SHOTGUNNING CIGARETTES.

     YOONGI'S NOT AS keen on parties as some people he knows are, mostly because he's quite a lazy type. what he does like, though, is live music, and gay bars, so the band night at menswear is perfect; the band aren't exactly guns n roses, or the stones, but they're pretty decent.

it's the atmosphere that yoongi loves. even though he's sat at the bar, rather than grinding it up on the dancefloor ( like jimin, who ditched yoongi ten minutes ago to dance with taehyung, and the two had gotten pretty... risqué ), the adrenaline in the air and the weed he's smoked make him feel pretty good. the lead singer of the band is actually a familiar face; the bloke he took pills with back in bromley, who's name he isn't too sure on, referring to him as stoner boy in his head. he looks good, up on stage, hyping up the crowd and singing his lungs out.

they've done two bowie songs, a queen song, a very experimental wham!, and now they're playing something new, something no one owns on record or cassete, and yoongi's got to admit, they've got a certain somethin' working for them. something that he wouldn't mind seeing more of.

"max, could ya get us another drink?" he asks seokjin's boyfriend, who's taking the bartender's place for the night. maxxie nods, pouring yoongi a cup of golden real ale, the other accepting it with a nod and tossing a fiver maxxie's way. "keep the change; tips 'n all that, innit."

"you lot 'ave been fookin' spectacular!" stoner boy onstage yells, the mic barely necessary with how loud he naturally is. "thank you very much, you fuckin' queers, we appreciate it an awful fuckin' lot, you know?"

the crowd yell back at him, and yoongi bets that stoner boy's ego must feel like mick jagger's now, bigger than mars, despite this being one small gig in a bar in downtown london. he's handsome, yoongi thinks absentmindedly; the kind of handsome you wouldn't kick out of bed in the morning, the kind of handsome your mum would tell you to hold on to. in your face handsome. his grin makes his eyes disappear and his mouth almost looks like a heart, teeth that, although dulled slightly by nicotine, shine like the sun.

"a'ight, we've gotta finish up for the night," the manager of menswear smiles into the mic, and the crowd groans, someone yelling "one more, you wankers!". seokjin laughs, looking at his mates with a sly grin. "yeah, c'mon lads, just the one more, hm?"

"fuck yeah." the drummer sounds out of breath, voice gravely. they all exchange looks, and the drummer starts up a beat, stoner boy moving his hips as seokjin plucks out a tune on his bass.

"this is a lil' old song," stoner boy says deeply, lips close to the mic. "'s called rebel rebel, sure you all know it, and it goes a little like this— and a one, and a two, and fuckin' move!"

they break into the notorious song that every misunderstood kid from suburban england can relate to, an anthem for the boys in skirts and the girls in trousers, and yoongi says fuck it and joins the misfits on the dancefloor.

"you've got your mother in a whirl, she's not sure if you're a boy or a girl — hey babe, your hair's alright! hey babe, let's stay out tonight!" stoner boy's got that bowie charm, that tight-trousered lip-bitin' ecstasy, and it fits him like a glove. yoongi's dancing with people he's never met before, body on someone else's, euphoria washing over him in waves, some happiness not provided by drugs flowing through his brainwaves.

ten minutes later and yoongi sneaks outside for a quick spliff, because he knows seokjin's rules about smoking in the bar ( "only i'm allowed to do it, 'nd tha's pushin' it!" ). carefully crumbling the slightly shriveled leaves into rough, sticky paper, he licks the edge and rolls the joint into a cone, thick on one end and curled up like a kiddie's sweet. he raises his skull shaped lighter to the end and inhales deeply, closing his eyes and taking the smoke into his lungs, before it circuits back out of his lips, and then into his nose, sweet and sticky and blissful.

the door opens and someone else tumbles out onto the street, cackling with laughter, and yoongi looks over, and damn — it's stoner boy in all his glory, leather pants so tight you can see his cock and shirt dark and loose like a contrast, hair a mess, face messily illuminated by orange streetlamps and passing car lights.

"oi, mate," stoner boy calls over to him, sniffing the air and ambling over, long legs and long strides, heavy boots and chains jangling. yoongi suspects the light's too bad for him to remember his face; turns out he's wrong. "heyyy! you're the bloke from bromley — what was it, moongi? yangi? uhh..."

"it's yoongi," yoongi laughs, holding the spliff between thumb and forefinger. "no worries, our kid¹, i can't remember your name fir the life o' me."

"'s hoseok," he smiles, and his eyes are kinda sparkling under the urban lightshow. "i know this is dumb, but d'ya got any puff²?"

yoongi chuckles deeply, inhaling the smoke again before he answers. "sorry, jagger — just smoked the last of what 've got. got some fags, tho'."

"that'll do me." hoseok holds his hand out, all calloused guitarist fingertips, rings and long fingers and veins, and yoongi places a cig onto his palm, hoseok mumbling a thanks and raising it to his lips, lighting it with a match he strikes on his thumb. he looks sort of beautiful, yoongi supposes, a sort of beauty that's more in the way he holds himself rather than how he looks — and he holds himself like he's got the whole world in front of him, all ambition and dreams.

"what'd you think? of our set, like." he asks, leaning against the pub wall, slender fingers holding the cig close to his lips.

yoongi shrugs, removing the half-smoked bifta from his mouth. "alright. you lot need to stop playin' other people's shit, tho'. else you'll be pub singers fer the rest o' yer lives."

hoseok barks out a laugh, the light drizzle that's started up beginning to collect on his bare skin, whilst yoongi blocks it with a thin leather jacket. "i'll jot tha' one down, man, you've got the right idea. you liked the original, though, right? worked fuckin' hard on that, i did."

yoongi smiles. "yeah, i did," he holds the nearly-finished spliff out in front of him, turning and leaning his shoulder into the rough brick wall. "you wanna shotgun this?"

"you what?" hoseok wrinkles his nose and cocks his head, like a puppy, which would be adorable if he weren't a wannabe punk with a fag sticking out of his lips. "wha's shotgunnin'?"

rolling his eyes, yoongi smiles. "it's a way to, like, share the last of a bifta. one of yous inhales the smoke, 'nd the other opens their mouth and you blows it into their mouth. kinda like snogging, i guess."

hoseok scoffs. "bit faggy, innit?"

"look, d'you wanna or no? 'cause the bifta's goin', mate, 'nd i'll smoke it meself if you're gonna put up such a fight," yoongi says, accent thick. "what're you, straight or somethin'? afraid i'll give yer AIDS, is tha' it?"

hoseok scoffs again, putting less distance between himself and yoongi. "me, 'etero? you think?" he smirks, and takes the spliff from yoongi. "alright, lemme just...."

he inhales the last load of the sickly-sweet smoke, closing his lips to keep it in, and yoongi opens his lips as hoseok's face gets closer to his. the singer's breath is hot against his face, and their lips are so close they could touch; the smoke goes into yoongi's system and he falls into bliss, eyes fluttering open and seeing hoseok's cherry red lips—

"oi! you two!"

the distinct sound of a london copper³ shouting scares the shit out of the two boys, and a flashlight beam falls dangerously close to them. "run," hoseok whispers to yoongi, and there's no hesitation on either part, both legging it down the alley beside menswear, legs pumping. they can hear the bobby⁴ behind them, but he's far off, and hoseok's dragging yoongi through ways yoongi feels the singer knows like the back of his hand, and he doubts the copper does.

the fact is, if they're caught, they're fucked, because they're both queer and asian and druggies, and yoongi's got enough weed growing in his apartment to send him to the slammer for life, and the police force will do anything to kill the faggots that thatcher insists are the sole ones responsible for the AIDS epidemic.

"where—where are we going?" yoongi asks hoseok once the copper sounds far away enough, and hoseok pants, having slowed a bit.

"my place, if that's alright, like, i cannae think of anywhere else," he gulps air in like water, lungs probably rotten from smoke. yoongi nods, trying to calm his racing heart. "it's just five minutes away. you can stay the night or summin', i dunno."

"thanks, mate."

━━

written – 170419

BRIT VOCAB
¹our kid: a manchester term of endearment
²puff: slang for weed
³copper: slang for policeman, comes from the slang 'cop'
⁴bobby: also slang for policeman, comes from 'bobby blue'

AUTHOR'S NOTE
[hoseok voice] S O P E E E

here i am, writing about weed again 😔 shotgunning is my KINK low-key?? so uh yeah sorry if it doesn't jingle your jangle but that's my jazz 👌🏻🤙🏻

anyways vmin next chap 👁️👄👁️ n sope are gettin more n more involved hm 🤔 i wonder w h a t t h a t m e a n s ??

i love you all!! thanks so much for reading 😚

— love, jace