Chapter Text
Yoongi awakens to warm air blowing into his ear. In the midst of somnolence and fuzzy half-awareness he cracks his eyelids open.
“He’s awake.”
Taehyung’s face, dimmed, looms above him, eager eyes glinting. Their room is still comfortably in the dark. The curtains aren’t parted. Yoongi shuts his eyes.
“And he’s dead.” A click of the tongue. A sigh. Then, cold palms and fingers on his cheeks, squeezing and pulling.
“Mmph.”
“Wake up.”
Yoongi limply grabs hold of Taehyung’s wrists. Maybe if he keeps his eyes closed he’ll go away.
“Dude, I wanna see the sunrise.”
The words barely register, brain too full of sleep. “Sunrise?”
A puff of air to the face. It smells like morning and no toothpaste.
Yoongi groans, sitting upright and dragging a hand down his face. “What the fuck, Tae.”
“Sunrise,” Taehyung croons, theatrical and deep and velvet. One of many things he does when he’s excited. “C’mon. I’ll carry you. Bridal or piggy-back?”
Yoongi ignores him, rubbing away the sleep in his eyes. Taehyung takes this as an opportunity to grab him by his back and behind his thighs, just above the crooks of his knees.
“Fuck you, honestly.” Yoongi laces his fingers behind his neck.
Taehyung plants a kiss on his temple, hums a melody unrecognisable. His chest and stomach are snug, Yoongi will give him that, and if it means that he doesn’t have to use his legs, he’ll shut up. He revels in the feeling, forgives him a little, even manages to catch an eight second nap.
“I never told you to put me down,” he says when they get outside.
It’s chilly today, just like every other day since the beginning of December. The type of chilly that gently holds the back of your arms and legs and neck and doesn’t move from there.
Taehyung takes a deep, full inhale. “Smells like sunrise.”
The sky is still coated with pre-dawn indigo, but a lighter sapphire shade looms, smudged around the edges.
“What time’s it?” Yoongi asks.
“Five. Something.”
A yawn escapes his throat. “God.”
“Wait for the sunrise,” Taehyung sings, gliding over, voice a smoky croon fading into the dark blue sky. He takes Yoongi’s hands in his and starts swaying, attempting a waltz of sorts. Yoongi makes a face; he is limb-tired and still buzzing with sleep, but he swings his arms along anyway because the insides of Taehyung’s hands are warm, because he finds it hard to look away. Taehyung hits a high note and spins him around, and Yoongi becomes very aware of the annoyingly stubborn three and a half centimetres he’ll always have over him, but they become zero centimetres together with Taehyung’s chest flush against his back, chin just above the base of his neck, and suddenly three and a half centimetres becomes fine, just fine, just perfect.
Yoongi breathes in crisp air, no longer feels the chill behind his arms and legs and nape. The street below is empty, save for one person bent over and sweeping loose leaflets in front of their shop. Taehyung’s voice dissipates with a chaste peck on the back of his head.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“Should’ve brushed my teeth earlier so I can whisper romantic things to you without feeling bad.”
“Gross.”
Yoongi looks past the stretch of buildings across from him and into the cityscape beyond it. Golden-yellow light peek out from the horizon, mostly obscured by the hustle and bustle of skyscrapers and office buildings.
“She’s coming.” Taehyung lets go of him to stand against the railing.
“The sun’s a girl?”
“Maybe. Could be.” A pensive pause, a slow, thoughtful narrowing of his eyes. “The moon’s definitely a girl.”
Yoongi blinks back at the yellow in front of him. “Alright.”
Taehyung shrugs. “It’s just nice to think about.”
“It’s unnecessary.”
“So are male nipples.”
Yoongi fails to see how that relates to anything.
“If I were a space object,” Taehyung continues, “I’d be a comet.”
“A comet.”
“Yeah. What would you be?”
Yoongi spins around to lean on his elbows. “I dunno?”
Taehyung hums. “I think you’d b –”
“I think I’d be Pluto.”
“Pluto.”
“Yeah.” Yoongi shrugs. “It seems chill, y’know.”
“Oh, I get it,” Taehyung says. “It’s small, it’s slow, it’s cold, it’s distant –”
“Okay.”
Taehyung’s eyes glint coltish and the corners of his mouth twitch into a grin, ready to retort, but his irises distractedly flit over to the distance, widening in reverie, and he lets out a whispered, “Oh.”
And a sudden jolt of eagerness prompts Yoongi, and he turns –
– and there, just across from him, is the sun itself, making an appearance in its early morning glory, gaseous and gold. His eyelids flutter at the sudden onslaught of illumination and he cannot help but gape in awe: flaxen yellow rays fall elegantly upon the expanse of buildings, glimmering off of the metal and glass, and bleed pinks and peaches into sapphire, turning the sky a blushing baby blue. Words that speak of flying and falling and light lungs float up into his mind, a tinkling of piano and light, treble drums following suit, and he lets them swim around there for a while as he drinks in the scene, awash with serene warmth.
“Damn,” Taehyung breathes. His fingers slip in between his.
Yoongi thinks about how beautiful the light would rest on Taehyung’s skin, how his irises and lashes and nose bridge would catch the glow; doesn't turn around to see it. Not yet.
“Damn,” he agrees.
“It’s so pretty,” Taehyung gushes.
“It’s – bright,” Yoongi offers.
“Worth the rude awakening.”
Yoongi gazes at deep brown eyes flooded with amber. “Why are you holding my hand.”
“Romance, my dear,” he says, airily. “It is all but dead.” He smiles down at him then, all dazzling lips and sun-soaked cheekbones, and – it's been three years of this, of them, of him, but, regardless – Yoongi just about loses his breath.
“Oh Romeo, wherefore art thou dead, Romeo.” Because he can't muster up the words, not right now at five a.m. Not with Taehyung rivalling the fucking sun itself.
“Why, because thou art the sun, Juliet, and the East or whatever, and I love thee a lot.”
"You're ruining this." Yoongi grips his hand and tugs him in closer. Taehyung happily slinks an arm around his back, pecks him on the cheek.
Maybe not the words, he thinks, but always, always the feeling.