UGH! / SOPE & VMIN.

TWENTY, HIGH ON YOU.

[ hemlo pls listen 2 do i wanna know by the artic monkeys while reading lov u ]

HIGH ON YOU.

   SOMEHOW, FOR REASONS best known to him, himself and him only, mr jung hoseok turned up at min yoongi's door ten minutes ago, crying. now he's sat in the living room. yoongi's confused — scratch that, yoongi is very confused; all he got out of him was that seokjin, the barman, got hurt and that hoseok doesn't like hospitals and that he's out of weed and yeah, hoseok's not very good with his feelings. so yoongi's digging into his stash of weed and rolling a spliff, making tea while he's at it, as you do.

the punk rocker turned up outside his door less than fifteen minutes ago, and yoongi's too tired to question, can hear him dicking about on yoongi's beloved acoustic guitar, haphazardly plucking out a tune. yoongi stirs sugar into the teas and tucks the spliff behind his ear, heading into the living room on tired feet.

"'ere," he mumbles, putting the tea down on his crowded coffee table, almost knocking over his bong in the process. hoseok sits cross-legged on yoongi's unmade bed, the guitar balanced on his legs, his hair a mess. it's just past five in the afternoon, but hoseok looks worn out, his white shirt inexplicably splattered with drying crimson, and he smells like bleach, an eye-stinging hospital smell. yoongi sits beside him, eyeing him warily. "you alright mate?"

hoseok shrugs, reaching for the tea. "depends. you got weed?"

yoongi huffs, taking the spliff from behind his ear. "fucking hash-head," he mumbles, passing to him. "if that's all you came 'ere for, i'll be takin' that cuppa back right about now."

hoseok sighs, lighting the spliff and inhaling deeply, closing his eyes. "fuck off," he says, spilling a web of lazy smoke from his chapped pink lips, yoongi's eyes far too focused on how he looks when he takes that first hit, how he looks post-orgasmic when he opens his mouth and lets the haze out. "god, my fuckin' dealer necked it outta town, got caught wi' mdma..." he inhales again, his face obscured momentarily with a fog of smoke.

yoongi pulls his legs to his chest and takes a gulp of tea, not sure exactly what to say. he weren't expecting guests today, so hoseok barged in on him while he was shirtless and wearing loose-hanging indian trousers jeeta from the takeaway place gave him, halfway through a football match and a curry, which now lies going cold next to his bong. hoseok sighs, passes him the spliff, before fumbling in his pocket.

"could, er, could ya do me ten grams, like?" he says, finding a grubby couple of tenners in his pocket. yoongi rolls his eyes as he takes a long drag, allowing the high to wash over him leisurely, in the practiced way of someone who's been getting stoned since sixteen.

"that'll be fifteen quid," he says. "or you could stay here 'nd we could hotbox the room — for free, as well, like — and take some of the e's i've got left."

he passes the spliff back to hoseok, lets him consider it, the singer inhaling again and blowing the smoke out in a practiced ring, smirking when yoongi chuckles. "you're some kinda medicine man, huh?" he laughs, passing the spliff, and yoongi smiles.

"maybe you'll tell me how you feel if you get high enough, yeah? 'cause you are definitely the kind of bloke who don't tell people how he's feelin' easily," yoongi takes the longest drag yet, coughing a bit as it tickles his throat the wrong way. "cor, blimey, shit—" he hacks a lung out, trying to speak through it. "a-anyway, you uh-up fir — fuckin' hell — up fir it?"

"fuckin' hell, why not?" hoseok grins devilishly, sliding his denim jacket off his arms, leaving miles upon miles of golden skin and moles and a dotting of freckles on his left shoulder from the rare march sunshine, and yoongi's head is spinning, but it's probably just the weed taking effect.