Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Do you… Need a few more minutes?”

Yoongi cracks an eye open lazily, more in response to the sound of someone speaking than the words they’re saying. He’s so tired that English might as well be an alien language, for how much he understands it.

“Ah.” Across the table, Hoseok sends him a nervous look and then cracks a big, toothy, apologetic smile at their server. “Yes, a few minutes, thank you.”

Like most people on the planet, Yoongi included, their server cracks a tentative smile almost immediately in response before giving a nod and moving away. Yoongi tucks his own smile into the sleeve of his hoodie, watching the way Hoseok’s eyes follow their server’s retreating back before snapping to him.

He reaches across the table with his menu and thwacks it lightly against Yoongi’s elbow.

“If you were so tired, you didn’t have to come with me you know.”

Yoongi hmphs a nondescript response against his arm and shuts his eyes again.

“Then who would you have gone with?” He asks, wondering why he finds the strange, unintelligible noise of this place more soothing than the silent darkness of his hotel room. One of the reasons he’d agreed to go with Hoseok in the first place is because he knew he wasn’t going to sleep—a mixture of jet lag and insomnia that made his skin itch, made the cold darkness feel oppressive rather than lulling.

In contrast, the harsh fluorescents that should by all means be waking him up seem to be putting him to sleep. It’s well past midnight, in the middle of the week, and yet whatever greasy American restaurant Hoseok had found to drag him to doesn’t seem to mind. There is a steady buzz of noise all around them, the hum of conversation layered over the scrape of metal utensils against flatware and the distant, muffled buzz of a decade-old pop song serving as an underlying backtrack.

It’s a strange place, full of foreign foods and unfamiliar faces, and yet Yoongi feels undeniably comfortable here.

It’s weird.

Hoseok swats his elbow with the menu again, and Yoongi slowly blinks his eyes open again.

“I could have just gone by myself. I’m a big boy.” Hoseok opens the menu, fingers playing with the worn laminated edge as he pulls it closer and pretends to consider its contents, chin tipped up. “I tie my own shoes and everything.”

Yoongi chuckles quietly into his sleeve at that, shaking his head. After all, it’s not like Hoseok truly would have been alone—none of them are ever truly alone. Someone from the staff would have accompanied him, the same way the staff drove them both to this restaurant and are seated a few tables away. Far enough to give them the semblance of privacy, but close enough that Yoongi would hardly have to raise his voice to get their attention.

It’s all a great big game of pretend, and one that would bother him more if they weren’t in a foreign country. At least here, it makes a little bit more sense.

“Are you going to order something?” Hoseok asks, voice lilted as if he doesn’t care whether or not he’s eating alone even though Yoongi knows he does.

Yoongi tips his head into the bend of his elbow, watching the way Hoseok’s eyelashes flutter when he blinks and thinking about how it feels like years since he’s slept.

“Yes.”

“What?” Hoseok’s eyes flick up over the top of the menu to look at him and Yoongi immediately drops his gaze, choosing to stare at the tiny porcelain container stuffed with packets of artificial sweeteners instead.

“Hmm?” Yoongi sticks out a finger to push the mostly empty shaker of salt back and forth.

“What are you going to order?” Hoseok prods, with the sort of tone that tells Yoongi he just rolled his eyes.

“Something… Greasy.” Yoongi’s shoulders bounce with a silent laugh, and when he glances up, Hoseok is grinning at him. “And bad for me.”

“Well. That should be easy.” Hoseok pretends to look at the menu again. “Just open the menu and point. I think everything here has been dipped in some kind of oil.” He squints his eyes, brings the menu close to his face as if it would tell him that sort of thing.

“What about you?” No sooner has Yoongi asked than Hoseok is laying the menu down on the table and pointing to a vibrantly colored picture in the upper corner.

“Hotteok?” He says, glancing at Yoongi and then pressing his finger against lettering that Yoongi is not even going to try and read upside-down. “Ah… Pancakes?” Hoseok’s bottom lip plumps, his eyebrows dip, his voice pitches up the same way it always does when he speaks English, and Yoongi’s face softens in fondness.

“Not hotteok,” Yoongi tells him with amusement, and Hoseok’s lips thin into a line.

“But similar?” He twists the menu to the side, as if the picture will suddenly change into what he wants it to be somehow. “It looks big,” he murmurs, puckering his lips thoughtfully. “Want to share?”

“Not hungry?” Hadn’t the point of this whole excursion been because Hoseok was hungry?

Or maybe he’d just wanted to explore.

Yoongi can’t quite recall anymore.

“It looks heavy, and I don’t want to make myself sick.”

“Ah.” Yoongi rolls his shoulders as he lifts his head, twisting his neck from side to side to work out some of the stiffness it now carries. “So we’ll just get sick together?”

“That’s the plan.” Hoseok flashes him a smile, and after a moment, Yoongi gently gives him one in back.

As if Yoongi sitting up is some kind of signal, their server suddenly reappears, her dark ponytail swinging behind her in her haste. As noisy as the restaurant surprisingly is, it is still relatively empty—Yoongi wonders if she’s trying to get rid of them, or if she’s just bored.

“Ready?” Her eyes dance from one to the other uncertainly, but Yoongi is looking straight at Hoseok, eyebrows raised.

“Ready?” He repeats, and Hoseok shoots him an annoyed glare as their server continues to look back and forth between them. She looks slightly confused, and maybe a little impatient.

It makes Yoongi want to scoff, but honestly, he prefers that to recognition. Even without their hats and glasses, Yoongi’s hoodie pulled up and a face mask bunched beneath Hoseok’s chin, he doubts they would be recognized here, in this dingy little American restaurant with its fake plants and cracked vinyl booths.

Maybe that’s another reason he feels so strangely calm in this place.

“Uh…” Hoseok points at the picture again, and looks at the server hopefully, eyes bright. “Pancakes? Please?”

Yoongi presses his lips together to keep from grinning as the server blinks at him, leaning over the menu to get a better look at whatever Hoseok is pointing at.

“Berry Basket?” She clarifies, and Hoseok looks down at the menu, leaning close to it again, lips downturned in a thoughtful pout.

“Yes,” Yoongi says, because the server definitely knows better than they do. “One coffee?” He holds up a single finger just in case, and watches as she nods and easily jots down their order on her small pad of paper.

“Anything else?”

“Did you want anything else? Are you just getting coffee?” Hoseok asks, eyes darting across the menu rapidly as if he can quickly pick something at random for Yoongi to order.

“Samgyeopsal-gui?” Yoongi suggests, watching the way Hoseok’s eyes widen in surprise.

“They have samgyeopsal-gui here?” Hoseok flips the menu over, exasperated. “Where? I didn’t see it.”

“Bacon?” Yoongi asks, looking at the server. “Extra?”

“Um.” The server drums her pen against the side of her notepad, lip pulled between her teeth thoughtfully. “Did you want to get the pancake breakfast combo instead? I can substitute the sausage for bacon, and you’ll get eggs and toast also.”

Hoseok and Yoongi blink at her.

“Yes,” Hoseok says confidently, and she nods again.

“So I have a cup of coffee and a pancake breakfast combo with the berry basket, sub the sausage for bacon. Scrambled eggs okay?”

“We should have brought Joonie with us, she’s talking so fast,” Hoseok mutters under his breath with a small, slightly hysterical laugh, but just nods in the end. Her eyebrows pinch, and her mouth opens around a question before she seems to decide against it, shaking her head so that her ponytail bounces around again.

“Okay.” She tucks the pen into her apron, gathering their menus from the table, and flashes them a smile. “I’ll have that right out for you.”

She’s hardly moved away from their booth before Hoseok seems to deflate, a breathy chuckle passing between his lips.

“We perform in front of tens of thousands of people regularly, and yet that was one of the most stressful experiences I’ve had in awhile,” Hoseok admits, tipping his head back, and Yoongi stares at the exposed line of his throat.

“I think we ended up with more food than you meant to order,” Yoongi explains, and Hoseok drops his head, eyes wide when they meet Yoongi’s again.

“Did we?” He frowns, looking marginally distraught at the suggestion.

“Maybe? I’m too tired.” Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “She said something about eggs.”

“I didn’t order eggs…” Hoseok murmurs, looking particularly sulky, and Yoongi exhales a laugh. “Also bacon is not samgyeopsal-gui. If you eat that much grease, your skin is going to get bad.”

“As if samgeyeopsal-guy isn’t greasy. Besides, I’ll be on a stage covered in make-up.” Yoongi drags his finger through the condensation gathered on the side of his complimentary water glass. “Let my skin be bad.”

Hoseok scoffs derisively but says nothing else, taking a hefty sip of his as-of-yet untouched cup of sprite. Yoongi always thought it was kind of funny how he seemed to drink more sprite when they went abroad, and wonders if it’s an embracing the culture sort of thing or simply a way for Hoseok to treat himself without going overboard.

He glances around the very American institution that is an always-open diner and wonders if it might be more of the first.

The coffee is brought to them wordlessly by someone who isn’t even their server, and placed unceremoniously at the edge of the table. Yoongi likes how warm the porcelain of the cup feels beneath his fingertips as he drags it closer.

“If you drink that, you’ll really never be able to sleep,” Hoseok cautions, resting his chin in his palm. “You’re just going to make your jet lag worse.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Yoongi grouses, pushing at one of his exhaustion-heavy eyes with the heel of his hand. The urge to lay his cheek against the cheap material of the table that is probably not nearly as clean as it should be is beyond tempting, and he wonders—if he asked—if Hoseok would just sit with him while he napped.

“Did you not sleep at all today?” Hoseok frowns, his fingertips flicking against the container of sweetener packets like he’s flipping through a book. “You didn’t sleep on the plane, either.” He dips down, bringing his head close to the table so he can catch Yoongi’s stare. “How are you even functioning right now?”

“I don’t know that I am.” The coffee is scalding when it touches his tongue, but it’s the taste that has him pulling the cup away with a cough.

“Hot?” The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls up in a teasing smile, and Yoongi rolls his tongue in his mouth, can feel the numb spot that he burned.

“Gross.” He grits his teeth, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he sets the cup back in its saucer. He takes his coffee black, always, and even the swill they serve at most chain coffee shops is at least palatable. But he’s pretty sure that whatever he just put in his body wasn’t actually coffee, no matter what this place advertises it as.

“Cream?” Hoseok pushes a small dish full of creamer cups across the table towards him, and Yoongi wrinkles his nose. “You’ll eat bacon, but you won’t touch the creamer?”

“It’s just sitting out on the table.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, like he thinks Yoongi is more cute than frustrating.

“Sugar?” Hoseok suggests instead, gesturing to the packets he’s been playing with for the last few minutes, and then his eyes light up happily. “Like Suga, hyung.”

“Ha-ha,” Yoongi intones, because he’s heard that joke more than a million times and yet the members still insist on making it. But he finds himself digging out a few white packets anyway—avoiding the brightly colored artificial ones—and hopes it’ll make his coffee at least marginally drinkable. He doesn’t need it to be the best cup of coffee he’s ever had, he just needs it to be decent enough that he can get through the rest of his meal with Hoseok without face-planting into a pancake.

“Hyung, hyung, Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok prattles suddenly, his voice coursing with excitement, and Yoongi rips open a sugar packet and taps the contents into his cup before dragging his eyes up. Hoseok has what can only be described as a shit-eating grin stretched wide across his face. It’s the kind of smile that makes the edges of Yoongi’s own mouth twitch involuntarily—but then, that’s most of Hoseok’s smiles.

Without looking away, Hoseok slides his fingertips carefully and slowly across the table, and it isn’t until his hand is nearly in front of Yoongi that he realizes he has a sugar packet pinned against the tabletop. He regards the packet, wondering if there’s something particularly amusing about it, but it looks no different than the one Yoongi just used.

He quirks an eyebrow, but before he can say anything, before he can ask what he’s supposed to be looking at, Hoseok shifts his fingers to cover the ‘R’ at the end of the word and says:

“You dropped your name-tag.”

Yoongi closes his eyes even as Hoseok’s barely-contained chortles turn into uncontrollable snorts of laughter, pressing his face to his hands as the table rattles from the force of Hoseok’s amusement.

“Hobi-yah—”

“It’s funny! It’s funny! You know it is! Laugh!”

“I expect that kind of shit from Jin-hyung, but you—”

“Ah, Jin-hyung would be proud of me, wouldn’t he? I should text him.”

“No, no you shouldn’t, because then he’ll start doing it, and then they’ll all start doing it—”

“Ah! You’re smiling! You’re smiling!” Hoseok’s finger connects with Yoongi’s cheek with just a little too much force, trapping the upturned side of Yoongi’s mouth. “You thought it was funny.” He prods at his cheek a few more times until Yoongi is jerking away from the touch, hissing in mock-annoyance.

“No. I think you’re ridiculous, that’s all,” Yoongi deflects. He can still prominently feel where Hoseok’s finger was pushed against his skin.

“A smile is a smile is a smile,” Hoseok insists in a sing-song, folding his arms on the table. The sugar packet is still sitting on the table in between them. “And you did that thing, where you wrinkle your nose when you act like you think something is stupid but you actually think it’s funny.” Hoseok brandishes his finger at him, almost like he’s threatening to poke him again. “I’m onto you, Min Yoongi.”

“You’ve known me for over six years,” Yoongi muses quietly, looking down at the dark pool of his coffee. “I’m expecting it.”

He glances at Hoseok quickly, briefly—catches the way his smile curls into something more private, the way his eyes warm—before he picks up his coffee and distracts himself with it.

The restaurant around them suddenly feels too warm.

“Pancake breakfast combo?” Someone suddenly says—their server, a steaming plate of food in her hand that Hoseok is quickly clearing room for in the middle of the table. She seems slightly taken aback by that, but eases it down and glances between them. “Did you want an extra plate?”

“Yes, please. Thank you,” Yoongi rambles, and hears Hoseok snort.

“Yes, please. Thank you,” Hoseok reiterates in English, and Yoongi sighs at himself. “You really are tired, huh?”

“What gave it away?” Yoongi murmurs, blinking heavily as he sags forward, and then jolts as Hoseok’s hand curls around his wrist.

“We’ll eat and go back,” Hoseok murmurs like a promise, the soft skin of his fingers moving soothingly against the bones of Yoongi’s wrist. Yoongi nearly asks to stay here, instead, in this bizarrely comforting place. Nearly asks for Hoseok to stay with him back at the hotel until he falls asleep.

He dismisses both as quickly as they come and ignores the burning feeling on the back of his neck.

“And then you can—oh.”

Hoseok glances down suddenly, and Yoongi watches his face blossom with surprise.

“We did order eggs.” He blinks at Yoongi. “How did that happen?”

This time, Yoongi doesn’t even try to deny it—he laughs.