yoonjin - the tender ache when you press against bruises
Over in his bed, Yoongi keeps pressing the heel of his hand into the spot on his hip where he fell in dance practice this morning, pressing until he makes himself wince, and then grabbing his wrist with his other hand to forcibly pull it away. He stops, but not for long until he’s digging at his hip again.
Seokjin can feel it in his own chest, every press.
“Yoongi-yah!” he says, aiming for a bright tone and hitting stern.
Yoongi jumps—maybe he thought Seokjin was asleep, or was so deep in his head he’d just lost track of Seokjin in the room. “Hunh?”
“Watch a movie with me.” Seokjin is already standing, pushing his bed closer to Yoongi’s. They should just leave them pressed together instead of pushing and pulling them around every day.
“I’m tired,” Yoongi says, all whiny but sitting up and getting his laptop. “What do you want to watch?”
“I don’t care,” Seokjin says. “Something with lots of explosions. Something where a beautiful underutilized woman tells the male lead his safety matters more than the nation. You know, that sort of thing.”
“Ugh, hyung,” Yoongi says, already tapping away at his keyboard, something in mind.
Seokjin sits in his own bed and stretches his arm back along his headboard and Yoongi’s, not putting his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders—not that—but mimicking the shape of it.
As the opening credits begin, Yoongi settles back in his own bed, curling up around that Kumamon he sometimes pretends to hide with his face toward the middle of the bed. Not curling into Seokjin’s side, but mimicking the shape of it. Seokjin can feel how they’d fit together if they slid closer, the place on his own chest Yoongi’s head would rest. He can feel it, a tender ache, like pressing a bruise.
Yoongi sighs, and shifts another inch closer.