicolo nearly every day, so often in fact that Nicolo has no idea how to behave whenever Yusuf tells him how his laugh lights up his face or his facial structure is a perfect replica of an ancient marble statue. Or “He is the moon when I’m lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold. He is the kindness that treats the wound the world has caused me when it has shown its worst again.”

The delicate thing that has evolved between them out of their hardly won truce transformed into a cautious friendship is still fresh and Nicolo finds himself wondering at night, as they lie tightly embraced in bed after a weirdly chaste kiss or another new gesture of an affection that has just started to grow, how he has deserved such a man after all he had done.

After all he had done during the Crusades…after all he had done to his former enemy.

In his first life, Nicolo had always been called verbally clumsy and straightforward; missing elegance in his pattern of speech. He had trouble learning to read, each day staying behind to finish his studies, being the last one of his monastery all the time.

This - the impulse to tell Yusuf how gorgeous he is in Nicolo’s eyes - is new terrain to him, tingling with excitement and worrying by extreme nervousness. Having blown his chance at the first try feels like a heavy stone in his stomach.

No-good, they had named him because he sometimes took longer to comprehend things. Failure, disaster, fool.

He feels like an utter fool now too.

With a groan of embarrassment he buries his head in his hands, tearing at his hair, surrounded by the goats’ pitiful bleating.

Yusuf and he don’t talk much after the…incident, spending their days and nights in the ordinary routine they had acquired themselves but the existing silence between them isn’t comfortable anymore.

It is Nicolo’s fault and he doesn’t know how to fix things, fearing to destroy them further.

On the sixth day he finally takes heart because he cannot endure another night in awkward tension.

“Thank you for the delicious meal,” Yusuf says smiling after dinner, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and stands to gather the used dishes.

Nicolo stops him by placing a hand on his strong forearm, enjoying the body heat seeping into his own skin as if he had been cold before. “Wait!” A swallow, a withdrawal of his hand when Yusuf freezes in motion. “Please,” he adds pleadingly.

But the crucial factor that leads Yusuf to settle back down on his chair appears to be Nicolo’s anxiously trembling hand on the table he hides a second too late in his lap.

“Is everything alright?” Yusuf wants to know and Nicolo is almost close to crying because Yusuf suddenly seems highly concerned for Nicolo himself. When he isn’t answering Yusuf reaches over the wooden table top, unusually self-conscious in the way he presents the palm of his hand, offering the support of a simple touch. “Nicolo? Did something happen on the market today? Or is it something I s…”

“I’m sorry,” Nicolo bursts out, interrupting Yusuf mid sentence, and bites his tongue inwardly cursing right after due to his lack of finesse in conversing. “Oh my…why am I doing that?” He coughs flustered, suppressing the flight instinct constantly growing inside him. “I’m incredibly sorry, Yusuf. You did nothing wrong, believe me. You’ve been perfect and caring and kind and I want to deeply apologize to you because I screwed up.”

“Apologize for what?” Yusuf inquires, knitting his eyebrows so they form one dark line. “Nicolo, your behavior unsettles me. What is the matter?”

When he leans forward, Nicolo holds his breath, releasing the air only after Yusuf’s slim artist fingers stroke his cheek, calming yet still asking for an explanation of Nicolo’s edginess.

Faced with Yusuf’s obvious concern and the wish to relieve Nicolo of whatever burden he is carrying on his shoulders, he decides to be honest - simple solutions often prove to be the most effective ones.

“For offending you with my blunt remark.” Putting all of his eggs into one basket, he takes hold of Yusuf’s hand, slowly interlacing their fingers until their palms are slotted together like two pieces of a puzzle. “I didn’t mean to compare your eyes with stones and it pains me to know I hurt you with my inept words, even though you didn’t let it show.”

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” Yusuf astonishingly assures him after a moment of consideration, and squeezes his hand as Nicolo grimaces skeptically. “I guarantee you, you didn’t offend me. Was it unexpected what you said? Yes. Did it surprise me? Absolutely. But you didn’t upset me.”

Puzzled, Nicolo scrunches up his nose. “Then why were you so quiet? I couldn’t think of anything else than that I wounded you with my words and induced your disappointment.”

Yusuf smiles slightly at that, finally igniting the familiar spark in the two endless depths. “The only reason why I wasn’t myself the last few days was because I was incapable of figuring out what you wanted to tell me. I’ve heard and used a lot of stylistic devices but your phrase was a riddle I couldn’t solve. What did you allude to?”

To Nicolo’s amazement Yusuf really just seems to be curious about it and he is crushed by a wave of relief. “Your eyes look like stones. I wonder what you were referring t…?”

“I love your eyes,” Nicolo cuts him off for the second time this evening and Yusuf suddenly makes a wheezing sound, hand getting limp in Nicolo’s own.

“What?” It’s almost funny how stunned Yusuf stares at him, lips slightly parted, except it’s not because Nicolo’s heart is beating so fast it hurts and he is sweating and maybe he is getting nauseous.

“I love your eyes.” It is a dry rasp and his throat clicks loudly when he gulps. “I love your eyes, Yusuf.” He reiterates quieter, whispers it like a prayer in the hope of voicing the amount of devotion he feels for Yusuf, filling every single inch of his body. “Your eyes are so much more than stones and undoubtedly not so dull.”

Yusuf continues to speechlessly gaze at him, so Nicolo proceeds getting it all out of his system. “I love your eyes, is what I wanted to express with my pathetic phrase.” Following a sharp impulse he gets up to kneel beside Yusuf, not letting go of their interlocked hands for one second. “Your eyes are warmth: like sun-kissed wood and the glimmer of a safety promising hearth fire. Your eyes brim with raw, pure life and whenever you spot something you like they begin to glow with joy, so vivid I can taste your delight as if it were my own.”

At that, Yusuf tries to say something but all that leaves his mouth is a choked gasp and Nicolo has to laugh, more hysterically than anything else. “I can see infinite night skies in your eyes, beholding every opportunity you’ve gifted me with thanks to your benevolence of reaching out a hand to me after I had killed your people and raided your home. Your eyes are obsidian containing stars and I love them…” Nicolo’s lips curve into a barely visible smile, a bit unsteady in the corners due to the emotions overwhelming him. “...because I love you.”

He hasn’t even time to process that he eventually had the guts to tell Yusuf what went through his head days ago when his attempt on poetry didn’t work out as planned as Yusuf grabs the front of his shirt and nothing but reels him in.

Their mouths collide, clashing, but considering that Nicolo is being kissed by the man he loves and hangs on for dear life, doing his best to kiss him back just as feral, he couldn’t care less.

Yusuf cups his face as they part, both breathing heavily. “”Next time you’re going to be poetic, give me a little warning, okay?”

Nicolo giggles wetly. “I only did what you do to me every day.”

“How else am I supposed to show you how much I love you?” Yusuf says affectionately and Nicolo thinks he might die then and there.

“You love me?”

“Every day a little more, ya amar.” His beloved places another kiss on Nicolo’s lips, and another on his cheek, on his nose, on his forehead, covering his entire face with his lips. “Every second a little more.”

Almost a millennium later, Joe - dozing on their blanket amidst thousands of flowers, shining colorful in the afternoon sun - cracks an eye open and Nicky doesn’t even have to see his face to know about the mischievous grin having appeared in his beard. “What was the poetic declaration you used centuries ago in order to woo me? I’m afraid I cannot recall it. Was it something with stones by chance?”

Nicky merely shifts his weight and turns a page of his book, not making the effort of sparing him a glance. “You are the love of my life, Joe, but shut up.”

#it's been a hot minute since I've posted some newly written stuff so I'm nervous af #the old guard #fanfiction #fanfic #ficlet #tog #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #joe #nicky #joe x nicky #yusuf x nicolo #immortal husbands #immortal idiots in love #kaysanova #some humor #attempt at poetry #love speeches #Nicky probably centuries ago: Yusuf is so romantic I have to compliment him and his beauty #YoUR EyES LoOk LIke StONES #Joe probably centuries ago too: I wonder what Nicolo wants to tell me with that #*insert image of Nicolo hiding in their flock of goats trying to overcome this humiliating attempt of impressing Yusuf with #his weird-ass compliment #face burning bright red #replaying his words every night in his head dying a little more inside every time #while Yusuf is just like #What an intriguing metaphor #a riddle waiting to be solved #a word puzzle meant to sharpen my mind

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