#it’s not really a complaint bc the sheer amount of content there is in this game is insane

[bhaalbabe]

excuse her goofy helmet but it’s scenes likes this that makes me wish that platonic routes were given as much attention as the romantic ones

[bubmyg]

Can u write about being best friends with yoongi but recently you realized you kinda uhhh LOVE him so you’ve been acting different and a bit more flustered and he’s trying to figure out why and is sort of worried he did something wrong uwu

genre/warnings: slice of life, f2l, hoseok Knows, soft and sweet and cute :’-(

prompt: based on an article from business insider “7 signs someone is in love with you”, if you want the link lmk, i’m afraid to put one bc of tumblr’s whole link situation jfakldfjslafd aka a series of interactions that confirm your suspicion that you are, very much, in love with your best friend

word count: 3,383

1. they have fun with you even if the task at hand is not fun, per se

“Hoseok really isn’t going to help us clean?”

The red plastic cup ricocheting off your chest to fall into the open trash bag you held answered your question but you glanced up at Yoongi with a raised eyebrow anyway. He was looking at you, that look plastered across his features, hands blindly reaching to collect another pile of discarded cups in slender fingers as a challenging eyebrow quirked to match your own. 

“Yeah,” You agreed to the silence, a soft laugh leaving you, “You’re right.”

“We don’t have designated drivers here,” Yoongi jammed another stack of cups into the bag, holding your eye contact, “We have designated you get to clean up the following morning.” 

“But it’s always you cleaning.”

His fingers brushed yours as he took the filled bag from you, letting it plop on the tile with a loud clattering of plastic and aluminum into each other. The white was scrunched between his palms and tied into a hard knot, the contents in the bag sinking into the floor. 

Yoongi nodded, “Exactly.” 

Your hip pressed against the lip in the counter top, watching as he waddled around the side of the island, depositing the bag with the collection of others. A fond smile curled on each corner of your lips as you eyed him shake his head at the sheer amount of trash collecting near the threshold of the kitchen, cursing something about never again under his breath. 

“Can I at least turn on some music?” You slid your phone from your pocket, thumb already dancing across the screen, “So I can hear less of your complaints?”

“I’m not complaining about you.” 

Some obnoxious pop song trilled from the speakers on your phone as you deposited it back to the counter. A hesitant shimmy had you one, two, four steps closer to Yoongi with a soft grin. When you were close enough to see the fond caramel seep into the deep set chocolate of his irises did you shove at his waist, stepping around him to snatch a new trash bag. 

“Yeah,” You teased, bumping his hip as you thumbed apart the ends of the bag, “You better not be.”

“Can you at least change this song?” Yoongi was whining now, lips trembling on the edge of a pout. “I can’t dance to this.”

Your eyebrows shot up, “We’re dancing? I thought we were cleaning.”

He rolled his eyes, shrugging past you to grab your phone. The password came to seasoned thumbs effortlessly, something that earned a screech of protest from the back of your throat but he’d already changed the song to something any entirely new shade of obnoxious. 

Yoongi came back to you, wrapping an arm around your waist to elicit a burn to your cheeks and a gasp from parted lips as he spun you in a messy circle, baggy sweatpants brushing against the tops of your feet, hand splayed firmly on the small of your back over your thin shirt. 

“We’re doing both,” He deadpanned.

2. they look at you…a lot

A dry mouth not sated by any amount of water you downed from the glass in front of you and fingers aching to turn over your phone incessantly buzzing with notifications from you friend who’d likely just received your panicked holy shit he looks so good text didn’t ease the stupid amount of nerves buzzing through your veins. 

That’s how you found yourself gaping at Yoongi’s profile, again, drilling a hole in the part of his cheek flushed pink from the ballroom lights blanketing your table and the bow tie cinched around his neck. Conversation swirled around you but it was on ears of deaf ignorance, the only objective opinion in your conscious plagued with a neanderthal chant. 

Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—

Why you agreed to go to a gala for Yoongi’s company with Yoongi, you would never know, nor would the six unworn outfits sprawled haphazardly across your bedroom. The dress you settled on itched, there were six new blisters scattered around your feet, your hair had gotten stuck in bits of charred chicken at least four times. 

And nothing said I’m in love with my best friend like staggering along behind him like a lost puppy with a permanent stutter in your speech every time he introduced you as this is my friend—

The slide of attentive dark eyes to you blatantly staring in his peripheral had your gaze jerking back to your lap, clammy fingers wringing together. The jewelry pasted to your skin slid as you worked, the ring on your thumb and index finger threatening to slide off. You jammed the metal, hard, against your knuckles, daring to peek back toward where Yoongi sat.  

His chin was craned completely for you, questioning smile the ghost of a dimple in his cheeks. More of his teeth appeared at your surprise, leaning closer to you. You jumped when Yoongi’s hand slid around your thigh, gasp swallowing hard down your throat when his breath brushed against the shell of your ear, lightly squeezing the supple skin covered by pleated silk.

“The chicken sucks,” He mumbled, thumb brushing across the seam of your dress to meet bare skin, “We’ll go get something else when we leave.”

Friend. You are a friend. Friend! 

“T-thank—” Your stutter returned on account of the cool links of his bracelet sliding into the crease of your thighs, “Thank god.” 

The tip of his nose brushed against your cheek as he pulled away with a rumbling chuckle, tsking playfully in his throat. His hand lingering and brushed off your skin and as if releasing the exhale in your lungs, your shoulders slumped all at once in a rush to grab for your water. 

If Yoongi weren’t trying to impress for a raise, you would have asked for something much stronger than the ice cubes you gulped down. Whole. 

3. they pay more attention to you

Hoseok ripped open the door before your wrist had even snapped to knock a second time, making no move to step out of the doorway as his stature sunk into the door frame. He regarded you with raised eyebrows, ones that disappeared into shaggy, freshly dyed red. 

“Why do you even knock anymore?” The bright headed boy contained a shrieking laugh with the back of his wrist, “We need to get you a key made.”

Your cheeks flamed, weight shifting from foot to foot, palms growing clammy around the hoodie you curled against your chest. 

“I’m not here that often,” You protested.

His stature rocked, taking up the opposite end of the door frame. “This is the third time you’ve been here today, love.”

“I can’t help it that Yoongi forgot his wallet in my car. Or needed me to listen to that new track he’s been working on,” You hesitated, palms flexing around the soft cotton, “…or forgot his hoodie in my closet.”

Hoseok snorted, “In your closet, huh?”

“Just let me—”

“Will you stop pestering our guests?” 

A lumbering flash later and a half asleep Yoongi was behind Hoseok’s shoulder. Curled knuckles dug into swollen eyelids, black t-shirt riding up over his hips as he yawned, elbows curling above his head. 

“After they’re here, at minimum, sixteen hours a day, they aren’t guests anymore, they’re roommates,” Hoseok’s thumb and index finger brushed together underneath your nose, “Careful and I’ll start making you pay rent.”

Yoongi’s knuckles pushed into the center of his friend’s chest, moving him out of the way to cup your elbow and drag you into the apartment. “Does more work around here than you ever do,” His palm slid down your forearm, dropping limply against his side, “Can I trade you out, Hoseok?”

Faintly, the tune of Can You Feel the Love Tonight whistled through Hoseok’s lips as he stepped around you to stalk into the depths of the apartment but you couldn’t pin point for sure when Yoongi’s hands were curling around your knuckles and taking the hoodie from your grasp. 

“Stealing my stuff again?” He teased. 

“Something like that...”

4. they show empathy — in good times and bad

You pressed your cheek against Yoongi’s arm, listening attentively as he ranted. You nodded where needed, hummed during pauses for swallowing, never stopped the brushed of your thumb across the inside of his thumb where he clutched onto your hand. 

“I don’t know why I expected anything less than the position going to Seokjin but—” His voice broke for the first time, knuckles white in your grasp, “—I don’t know."

You shifted, chin rutting into his chest, shoulders sagging as you offered a sad smile up at him. He mirrored the gesture, eyes dropping quickly from yours as the grip on your hand lessened. 

“There will be more opportunities, yes?” 

Yoongi shrugged, a full bodied movement. His bottom lip wobbled slightly, swelling below his cupid’s bow, rasping, “Probably. I just—I just really wanted it. You know?”

The syntax telling your brain that would be really dumb if you did that came after the first tear leaked from the corner of your eye, rolling down the slope of your nose. You laughed in spite of the second and third that followed it, shaking your head as your chin dropped.

But the descend didn’t get far as a thumb and index finger were curling around your chin, lifting your gaze. 

“Are you crying?” Yoongi demanded softly, laughing along with you. He dropped your hand to cup your cheeks in both palms, fighting at the onslaught with his thumbs, “Why are you crying?” 

“I don’t like it that you’re upset,” You sniffled, “and I want to fight your boss.”

He laughed, unabashed and full of gums, index fingers curling to brush underneath your eyes, tucking into your hair and dropping at the nape of your neck. “Well, please stop crying,” His tongue traced his bottom lip, an attempt to contain the wide spread of his smile but to no avail, “That makes me more upset.”

5. they remember the little things

"Oh, good, you’re here again,” Hoseok dryly commented as you shoved past him in the doorway. 

“Is he in his office?”

“Hello to you too, Hobi, yeah, I’m just fantastic and I love seeing your bright and smiling face every time I show up at this apartment which is a lot, if you didn’t know—” 

You answered your own question, nudging open the frosted glass with your hip the second you saw a fuzzy blob twisting about in a desk chair. The bag in hand suddenly felt ten times heavier, the brightly colored ropes knotted at the top burning into the curl of your digits. But you didn’t have time to turn and run because Yoongi had already shrugged out of his earbuds and rolled his chair closer to you. 

“Hey,” He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, reaching a finger out to poke your stomach, “What brings you here?”

The longer your stunned silence lingered in the air, the hotter your skin grew, heart roaring in your ears, white blinding across your eyes. You registered the mold of Yoongi’s plush lips into a frown, pen stained fingertips prodding at your waist against but his voice seemed far away, underwater. 

Or maybe you were finally underwater, giving meaning to the statement in over your head. 

“Happy birthday,” You blurted finally, shoving the obnoxious purple bag against his chest. The heavy box inside swung like a pendulum from where the handles were clutched in your hands, brushing at the front of his hoodie for a few passing moments before he finally was reacting. 

The creaking of the plastic pieces of Yoongi’s chair seemed amplified ten fold in your hyper sensitive ears as his arms curved around your hand, taking the bag from you. The paper creaked now as he placed it down in his lap, carefully sliding his index finger between each side of the bag to pry it open. 

“But it’s not my birthday,” The tape in the center popped apart as he grinned up at you, “It’s not even close to my birthday.”

Your eyes squeezed shut like your fists next to your thighs, “Just open the present, Yoongi.”

He laughed, giggled, high pitched and gleeful as a hand dipped inside the bag, fishing around for the contents inside. He seemed to move in slow motion, brushing the bag aside, placing the nearly flat cardboard box into his lap, prying open the sides, plucking packing peanuts aside to flick in your direction, brushing the box out of his lap to replace it with the foam sleeve. 

“A...” Yoongi trailed off, eyebrows knit in disbelief as he placed the device against his thighs, “...a record player? You bought me a record player?”

“It’s the one you said you wanted, from that one shop you like,” You rushed to explain, “I went and got it after work today and I couldn’t wait until your actual birthday or Christmas or whatever to give it to you so I drove over and—”

You squeaked when he grabbed your wrist, tugging you forward and then down to center his lips against your temple, silencing only your speech but worsening your screeching heart. 

“Thank you,” He spoke against your skin, lips wet and brushing over the spot he’d pecked, “I love it.”

Your heart tripped and clattered up into your throat, clawing desperately to pry apart your lips and scream. 

I love you. 

6. they introduce you to the important people in their lives

Yoongi froze in your doorway when your hand around his wrist was no longer tugging him forward. Another bark. Another titter of nails against hardwood. A hush from you. One more bark. 

“Angel?” He called into your apartment, “What is that?”

The barking ceased but clattering toenails turned into bounding steps. You watched from the hallway as the dog slid, face first, into Yoongi’s shins, tongue lulling from his mouth, tail wagging so violently his entire back end swayed. The startled man crouched, fingers becoming lost in the dog’s thick brown and white fur as his blank stare stayed fixated on a warped spot in the hardwood where the flooring shifted to tile in the kitchen. 

“Meet Coco.”

Yoongi jumped, again, when you shoved yourself off the wall, stalking over to where he scratching long fingers through your dog’s coarse fur. He squinted at you as you joined him, pressing crooked finger tips into the dog’s hips and working soft circles with the blunt edge of your nails. 

“You have a dog?”

You nodded, “I have a dog.”

“Why...” Yoongi trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief, “When did you get a dog?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“You hid a dog from me for two weeks—” 

You reached, cupping your palm across his lips until they stopped opening like a fish out of water. “I hid a dog from everyone for two weeks,” You hushed, “So maybe stop announcing it to everyone.”

“He was literally barking when I got here.”

“He literally hasn’t barked since I got him. Just at you,” You sat down, alerting the attention of the dog as it wiggled over to step in between the cross of your lap, “Probably because you’re the first person he’s met besides me.”

Yoongi sat too, still staring at you like you’d grown a toe out of the tip of your nose. “You haven’t told anyone that you have a dog? Not even your landlord?”

“Until I have to pay extra on my rent—” Your lips brushed the top of the dog’s head, “—I’m not going to.”

Silence, and then a hushed, “I can’t believe you have a dog. I can’t believe you told me you have a dog.”

"Careful,” You shifted, dragging the panting dog closer to your chest, “Next I’ll tell you I have a mom and you’ll have to meet her, too.”

7. they often mention the future

Yoongi hummed around the rim of his wine glass, taking another languid sip of crimson red past chapped lips. “What is it about wine that makes you so inquisitive?”

Poking him no longer felt like you were burning a hole in your finger tips, not with the dull buzz of alcohol sating your heart. “Answer my question, Yoongi,” You prodded at his ankle again, traveling higher up his calf where he sat cross legged in front of you. 

“I’ve already answered all your questions tonight so—” He took another sip, letting the glass fall with a clatter against the stone coaster on your coffee table, “—tell me about your future. Where do you see yourself?”

“Can I be honest with you?” Something in your conscious screamed for you to shut up but the round of your lips forcing the words to roll off your tongue failed to listen. 

Yoongi’s curt nod of acknowledgement had you spilling, “I just wanted to see if your plans included me because mine include you—” Your attention fell to the remnants of the bleeding liquid in your glass, swirling it around, “—sorry.”

When he was silent for longer than your heart cared to take, you were shooting up from the couch, nearly spilling the limited wine left in your glass all over the front of your shirt. “I’m getting more,” You announced, tripping again in your desperate attempt to get past him. 

You didn’t get much farther than around the arm of the couch when his fingers brushed across your hips, snagging against the fabric of your shirt to tug. Your glass met the coffee table, mirroring his as he instead curled his fingers around your clenched fists, pulling until you sank back into the couch a space away from him where you’d once been. 

“Of course my plans include you,” He quirked an eyebrow, chasing your gaze that tried to avoid his eyes. When you finally blinked up at him he inquired softly, “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Yoongi, I don’t think we mean it in the same way.”

He hummed, thumbs brushing your knuckles, easing apart the tense muscles the thread your fingers together, holding your encased hands in his lap. “Try me,” He prodded, “What way do you mean?”

“Forget it.”

“No, I won’t forget it,” Yoongi eased himself forward, bringing your hands up to feather his lips over the back of your hands, “Because I tried to forget it but I couldn’t.”

“Because I thought I’d done something wrong. I mean, we’ve been friends for so long and all of the sudden you started to act like I’d burnt you every time I breathed too close. You wouldn’t even make eye contact with me yet you kept showing up at my apartment only to behave like I’d done something wrong.”

“Then I thought about it,” He tilted his head to one side, “and I thought about myself and my feelings and I realized something. Or, I thought I realized something—” When you quirked an eyebrow, he grinned, “—love, you’re not very subtle. I haven’t heard you stutter since that speech you had to give about tarantulas in freshman year communications.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Yoongi leaned closer, “that I’m in love with you, too. Always have been. Always will be.”

You squeaked and you stuttered and you avoided his eye contact all in the span of a half a second, “Who said I’m in love with you?”

He tugged you closer by your intertwined hands, dropping the appendages to curl his fingers underneath your jaw, holding you in place. 

“Well, are you?”

You huffed out a laugh, “Maybe. A little.”

“Can you say it so I can kiss you?” 

“But you can kiss me now.”

“I’m not kissing you until you say it.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“But you love me?”

You sighed, centering your eyes back to his, finally, finding absolute adoration in your favorite brown eyes that you could have caught on to months ago if you hadn’t been so wrapped up in your own apprehension. 

“Yes, Yoongi,” The exhale that left you trembled at your shoulders, at your fingers that dared to curl around his wrists, “I love you.”

“Good,” He nodded, awkward albeit, eyes flicking to your mouth, “Uh, can I kiss you now?”

“Please.”