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kat_lair***
Title: true colours (shining through)
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Pairing: Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga
Tags: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Friends to Lovers, Hair Dyeing, Hair Washing, Feelings
Rating: T
Word count: 3,648
Disclaimer: Not real!
Summary:
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 31/31. Prompt/theme: orange. This fic is brought to you by Min Yoongi’s orange hair. Title obviously from Cyndi Lauper (the original MV is a trip, but I really enjoyed this more recent acoustic rendition). Fic is unbetaed as it needed to be posted before end of 2023. Because of my personality. If you spot a typo/mistake, you absolutely can and should tell me about it.
true colours (shining through) on AO3
The weather has been horrible all day and Namjoon is grateful to finally be home. His umbrella had given up halfway through his commute so he’d gotten thoroughly soaked on the way back. He toes off his sodden shoes and hurriedly checks on his laptop. He’d held the bag under his coat the whole way, sheltered close to his chest like a baby animal, and the laptop has thankfully escaped the storm undamaged, unlike Namjoon himself.
“Namjoon?” Yoongi’s voice calls out, somewhat muffled. “Is that you?”
Namjoon shrugs out of his coat and outer layers as he walks further into the apartment they share.
“Of course, it’s me!” he calls back. “How many people have you given our key to?” The socks are a loss, but his jeans are only a little damp and the tank top under his shirt is still dry. Good enough.
“No one!” Yoongi protests.
Namjoon follows the voice, barefoot now, finally determining that it’s coming from behind the closed bathroom door.
“Just… I’m glad you’re home,” Yoongi is saying. “I… Uh, I need some help.”
Namjoon pauses, wide-eyed over what kind of help Yoongi could possible need in the bathroom. The mental image is immediate and devastating; Yoongi in the bath or shower, all wet and slippery with soap, asking Namjoon to just get that one spot he can’t quite reach…
Namjoon can feel himself blushing. It’s not the first time he’s thought something like that. Namjoon had a crush on Yoongi before he even got to know him and that was over ten years ago. Becoming friends with Yoongi, best friends, made the crush both worse and better, for the same reasons. Being Yoongi’s friend was amazing. He was insanely talented and generous about sharing that, funny and smart, kind and soft-hearted under the gruff exterior he liked to project. All of that meant that Namjoon’s crush had deepened into the kind of feelings that meant it was unthinkable to do anything that would risk losing Yoongi from his life. So, he hasn’t. And despite what their friends think, it’s not like Namjoon is suffering. He isn’t pining. What is there to pine about when Yoongi is right there. They live together, they see each other every day, they go to gigs and work on music projects and see their friends and talk about everything under the sun and share meals and…
“Joon?” Yoongi’s voice interrupts. “You still there?”
“Yeah.” Namjoon clears his throat and wills his mind to focus. “Yeah, hyung, I’m here. What… What’s wrong?”
The relief in Yoongi’s voice is audible. “Just get in here.”
Cautiously, Namjoon eases open the bathroom door. As soon as he catches a glimpse of the red though, he flings it open all the way. “Oh my god, hyung!” The bathroom looks like a set from a slasher movie, red streaks of colour everywhere, on the floor, over the sink, the toilet… There’s even what looks like a bloody handprint on the mirror. “Are you hurt? Is that…” Namjoon finally takes in Yoongi himself. He’s topless, kneeling over the bathtub, his hands and half of his head covered in the same bright red substance that Namjoon is reasonably sure is not actually blood because if that was the case, Yoongi would not be giving him the very lively glare he’s currently sending in Namjoon’s direction. Or talking.
“It’s not blood,” Yoongi all but growls, pacifying Namjoon's panic brain. “It’s hair dye.” Then he visibly blinks at Namjoon’s relative state of undress, eyebrows hitching up. “Is that what you wore to work?”
Now that Namjoon has gotten over the initial shock and worry, he can see that the colour is less blood red and more burnt… orange?
“You’re dyeing your hair orange? Also, no, obviously not. It was raining.”
“Namjoon-ah!” Yoongi sighs with frustration. “I told you take the umbrella!”
“I did!” Namjoon protests. “It broke.” The way Yoongi gets sidetracked by worrying about Namjoon even with hair dye dripping all over him does all sorts of dangerous things to Namjoon’s heart. That isn’t new either. “Forget that. Hyung… What?” He waves his hands illustratively, encompassing the disaster that is the bathroom.
“I slipped,” Yoong grumbles. “Knocked over the bottle and the brush went flying and then…” He gestures helplessly with his stained hands. “Now I would just make everything worse if I tried to clean it and…” He shrugs, looking frustrated and embarrassed as he trails off, muttering something under his breath.
Namjoon is already reaching over Yoongi’s back to turn the tap on. “What was that, hyung?” he asks, guiding Yoongi’s hands under the water.
“I said, I knew you’d be home soon,” Yoongi repeats as they watch the excess hair dye swirl down the drain.
Namjoon tries very hard to act like Yoongi’s words are not a big thing because they aren’t, not to Yoongi. Instead, he focuses on the task at hand. Speaking of…
“Hands or hair?” he asks.
“What?”
“Do you want me to finish with your hair or clean your hands first?”
They both survey Yoongi’s hands which are decidedly… orange. But, and this is not just Namjoon’s opinion but an objective fact, still incredibly attractive. They are nicely shaped and strong and skilled. Well, except, apparently, when it comes to keeping hold of hair dye implements.
“Hair,” Yoongi finally decides. “I think my palms are going to be orange for the foreseeable no matter what we do now, but the hair might still be salvageable.”
Namjoon refrains from commenting that Yoongi’s hair looks great no matter what, because he’s well aware that in this he is severely biased.
“Alright,” he agrees. “Just let me get some gloves.” Namjoon also refrains from pointing out that this is something Yoongi should have considered as well, largely because the chagrined expression on his face suggests that he is already well aware of the fact.
Half a minute later, Namjoon is back, his hands covered in latex gloves. Wordlessly, Yoongi hands him the bottle of hair dye and the brush and bends back over the bathtub. Namjoon’s eyes trail over every visible knob of his spine, the narrow waist, the frayed jeans sitting dangerously low on his hips, the vulnerable – and now also somewhat orange – nape of his neck.
“Joon-ah?” There’s a questioning lilt to Yoongi’s voice, annoyance and uncertainty all wrapped together. “C’mon. Are you waiting for a written invitation?”
“Sorry, sorry!” Namjoon startles out of his reverie, feeling guilty but not guilty enough to regret having taken the opportunity. “Just got distracted.”
“What…?” Yoongi starts to ask but then he clearly figures out that there’s not a lot else to be distracted by here other than his own naked torso, blush staining what skin there is left unstained on his neck and ears, his shoulders going hunched and rigid.
Now the regret hits. “Sorry, hyung,” Namjoon says, small and miserable. “You just…” He trails off, unsure what to say that doesn’t reveal too much.
Yoongi takes a deep breath and all at once his posture relaxes. He turns his head enough to look at Namjoon from under his half-dyed hair, a gummy smile on display, a bit shy but there. The effect, Yoongi gazing up at him from his knees, is devastating and Namjoon can feel just how wide his eyes have gone.
“It’s okay,” Yoongi says, quietly. “Hyung doesn’t mind.”
“Oh.” Namjoon’s mind is full of nothing but exclamation marks and the bare slope of Yoongi’s back, but at last his body gets on with the programme and he finally starts applying the remaining dye, discarding the brush and just smoothing it over the strands of Yoongi’s hair with his fingers.
Yoongi makes a noise at the back of his throat, something all together too close to a moan for Namjoon to process, much less acknowledge right now if he wishes to finish what he’s doing. Luckily, Yoongi had been more than halfway through before his accident, and it doesn’t take Namjoon very long to ensure every part of Yoongi’s hair is evenly covered.
“There,” he says, straightening up and turning away to rinse his gloves. It also conveniently means he doesn’t have to watch Yoongi get up. “It says thirty minutes in the instructions.”
“It’s already been that for the bits I got done,” Yoongi says, resignedly. “I’ll either have some weird stripey colour variations or I’ll be half bald.”
Namjoon turns back around to find Yoongi shivering a bit, arms wrapped around his middle. “Hyung,” he intones solemnly. “I think you would rock either of those looks.”
The corner of Yoongi’s mouth twitches. “And I think you’re full of shit.”
Namjoon nods readily, grinning. “And you have orange ears. How about we try to do something about that while we wait?”
A more accurate description of Yoongi’s ears is ‘pink and orange’ but it doesn’t feel like the time to coo over them. Although, if Yoongi didn’t mind Namjoon’s earlier… distraction, maybe he wouldn’t mind this either?
Feeling brave, Namjoon reaches out and gently taps the tip of Yoongi’s right ear. “Cute,” he murmurs and makes himself look Yoongi in the eye despite the instinctive urge to avert his gaze. It’s worth it when Yoongi’s expression goes all flustered and soft and Namjoon lets himself touch his left ear too, in a way that is closer to a caress than anything else.
“Hold still,” he says and then starts rummaging through the cabinet until he finds what he’s looking for. “Aha! This should do the trick!” Triumphantly, he waves a bottle of nail polish remover at Yoongi.
Working quickly now because Yoongi is cold – or at least he keeps shivering every time Namjoon puts his hands on him – and they are on a time limit, Namjoon wets cotton pads with the nail polish remover and methodically wipes them over Yoongi’s skin. Some of the dye has been sitting in place too long for the results to be perfect, but at the end of it his ears, neck and hairline are at least more pink than they are orange. His palms though…
“Told you,” Yoongi sighs after the third scrubbing of his hands makes little to no difference. “I look like an Oompa-Loompa.”
Namjoon snorts. “I was thinking King Midas. Golden touch?”
“Sounds lonely,” Yoongi says, gazing down at his hands. “At least Oompa-Loompas had friends.”
And it’s such a Yoongi thing to say or even think about that Namjoon is helpless in the face of it, Yoongi’s expression contemplative and a bit sad, like he’s seriously considering the possibility of being lonely and without friends. As if that would ever happen.
“Hyung…” Namjoon can hear how utterly besotted he sounds, voice all plaintive and fucking yearning, but…
“Can you help hyung rinse off the dye?” Yoongi interrupts. He’s not quite meeting Namjoon’s eyes, but he doesn’t seem put off or annoyed, and there’s still a definite blush sitting on the tops of his cheeks. “You’ve got the gloves,” he offers by way of explanation, like maybe Namjoon needs convincing.
Namjoon does not, already reaching for the shower head and adjusting the temperature.
Yoongi looks at him for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes and then he… Then he just walks over and lowers himself to his knees next to Namjoon. Well, it’s obviously because the bathtub is right there too, Namjoon knows this, but it doesn’t lessen the impact much. There is something almost fragile about the moment; Yoongi half naked with his back to Namjoon, trusting him to take care of him, accepting his help, not because he needs it but because he wants it, and Namjoon…
Namjoon wants to press a kiss to the top of Yoongi’s spine, to each sharp shoulder blade, to the orange-stained patch of skin behind his ear. He does none of that.
“Not too hot?” he asks, aiming the shower at Yoongi’s hands first.
“No, it’s good,” Yoongi says, voice muffled.
Rinsing out the dye takes a while. The water starts running cool before it runs clear, and Yoongi is back to shivering miserably by the time they are done. Namjoon grabs towels and wraps Yoongi in them, telling him to go warm up while he cleans the bathroom, pretending not to hear any protests about it being Yoongi’s mess and therefore his to sort.
Namjoon does the best he can, but the truth is that they’re probably never going to get their full deposit back on the place. Oh well, that’s a problem for the future and Namjoon certainly harbours no immediate plans to change their living arrangements.
He finds Yoongi in the kitchen, cradling a mug of tea and scrolling through his phone, but still only wearing a towel over his shoulders, his hair dark with water. Namjoon frowns, confused. “What are you doing?” he asks.
Yoongi looks up. The expression on his face is the exact kind of blank Namjoon knows Yoongi uses to hide nervousness. “Waiting for you,” he says and gets up. The towel slides off and Yoong catches it distractedly, draping it over the now vacant chair. “I…” He hesitates, but then visible straightens his shoulders, posture open, his bare chest pale under the kitchen light, his nipples tight, pebbling in the cool air of the apartment. “Would you like to dry hyung’s hair, Joon-ah?” Yoongi asks, voice wavering in the middle of the question just a bit and… oh.
Oh. Namjoon can hear the dry click of his throat as he swallows. This isn’t really about the hair, anymore, is it? And maybe it never was, not really, not at the root of it. Pun unintended.
“Yes,” he croaks out. “Very much, hyung.”
Yoongi’s expression melts into a smile at Namjoon’s eagerness, small and just a little smug, and it’s such a good look on him Namjoon immediately wants to make it happen again, even though, especially because it’s at his expense.
“C’mon then.” Yoongi leaves both the tea and his phone on the kitchen table, snagging Namjoon by the wrist in passing.
Namjoon lets himself be led into Yoongi’s room, breathless with anticipation and just plain awe, Yoongi’s ramrod straight back projecting confidence that Namjoon thinks must be at least half fake. There’s nothing planned about this, both of them following the unexpected thread of possibility on instinct, on hope.
Namjoon pulls the door to Yoongi’s bedroom shut behind them. They’re the only ones in the apartment, their apartment, but the way Yoongi’s gaze snaps to him at the click of the latch, focused and full of intent, tells Namjoon his instinct hasn’t guided him wrong.
Yoong releases his grip on Namjoon’s wrist and backs away without breaking eye contact. “The dryer’s there,” he says, pointing toward the dresser. Then he sits on the edge of his bed, expectant. Waiting.
Okay then. Dryer. Namjoon gets it, plugs it into the wall by the bed and tries not to drop it when Yoongi wordlessly spreads his knees and tilts his head up, the invitation obvious.
Namjoon steps into the open vee of Yoongi’s legs. Their size difference is exaggerated even further by the position and Namjoon feels huge and clumsy, looming over his hyung like this. Yoongi, however, doesn’t seem to mind. His upturned gaze has gone heavy-lidded, cat-like, and the smug half-smile from earlier is back.
“C’mon, Joon-ah,” he husks. There’s tap on the outside of Namjoon’s thigh. “Hyung’s waiting.”
Namjoon thumbs the dryer on, absently grateful that the noise covers any incriminating noises he’s bound to make. Even so, he’s pretty sure both of them hum-moan when Namjoon cards his fingers into Yoongi’s hair.
Yoongi’s eyes have slid shut, his pink mouth open, face slack with pleasure as Namjoon carefully angles the hair dryer. The colour is turning from deep brown when wet to beautiful russet, reminiscent of autumn leaves, and Namjoon already knows there are some embarrassing song lyrics about that in his future. He reaches over, trying to get to the hair at the back of Yoongi’s head but the angle isn’t quite right. That is, until Yoongi just lets his head drop forward to rest against Namjoon’s stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of his trousers and shit, fuck, fuck that’s… Got to be deliberate, right? There’s no way Yoongi doesn’t know what the position does to Namjoon, there’s no way he won’t notice.
Namjoon keeps the dryer going as long as he can, trying to focus on nothing but the smooth slide of Yoongi’s hair through his fingers and failing, the press of Yoongi’s face against his lower stomach slight but persistent, and impossible to ignore. In the end, it’s Yoongi who reaches out with one hand, fumbling about until he finds Namjoon’s wrapped around the hair dryer. Fingers slotting between his, Yoongi switches it off.
The silence that follows is the loudest Namjoon has ever heard. They are both breathing heavily, and Namjoon swears he can almost make out the shape of Yoongi’s mouth through the fabric of his shirt. Slowly, he lets the dryer drop to the floor, Yoongi’s hand leaving his and coming to clutch at his hip instead.
Namjoon hisses. He’s hard, has been for a while, and if Yoongi keeps this up… “Hyung.” It comes out half whine and half growl. Namjoon tugs on Yoongi’s newly orange hair just to try to get his attention, just to see his face, because they may have gotten this far across the line without a single word, but Namjoon’s going to need some now.
Except Yoongi only moans and rubs his face against Namjoon’s stomach, rucking up the hem of his shirt, trying to get to skin.
“Fuck, fuck, Yoongi, please.” Namjoon pulls harder, finally managing to tip Yoongi’s face up and then cursing anew when he takes in the hazy look of pleasure on his face, eyes glazing over. “Yoongi-ah, what are we…?” He swallows, pushes Yoongi’s hair, like flames of fire now, off his face.
“I think,” Yoongi says. Swallows. Starts again. “I hope we’re doing what we should’ve done ages ago.” His words come out thick and slow, each one hitting Namjoon like a shot.
“Ages?” he asks, hands moving to cup Yoongi’s face, thumbs sweeping over the tender skin under his eyes.
“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes. “Years. Joon-ah...”
And that’s something Namjoon’s definitely going to have to find time to have a minor breakdown over at some point soon, just not right now. Right now, Yoongi is fisting the front of his shirt and tugging him downwards in a way that takes precedence over everything else.
They kiss for the first time with Yoongi’s back arched almost indecently, Namjoon bent awkwardly over him, half holding up his weight, his own back already screaming at him from the angle. It’s not difficult to ignore though. Yoongi’s lips are a little dry like always, despite the lingering taste of lip balm, but his mouth fits against Namjoon’s perfectly, eager and unhesitating, while his hands continue their previously interrupted mission, scrabbling at Namjoon’s shirt, then greedily mapping the skin underneath. Namjoon sucks in a sharp breath when Yoongi’s fingers ghost into the gap between his stomach and the waistband of his trousers.
Yoongi hums into his mouth and then does it again, bolder. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, Joon-ah, c’mere.” He pulls back enough to scoot back on the bed, the grip on Namjoon’s waistband firm and insistent.
Namjoon goes.
***
The rain has stopped. The two of them lie in Yoongi’s bed, covers haphazardly pulled up, breaths slowing down, falling into synch without any conscious effort. Yoongi has wrapped himself around Namjoon in a way that makes moving both a challenge and not something Namjoon really wants to do anyway. He’s hopeful this won’t be the last time he’ll get to have Yoongi like this, curled surprisingly small under Namjoon’s arm, all naked and seemingly contented as he draws idle patterns over Namjoon’s chest with his – undeniably orange-tinted – fingers. But, just in case, Namjoon doesn’t plan on disturbing the quiet any sooner than he absolutely has to.
“You’re thinking very loudly.” Yoongi eventually lifts his head from Namjoon’s shoulder to look at him properly. There’s a measure of caution in his eyes, with potential to grow into distance if Namjoon lets it.
“Thinking how happy I am right now,” Namjoon says, cupping Yoongi’s face with one hand, watching as the worry melts off Yoongi’s expression, a gummy smile replacing it.
“I am too,” he says, leaning into Namjoon’s touch and then leaning into to peck him on the mouth, seemingly just because he can. “So,” he adds. “How does it look?”
It takes Namjoon a few seconds to realise what Yoongi is referring to. “Oh,” he says finally when he gets it, brushing his fingers over Yoongi’s hair, now dry and extremely tousled. It’s the exact shade of the sun that’s outside the window, painting the spaces between the high rises and casting a warm, golden glow inside the bedroom.
Namjoon’s fingers twitch for a pen or his phone, at least five extended metaphors about fire and warmth and light to follow home crowding at the back of his mind. Instead, he pulls Yoongi into a very thorough kiss.
“Well,” he says, grinning impishly when they eventually resurface. “You’re not bald?”
Yoongi kicks him out of the bed but that’s okay because Namjoon is pretty sure he’ll be invited back again. After he’s fetched the mirror, comb and an arsenal of styling products Yoongi is loudly and indignantly demanding.
“And a snack! For emotional damage,” Yoongi calls after him as Namjoon heads toward the bathroom, still laughing.
He pauses in front of the mirror, considering. Yoongi and he have always pushed each other creatively, achieving more together than on their own, and there’s an idea taking root (pun absolutely intended this time) in his mind. Namjoon tilts his head, studying his reflection. Maybe…
Purple?
***
Title: true colours (shining through)
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Pairing: Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga
Tags: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Friends to Lovers, Hair Dyeing, Hair Washing, Feelings
Rating: T
Word count: 3,648
Disclaimer: Not real!
Summary:
“Oh my god, hyung!” The bathroom looks like a set from a slasher movie, red streaks of colour everywhere, on the floor, over the sink, the toilet… There’s even what looks like a bloody handprint on the mirror. “Are you hurt? Is that…” Namjoon finally takes in Yoongi himself. He’s topless, kneeling over the bathtub, his hands and half of his head covered in the same bright red substance that Namjoon is reasonably sure is not actually blood because if that was the case, Yoongi would not be giving him the very lively glare he’s currently sending in Namjoon’s direction. Or talking.
“It’s not blood,” Yoongi all but growls, pacifying Namjoon's panic brain. “It’s hair dye.”
“It’s not blood,” Yoongi all but growls, pacifying Namjoon's panic brain. “It’s hair dye.”
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 31/31. Prompt/theme: orange. This fic is brought to you by Min Yoongi’s orange hair. Title obviously from Cyndi Lauper (the original MV is a trip, but I really enjoyed this more recent acoustic rendition). Fic is unbetaed as it needed to be posted before end of 2023. Because of my personality. If you spot a typo/mistake, you absolutely can and should tell me about it.
true colours (shining through) on AO3
The weather has been horrible all day and Namjoon is grateful to finally be home. His umbrella had given up halfway through his commute so he’d gotten thoroughly soaked on the way back. He toes off his sodden shoes and hurriedly checks on his laptop. He’d held the bag under his coat the whole way, sheltered close to his chest like a baby animal, and the laptop has thankfully escaped the storm undamaged, unlike Namjoon himself.
“Namjoon?” Yoongi’s voice calls out, somewhat muffled. “Is that you?”
Namjoon shrugs out of his coat and outer layers as he walks further into the apartment they share.
“Of course, it’s me!” he calls back. “How many people have you given our key to?” The socks are a loss, but his jeans are only a little damp and the tank top under his shirt is still dry. Good enough.
“No one!” Yoongi protests.
Namjoon follows the voice, barefoot now, finally determining that it’s coming from behind the closed bathroom door.
“Just… I’m glad you’re home,” Yoongi is saying. “I… Uh, I need some help.”
Namjoon pauses, wide-eyed over what kind of help Yoongi could possible need in the bathroom. The mental image is immediate and devastating; Yoongi in the bath or shower, all wet and slippery with soap, asking Namjoon to just get that one spot he can’t quite reach…
Namjoon can feel himself blushing. It’s not the first time he’s thought something like that. Namjoon had a crush on Yoongi before he even got to know him and that was over ten years ago. Becoming friends with Yoongi, best friends, made the crush both worse and better, for the same reasons. Being Yoongi’s friend was amazing. He was insanely talented and generous about sharing that, funny and smart, kind and soft-hearted under the gruff exterior he liked to project. All of that meant that Namjoon’s crush had deepened into the kind of feelings that meant it was unthinkable to do anything that would risk losing Yoongi from his life. So, he hasn’t. And despite what their friends think, it’s not like Namjoon is suffering. He isn’t pining. What is there to pine about when Yoongi is right there. They live together, they see each other every day, they go to gigs and work on music projects and see their friends and talk about everything under the sun and share meals and…
“Joon?” Yoongi’s voice interrupts. “You still there?”
“Yeah.” Namjoon clears his throat and wills his mind to focus. “Yeah, hyung, I’m here. What… What’s wrong?”
The relief in Yoongi’s voice is audible. “Just get in here.”
Cautiously, Namjoon eases open the bathroom door. As soon as he catches a glimpse of the red though, he flings it open all the way. “Oh my god, hyung!” The bathroom looks like a set from a slasher movie, red streaks of colour everywhere, on the floor, over the sink, the toilet… There’s even what looks like a bloody handprint on the mirror. “Are you hurt? Is that…” Namjoon finally takes in Yoongi himself. He’s topless, kneeling over the bathtub, his hands and half of his head covered in the same bright red substance that Namjoon is reasonably sure is not actually blood because if that was the case, Yoongi would not be giving him the very lively glare he’s currently sending in Namjoon’s direction. Or talking.
“It’s not blood,” Yoongi all but growls, pacifying Namjoon's panic brain. “It’s hair dye.” Then he visibly blinks at Namjoon’s relative state of undress, eyebrows hitching up. “Is that what you wore to work?”
Now that Namjoon has gotten over the initial shock and worry, he can see that the colour is less blood red and more burnt… orange?
“You’re dyeing your hair orange? Also, no, obviously not. It was raining.”
“Namjoon-ah!” Yoongi sighs with frustration. “I told you take the umbrella!”
“I did!” Namjoon protests. “It broke.” The way Yoongi gets sidetracked by worrying about Namjoon even with hair dye dripping all over him does all sorts of dangerous things to Namjoon’s heart. That isn’t new either. “Forget that. Hyung… What?” He waves his hands illustratively, encompassing the disaster that is the bathroom.
“I slipped,” Yoong grumbles. “Knocked over the bottle and the brush went flying and then…” He gestures helplessly with his stained hands. “Now I would just make everything worse if I tried to clean it and…” He shrugs, looking frustrated and embarrassed as he trails off, muttering something under his breath.
Namjoon is already reaching over Yoongi’s back to turn the tap on. “What was that, hyung?” he asks, guiding Yoongi’s hands under the water.
“I said, I knew you’d be home soon,” Yoongi repeats as they watch the excess hair dye swirl down the drain.
Namjoon tries very hard to act like Yoongi’s words are not a big thing because they aren’t, not to Yoongi. Instead, he focuses on the task at hand. Speaking of…
“Hands or hair?” he asks.
“What?”
“Do you want me to finish with your hair or clean your hands first?”
They both survey Yoongi’s hands which are decidedly… orange. But, and this is not just Namjoon’s opinion but an objective fact, still incredibly attractive. They are nicely shaped and strong and skilled. Well, except, apparently, when it comes to keeping hold of hair dye implements.
“Hair,” Yoongi finally decides. “I think my palms are going to be orange for the foreseeable no matter what we do now, but the hair might still be salvageable.”
Namjoon refrains from commenting that Yoongi’s hair looks great no matter what, because he’s well aware that in this he is severely biased.
“Alright,” he agrees. “Just let me get some gloves.” Namjoon also refrains from pointing out that this is something Yoongi should have considered as well, largely because the chagrined expression on his face suggests that he is already well aware of the fact.
Half a minute later, Namjoon is back, his hands covered in latex gloves. Wordlessly, Yoongi hands him the bottle of hair dye and the brush and bends back over the bathtub. Namjoon’s eyes trail over every visible knob of his spine, the narrow waist, the frayed jeans sitting dangerously low on his hips, the vulnerable – and now also somewhat orange – nape of his neck.
“Joon-ah?” There’s a questioning lilt to Yoongi’s voice, annoyance and uncertainty all wrapped together. “C’mon. Are you waiting for a written invitation?”
“Sorry, sorry!” Namjoon startles out of his reverie, feeling guilty but not guilty enough to regret having taken the opportunity. “Just got distracted.”
“What…?” Yoongi starts to ask but then he clearly figures out that there’s not a lot else to be distracted by here other than his own naked torso, blush staining what skin there is left unstained on his neck and ears, his shoulders going hunched and rigid.
Now the regret hits. “Sorry, hyung,” Namjoon says, small and miserable. “You just…” He trails off, unsure what to say that doesn’t reveal too much.
Yoongi takes a deep breath and all at once his posture relaxes. He turns his head enough to look at Namjoon from under his half-dyed hair, a gummy smile on display, a bit shy but there. The effect, Yoongi gazing up at him from his knees, is devastating and Namjoon can feel just how wide his eyes have gone.
“It’s okay,” Yoongi says, quietly. “Hyung doesn’t mind.”
“Oh.” Namjoon’s mind is full of nothing but exclamation marks and the bare slope of Yoongi’s back, but at last his body gets on with the programme and he finally starts applying the remaining dye, discarding the brush and just smoothing it over the strands of Yoongi’s hair with his fingers.
Yoongi makes a noise at the back of his throat, something all together too close to a moan for Namjoon to process, much less acknowledge right now if he wishes to finish what he’s doing. Luckily, Yoongi had been more than halfway through before his accident, and it doesn’t take Namjoon very long to ensure every part of Yoongi’s hair is evenly covered.
“There,” he says, straightening up and turning away to rinse his gloves. It also conveniently means he doesn’t have to watch Yoongi get up. “It says thirty minutes in the instructions.”
“It’s already been that for the bits I got done,” Yoongi says, resignedly. “I’ll either have some weird stripey colour variations or I’ll be half bald.”
Namjoon turns back around to find Yoongi shivering a bit, arms wrapped around his middle. “Hyung,” he intones solemnly. “I think you would rock either of those looks.”
The corner of Yoongi’s mouth twitches. “And I think you’re full of shit.”
Namjoon nods readily, grinning. “And you have orange ears. How about we try to do something about that while we wait?”
A more accurate description of Yoongi’s ears is ‘pink and orange’ but it doesn’t feel like the time to coo over them. Although, if Yoongi didn’t mind Namjoon’s earlier… distraction, maybe he wouldn’t mind this either?
Feeling brave, Namjoon reaches out and gently taps the tip of Yoongi’s right ear. “Cute,” he murmurs and makes himself look Yoongi in the eye despite the instinctive urge to avert his gaze. It’s worth it when Yoongi’s expression goes all flustered and soft and Namjoon lets himself touch his left ear too, in a way that is closer to a caress than anything else.
“Hold still,” he says and then starts rummaging through the cabinet until he finds what he’s looking for. “Aha! This should do the trick!” Triumphantly, he waves a bottle of nail polish remover at Yoongi.
Working quickly now because Yoongi is cold – or at least he keeps shivering every time Namjoon puts his hands on him – and they are on a time limit, Namjoon wets cotton pads with the nail polish remover and methodically wipes them over Yoongi’s skin. Some of the dye has been sitting in place too long for the results to be perfect, but at the end of it his ears, neck and hairline are at least more pink than they are orange. His palms though…
“Told you,” Yoongi sighs after the third scrubbing of his hands makes little to no difference. “I look like an Oompa-Loompa.”
Namjoon snorts. “I was thinking King Midas. Golden touch?”
“Sounds lonely,” Yoongi says, gazing down at his hands. “At least Oompa-Loompas had friends.”
And it’s such a Yoongi thing to say or even think about that Namjoon is helpless in the face of it, Yoongi’s expression contemplative and a bit sad, like he’s seriously considering the possibility of being lonely and without friends. As if that would ever happen.
“Hyung…” Namjoon can hear how utterly besotted he sounds, voice all plaintive and fucking yearning, but…
“Can you help hyung rinse off the dye?” Yoongi interrupts. He’s not quite meeting Namjoon’s eyes, but he doesn’t seem put off or annoyed, and there’s still a definite blush sitting on the tops of his cheeks. “You’ve got the gloves,” he offers by way of explanation, like maybe Namjoon needs convincing.
Namjoon does not, already reaching for the shower head and adjusting the temperature.
Yoongi looks at him for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes and then he… Then he just walks over and lowers himself to his knees next to Namjoon. Well, it’s obviously because the bathtub is right there too, Namjoon knows this, but it doesn’t lessen the impact much. There is something almost fragile about the moment; Yoongi half naked with his back to Namjoon, trusting him to take care of him, accepting his help, not because he needs it but because he wants it, and Namjoon…
Namjoon wants to press a kiss to the top of Yoongi’s spine, to each sharp shoulder blade, to the orange-stained patch of skin behind his ear. He does none of that.
“Not too hot?” he asks, aiming the shower at Yoongi’s hands first.
“No, it’s good,” Yoongi says, voice muffled.
Rinsing out the dye takes a while. The water starts running cool before it runs clear, and Yoongi is back to shivering miserably by the time they are done. Namjoon grabs towels and wraps Yoongi in them, telling him to go warm up while he cleans the bathroom, pretending not to hear any protests about it being Yoongi’s mess and therefore his to sort.
Namjoon does the best he can, but the truth is that they’re probably never going to get their full deposit back on the place. Oh well, that’s a problem for the future and Namjoon certainly harbours no immediate plans to change their living arrangements.
He finds Yoongi in the kitchen, cradling a mug of tea and scrolling through his phone, but still only wearing a towel over his shoulders, his hair dark with water. Namjoon frowns, confused. “What are you doing?” he asks.
Yoongi looks up. The expression on his face is the exact kind of blank Namjoon knows Yoongi uses to hide nervousness. “Waiting for you,” he says and gets up. The towel slides off and Yoong catches it distractedly, draping it over the now vacant chair. “I…” He hesitates, but then visible straightens his shoulders, posture open, his bare chest pale under the kitchen light, his nipples tight, pebbling in the cool air of the apartment. “Would you like to dry hyung’s hair, Joon-ah?” Yoongi asks, voice wavering in the middle of the question just a bit and… oh.
Oh. Namjoon can hear the dry click of his throat as he swallows. This isn’t really about the hair, anymore, is it? And maybe it never was, not really, not at the root of it. Pun unintended.
“Yes,” he croaks out. “Very much, hyung.”
Yoongi’s expression melts into a smile at Namjoon’s eagerness, small and just a little smug, and it’s such a good look on him Namjoon immediately wants to make it happen again, even though, especially because it’s at his expense.
“C’mon then.” Yoongi leaves both the tea and his phone on the kitchen table, snagging Namjoon by the wrist in passing.
Namjoon lets himself be led into Yoongi’s room, breathless with anticipation and just plain awe, Yoongi’s ramrod straight back projecting confidence that Namjoon thinks must be at least half fake. There’s nothing planned about this, both of them following the unexpected thread of possibility on instinct, on hope.
Namjoon pulls the door to Yoongi’s bedroom shut behind them. They’re the only ones in the apartment, their apartment, but the way Yoongi’s gaze snaps to him at the click of the latch, focused and full of intent, tells Namjoon his instinct hasn’t guided him wrong.
Yoong releases his grip on Namjoon’s wrist and backs away without breaking eye contact. “The dryer’s there,” he says, pointing toward the dresser. Then he sits on the edge of his bed, expectant. Waiting.
Okay then. Dryer. Namjoon gets it, plugs it into the wall by the bed and tries not to drop it when Yoongi wordlessly spreads his knees and tilts his head up, the invitation obvious.
Namjoon steps into the open vee of Yoongi’s legs. Their size difference is exaggerated even further by the position and Namjoon feels huge and clumsy, looming over his hyung like this. Yoongi, however, doesn’t seem to mind. His upturned gaze has gone heavy-lidded, cat-like, and the smug half-smile from earlier is back.
“C’mon, Joon-ah,” he husks. There’s tap on the outside of Namjoon’s thigh. “Hyung’s waiting.”
Namjoon thumbs the dryer on, absently grateful that the noise covers any incriminating noises he’s bound to make. Even so, he’s pretty sure both of them hum-moan when Namjoon cards his fingers into Yoongi’s hair.
Yoongi’s eyes have slid shut, his pink mouth open, face slack with pleasure as Namjoon carefully angles the hair dryer. The colour is turning from deep brown when wet to beautiful russet, reminiscent of autumn leaves, and Namjoon already knows there are some embarrassing song lyrics about that in his future. He reaches over, trying to get to the hair at the back of Yoongi’s head but the angle isn’t quite right. That is, until Yoongi just lets his head drop forward to rest against Namjoon’s stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of his trousers and shit, fuck, fuck that’s… Got to be deliberate, right? There’s no way Yoongi doesn’t know what the position does to Namjoon, there’s no way he won’t notice.
Namjoon keeps the dryer going as long as he can, trying to focus on nothing but the smooth slide of Yoongi’s hair through his fingers and failing, the press of Yoongi’s face against his lower stomach slight but persistent, and impossible to ignore. In the end, it’s Yoongi who reaches out with one hand, fumbling about until he finds Namjoon’s wrapped around the hair dryer. Fingers slotting between his, Yoongi switches it off.
The silence that follows is the loudest Namjoon has ever heard. They are both breathing heavily, and Namjoon swears he can almost make out the shape of Yoongi’s mouth through the fabric of his shirt. Slowly, he lets the dryer drop to the floor, Yoongi’s hand leaving his and coming to clutch at his hip instead.
Namjoon hisses. He’s hard, has been for a while, and if Yoongi keeps this up… “Hyung.” It comes out half whine and half growl. Namjoon tugs on Yoongi’s newly orange hair just to try to get his attention, just to see his face, because they may have gotten this far across the line without a single word, but Namjoon’s going to need some now.
Except Yoongi only moans and rubs his face against Namjoon’s stomach, rucking up the hem of his shirt, trying to get to skin.
“Fuck, fuck, Yoongi, please.” Namjoon pulls harder, finally managing to tip Yoongi’s face up and then cursing anew when he takes in the hazy look of pleasure on his face, eyes glazing over. “Yoongi-ah, what are we…?” He swallows, pushes Yoongi’s hair, like flames of fire now, off his face.
“I think,” Yoongi says. Swallows. Starts again. “I hope we’re doing what we should’ve done ages ago.” His words come out thick and slow, each one hitting Namjoon like a shot.
“Ages?” he asks, hands moving to cup Yoongi’s face, thumbs sweeping over the tender skin under his eyes.
“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes. “Years. Joon-ah...”
And that’s something Namjoon’s definitely going to have to find time to have a minor breakdown over at some point soon, just not right now. Right now, Yoongi is fisting the front of his shirt and tugging him downwards in a way that takes precedence over everything else.
They kiss for the first time with Yoongi’s back arched almost indecently, Namjoon bent awkwardly over him, half holding up his weight, his own back already screaming at him from the angle. It’s not difficult to ignore though. Yoongi’s lips are a little dry like always, despite the lingering taste of lip balm, but his mouth fits against Namjoon’s perfectly, eager and unhesitating, while his hands continue their previously interrupted mission, scrabbling at Namjoon’s shirt, then greedily mapping the skin underneath. Namjoon sucks in a sharp breath when Yoongi’s fingers ghost into the gap between his stomach and the waistband of his trousers.
Yoongi hums into his mouth and then does it again, bolder. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, Joon-ah, c’mere.” He pulls back enough to scoot back on the bed, the grip on Namjoon’s waistband firm and insistent.
Namjoon goes.
***
The rain has stopped. The two of them lie in Yoongi’s bed, covers haphazardly pulled up, breaths slowing down, falling into synch without any conscious effort. Yoongi has wrapped himself around Namjoon in a way that makes moving both a challenge and not something Namjoon really wants to do anyway. He’s hopeful this won’t be the last time he’ll get to have Yoongi like this, curled surprisingly small under Namjoon’s arm, all naked and seemingly contented as he draws idle patterns over Namjoon’s chest with his – undeniably orange-tinted – fingers. But, just in case, Namjoon doesn’t plan on disturbing the quiet any sooner than he absolutely has to.
“You’re thinking very loudly.” Yoongi eventually lifts his head from Namjoon’s shoulder to look at him properly. There’s a measure of caution in his eyes, with potential to grow into distance if Namjoon lets it.
“Thinking how happy I am right now,” Namjoon says, cupping Yoongi’s face with one hand, watching as the worry melts off Yoongi’s expression, a gummy smile replacing it.
“I am too,” he says, leaning into Namjoon’s touch and then leaning into to peck him on the mouth, seemingly just because he can. “So,” he adds. “How does it look?”
It takes Namjoon a few seconds to realise what Yoongi is referring to. “Oh,” he says finally when he gets it, brushing his fingers over Yoongi’s hair, now dry and extremely tousled. It’s the exact shade of the sun that’s outside the window, painting the spaces between the high rises and casting a warm, golden glow inside the bedroom.
Namjoon’s fingers twitch for a pen or his phone, at least five extended metaphors about fire and warmth and light to follow home crowding at the back of his mind. Instead, he pulls Yoongi into a very thorough kiss.
“Well,” he says, grinning impishly when they eventually resurface. “You’re not bald?”
Yoongi kicks him out of the bed but that’s okay because Namjoon is pretty sure he’ll be invited back again. After he’s fetched the mirror, comb and an arsenal of styling products Yoongi is loudly and indignantly demanding.
“And a snack! For emotional damage,” Yoongi calls after him as Namjoon heads toward the bathroom, still laughing.
He pauses in front of the mirror, considering. Yoongi and he have always pushed each other creatively, achieving more together than on their own, and there’s an idea taking root (pun absolutely intended this time) in his mind. Namjoon tilts his head, studying his reflection. Maybe…
Purple?
***