The night air bit the moment you stepped outside, sharp and immediate, like it had been lying in wait just for you. It sank its teeth into your skin before you even made it down the steps, coiling around your ankles like fog and crawling up your spine. The streets were nearly deserted, emptied of their usual noise, lit only by the occasional flicker of dim streetlights. Their faint hum filled the silence, casting long, uneasy shadows over cracked sidewalks and frozen puddles that shined like broken glass. You hugged your arms around yourself, immediately regretting the thin jacket you’d grabbed on impulse. The cold wasn’t just a chill it was invasive. A quiet, creeping thing that settled in your bones and stayed there, like it had found a home. Your breath came out in short, tight clouds, and for a second, you hesitated. Not because of the cold, but because of him.

You’d spent the entire day second-guessing Yoongi’s message, rereading it until the words blurred into a haze on your screen. Just come hang out. Nothing serious. Three words, simple enough. Harmless. Casual. But your gut had twisted anyway, a quiet clench that hadn’t let up all afternoon. Some instinct deep down had whispered that going out this late, with him, wasn’t the smartest decision. Still, curiosity had its claws in you, and they weren’t letting go. There was something about Yoongi. Maybe the way he said so little but somehow still pulled you in, or the way his silences felt louder than other people’s words. Whatever it was, you followed it. And just like that, there he was.

Leaning against a brick wall like he owned the night. The orange glow of a streetlamp caught in the curve of his jaw, the brim of his hat casting his eyes in shadow. He didn’t move when he saw you, just lifted his gaze, slow and deliberate, like he’d been expecting you. Like you weren’t late or early. Like he already knew exactly when you’d show up. His hands were buried deep in the pocket of his gray hoodie, and that same easy smirk tugged at his mouth, lazy and unreadable. The cold didn’t seem to touch him. If anything, he looked at home in it. Like this was his hour, his kind of quiet.

Your laugh came out before you could stop it. Soft and uncertain, too shaky to be genuine. It made you feel exposed somehow, like he could hear everything in it you weren’t saying. At the sound, Yoongi pushed off the wall with one foot, his Jordans scraping lightly against the pavement. He walked toward you unhurried, with that kind of slow, unbothered confidence that made your heart tap a little faster without permission. Like he wasn’t just walking up to you, like he was approaching something that had already been decided. He tilted his head when he got close, eyes narrowing just enough to suggest amusement, maybe interest. Maybe something else entirely. “Calm down,” he said, voice low and edged with teasing. “You look tense. Or cold. Maybe a bit of both.”

The way he said it, casual, like it was nothing, should’ve put you at ease. But there was something behind it. Something quieter. Steadier. Like he was studying you, taking in more than what you gave him. The words hung there between you, warm against the cold, until he stepped in just slightly closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that you felt it. That barely-there brush of his shoulder against yours, light, maybe accidental, maybe not, sent a spark through your skin. You hoped he didn’t notice. You told yourself it was just the cold making your chest tighten. Not him. Definitely not him.

He glanced at you sideways, that grin still hovering on his lips, eyes scanning your face like he was waiting for something. A word. A reason. A sign. “You always this jumpy?” he asked, and though he sounded amused, there was a gentleness under it. A softness most people wouldn’t notice unless they knew where to look.