Chapter Text
Sometimes Yoongi questioned his choices in life.
At the mere age of eighteen, he left his home in Daegu without sparing a second glance. He ended up living in a crappy apartment in the red light district of Seoul for the first few months, albeit only because the dorms near the art college (which he was supposed to be attending, and the reason why he left Daegu in the first place) were so damn expensive. He had already spent nearly all his expenses on his tuition and for several other supplies that he had to purchase for his classes. If he wanted to eat, then the quality of his living arrangements would have had to be limited.
Thankfully his time in the red light district didn’t last long. His upperclassman, Seokjin, after finding out about his less-than-appealing sleeping quarters, had Yoongi move in with him and his boyfriend, Namjoon; Yoongi knew Kim Namjoon from one of his classes, and as a fellow aspiring rapper, they got along rather well. Yoongi hadn’t wanted to impose, but the two men were surprisingly insistent. It didn’t take long for Yoongi to crack and give in, and soon he was moving into a surprisingly big condominium located in a comfortable little neighbourhood.
Years later, Yoongi finished his courses in the art college; he became a part-time freelance music critic, and, on the side, composed several songs of his own. Collaborations with Namjoon took place frequently—Yoongi had to admit that his best songs were the ones that had Namjoon’s input.
It didn’t take very long for several entertainment agencies to gain interest in both Namjoon and Yoongi. They were sought to be lyric composers (and, by extension, producers) of X Entertainment, particularly for hip-hop groups centred around rapping.
While Namjoon and Yoongi settled into their new-found jobs, Seokjin opened a bar, of all places. When asked about his ambitions, Seokjin would only smile brightly and say, “It’s not just a bar. It’s going to be a place where people can hang out without having to worry about being jumped or pressured. They can enjoy themselves knowing that they’ll be safe.”
The bar that Seokjin made had rules, apparently, which ensured the safety of all customers. Compared to several other bars in the same area, which were gritty and loud and overall an unpleasant place to spend time in, it was much safer and proposed a friendlier atmosphere. Seokjin’s “Chauffer” system also made the place quite popular among the city.
The Chauffer system went like this: If your DD ended up consuming alcoholic substances (really, what was the point in having a DD if they were just going to drink or do drugs anyway?), and if there was no other person available to bring you and your group back home, then one of the Chauffers (obviously sober) would take you and company back, free of charge. The workers obviously had to go through thorough background checks, so there was no need to fret about having to go home with a frisky person.
All Chauffers were handpicked by Seokjin after all, and Seokjin was efficiency personified.
Another useful aspect about Chauffers was that, if you find yourself being peer pressured, you were welcomed to order a “House of Cards Special” at the front counter, which was code for “please take me back home”. Overall, it was a signal of distress, and was naturally used frequently.
There were also Chauffers on guard in various sections of the bar. If a customer appeared to be particularly uncomfortable or anxious, a worker would intervene on their behalf, making up some excuse to take them away and guide them to the back room. Sometimes, if a group was being particularly nosey, a worker would distract them, and by that time the Chauffer and the customer would have already made it to the “Safe Haven”, as Seokjin dubbed it.
Yoongi worked in the bar as a Chauffer on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. The place was understandably packed; Chauffers were definitely a must on these nights. Yoongi had volunteered to be a Chauffer out of some sense of duty to pay Seokjin back; it was Seokjin who had gotten him out of the red light district all those years ago, and through Seokjin, Yoongi properly met Namjoon, his go-to collab partner.
So, sure, he was pretty much juggling four different jobs now (producing for X Entertainment, fulfilling his duty as a freelance music critic, composing his own music under the enigmatic penname SUGA, and helping out Seokjin as a Chauffer), but Yoongi was no pushover. He was good at managing his schedules, and when he was especially busy with his other jobs, Seokjin had no qualms with letting him go for the night.
Having a compassionate boss as your friend certainly had its perks.
It was a Friday night, on the brink of summer, so naturally the place was crammed with people. Yoongi was sitting at a lone table in the far corner of the bar, shrouded by drawling shadows. He had an excellent view of all the occupants in the bar, and he knew that any blind spots would be covered by his fellow Chauffers.
His job was to pretty much people-watch for the next few hours, from 8:00 PM till his shift ended at midnight. Most of his shifts were pretty uneventful, and usually, he spent the time fighting off the desire to go back home and sleep. As a Chauffer, he himself wasn’t allowed to consume alcohol, so he usually nursed a hot cup of black coffee, courtesy of Seokjin.
Even when he was exhausted, even when all he wanted to do was collapse on his bed and bid goodnight to the world, Yoongi took his job very seriously. He’d been to other bars before—he’d seen how nasty people can get after consuming even a pint of alcohol. There’s never been an incident in Seokjin’s bar where someone got kidnapped, drugged, or even worse, raped, and Yoongi would rather not have his hyung’s precious bar’s reputation be tainted due to laziness.
His fellow Chauffers shared the same sentiments, as the rest of them also respected Seokjin a great deal. Seokjin’s motto, “Safety comes first.”, was something that all workers of House of Cards were expected to follow. Ignoring the motto meant to ultimately lose your job.
Yoongi skimmed through the several lines decorating the pages of his notebook, where verses upon verses had been written down for a new song he planned on producing. A long, pale finger tapped the ceramic surface of the coffee mug rhythmically, following the beat forming inside Yoongi’s head. He jotted down a few extra ideas on a couple more lines before his attention was drawn back towards the crowd of regulars and new faces.
It was only natural for Yoongi’s keen eye to notice that something was wrong.
His dark brown eyes narrowed in on what appeared to be a couple a few tables down. Or, at least, they would have been seen as a couple if the younger of the pair didn’t look so uncomfortable.
Even from a distance, Yoongi could tell that the younger was averting his gaze. He was biting his lower lip a lot, and the anxiety he seemed to exude was impossible to ignore. When he did look up at the person he was with (his date, assumingly), it was with distrust and unfamiliarity. The poor kid looked like he desperately wanted to up and bolt out of the bar, but every time he made a move to stand up, his partner would roughly grab his arm and pull him back down.
Yoongi sighed, picking up his notebook and slipping it into his messenger bag. He silently bemoaned the loss of his precious coffee, sparing it one last melancholic glance.
A job was a job.
And just like all of his other jobs, Yoongi excelled.
-
Jungkook silently cursed Jimin. Why on earth had he allowed his friend to sign him up for a dating website?
He knew that the reason why he was in this mess in the first place was because Jimin was worried about his apparent “loneliness”; his hyung seemed to think that it was his job to find the perfect match for Jungkook, and the notion only grew stronger after he started dating Kim Taehyung, an actor from the local theatre. When Jimin finally decided to move in with Taehyung, leaving Jungkook alone in their once-shared apartment complex, the fussing only worsened.
Jungkook, while he did miss Jimin’s company, had easily adapted to the comfortable silence that had befallen his home. ‘I’m fine,’ He’d constantly insist. ‘You don’t need to worry so much about me, hyung.’
The fact that he actually called Jimin hyung meant that he was serious and his friend knew that. But that didn’t stop Jimin from his conquest to find the younger boy’s “true love”, and thus started setting Jungkook up on countless blind dates.
They had all ended in disasters, naturally—if they had been good dates, he wouldn’t be in House of Cards in the first place. Most of his dates had been with colleagues of Jimin, but Jungkook had found it surprisingly difficult to get along with them. Some were too disinterested, some came on too strong, and others were just overall unpleasant. There was always something about them that caused alarms to go off in Jungkook’s head; he knew that he was being picky, but Jungkook was the type to take his relationships very seriously. If he ever wanted to pursue a relationship with someone, he wanted it to be a life-long commitment. He was a bit traditional in that sense, compared to others his age who usually preferred to “screw” their partners and move on without a second glance.
(Jimin had told him that it was called having a ‘one-night stand’, but Jungkook couldn’t stomach the thought of going through with one. He was way too much of romanticist—he sincerely blamed his mother for that.)
Upon seeing Jungkook’s failed dates first-hand, his friend had moved onto the prospect of dating websites. When Jimin had told him that he had written a dating profile for Jungkook, the only thing the nineteen-year-old could do was throw his arms up in exasperation.
‘I’m not desperate, hyung.’ Jungkook had huffed. ‘I have plenty of time to sort out my love life.’
‘You have no love life.’ Jimin had easily shot back. His gaze softened when Jungkook winced. ‘Do it for me then, Jungkookie. I don’t think I could stand the thought of you being all alone while I prance around doing gay shit with Tae-Tae.’
Jungkook had rolled his eyes, but he had caved in. Only to stop Jimin from pestering him all the time.
Evidently he was beginning to regret not being more persistent. He bit his lower lip, grasping his striped red-and-black sweater tightly as he listened to his date drone on and on about his ex, about how he was glad that he’d broken off with the bastard (Yasoo’s words, not his), about how he was too good for him anyways, blah blah blah. The break-up was obviously recent, from how bitter Yasoo was acting—the sheer amount of alcohol he consumed throughout their ‘date’ also said wonders about his mood.
(Jungkook had a feeling that he was some kind of rebound, and he didn’t like the thought. Not one bit. He’s seen the movies, and he knew that the date was going to take a dark turn.)
When Yasoo’s words started to slur, Jungkook found himself getting really nervous. His date was drunk now, and from what he had observed so far, Yasoo was likely going to be a violent drunk. He sunk down in his seat; his earlier attempts to leave proved to be futile, as Yasoo had immediately called him out on it. His wrists were probably going to develop bruises from how tightly Yasoo had grasped them earlier.
He had tried (and failed) to soothe his date's paranoia by saying that he had to to go to the washroom—what he had really wanted to do was sneak to the front counter and order a “House of Cards Special”. The whole reason why the date took place in the House of Cards bar in the first place was because of its so-called ‘safety’ system. Jimin had told him about it, and Jungkook had agreed that it was probably the best place to go to for tinder (blind) dates.
However, he couldn’t go to the front counter to order a House of Cards Special without Yasoo chewing him out and making him feel like a shitty person (oh, and the bruising grip the man had on his wrists really hurt like a bitch). He wasn’t really sure how to catch any of the workers’ attention without looking suspicious either.
“Jungkook!” Yasoo snapped.
Jungkook met the man’s gaze, but immediately flinched under the scathing glare Yasoo shot at him.
“I swear all of you freaking college kids are the exact same. My God, you’re so much like my ex.” Yasoo sneered, and Jungkook found himself involuntarily gulping. “You have the exact same vacant fucking stare, and now that I think about it—” Yasoo reached over the table and grabbed his chin roughly, so that Jungkook was forced to meet his chilling stare. “You have the same eyes; big and round and naïve as—”
Someone suddenly grabbed Yasoo’s wrist, causing the older man to abruptly let go of Jungkook’s (now) aching chin.
“Excuse me, sir.” A smooth, husky, ‘I literally just woke up’ voice drawled. “I believe—” The hold tightened, “—that that’s my boyfriend you’re touching.”
-
Yoongi just about had enough of the man’s mistreatment of the other boy, a college student. He was practically a kid, and the (admittedly beautiful) boy didn’t look much older than eighteen. From what he could deduce, this was a tinder date gone wrong, and the college kid somehow got caught up in the drama. He quite honestly didn’t know how such a thing could even happen; the kid was young and frustratingly pretty. He was certain that the boy didn’t have any trouble attracting the attention of other men and women, so why bother with blind dates?
No matter—the kid wanted out, and it was Yoongi’s job to do something about it.
He stalked right up to the table, and his arm whipped out, grabbing the offender’s wrist. He yanked it away from the younger boy’s chin, which had been starting to turn crimson from the harsh treatment.
“Excuse me, sir.” He said, and while his words seemed polite, his tone was anything but. “I believe—” He punctuated his words by gripping even harder, “—that that’s my boyfriend you’re touching.”
It was a blatant lie, but the asshole didn’t know that.
Pretty Boy (as he started to call him in his head) looked up at him with wide eyes (man he could fucking drown in them), a light hue of red dusting his cheeks. Sudden realization dawned upon the boy’s expression, and Yoongi smirked. The kid must have realized that he was a Chauffer, or that he was here to help him out, at the very least (there were some people out there that didn’t know the full job description of Chauffers, forgetting about the “hiding in the shadows and observing people” part). He slyly winked at the boy, which was signal for ‘play along.’
“Boyfriend?!” The asshole snarled. He turned an accusing glare at the kid. “You went on a date with me while you had a boyfriend?!”
The kid winced. “My friend made the dating profile for me.” He said meekly, and Yoongi ate up the information, already twisting it into a tall tale without missing a beat. The kid didn’t look like he could lie to save his life, so he would evidently have to pick up the weight.
“His friend thought it would be funny to sign him up for a dating website,” Yoongi said smoothly. “It was that same friend that set you and my boyfriend up in the first place; he didn’t want to cancel on you ‘cause the kid’s a fucking angel and would feel bad about leaving you hanging, so I let him go as a one-time thing.” He let go of the asshole's wrist, instead crossing his arms in an ‘I’m very pissed.’ manner. He gestured towards the table he had been previously occupying. “I’ve been sitting there the entire time, making sure that you wouldn’t try anything funny on my boyfriend. I thought you’d be more considerate since this is a tinder date—you’re expected to be fucking polite—and yet I see you touching him like you owned him or some shit.”
Yoongi did his best to darken his voice so that he would look and sound every bit of the overprotective and possessive boyfriend he was at that very moment.
“Look, man.” The asshole seemed to shrink back (what a fucking wuss) at his dark gaze, a far cry from the high and mighty attitude he portrayed towards Pretty Boy. “I didn’t know he was taken; can you blame me? Unless you’ve forgotten, the kid—” He jabbed his finger in the boy’s direction, “—was on a date with me.”
“That still gives you no fucking right to touch him like that.” Yoongi snapped back. He turned towards the college kid, softening his gaze. Yoongi interlaced their fingers together, helping the taller boy off of his seat.
“Let’s go, babe.” Yoongi said, and didn’t miss the pretty hue of pink that arose on the other boy’s face. Damn, was he cute.
(Yoongi could practically hear Namjoon calling him a cradle-robber. Damn it, he was just doing his job.)
Yoongi sent one last warning glare to the offender (—‘If you make even a peep I will throw you out of this bar.’—), directing the boy through the sea of sweaty bodies. With Yoongi’s aid, they quickly made it to the back room; the infamous “Safe Haven”.
“Thank you!” The cute boy blurted out once Yoongi closed the door behind them. When the (dyed) platinum blond man turned around, he was startled to see how the college kid was bowing.
“Hey, knock that off,” Yoongi said, a tad bit flustered. He scratched the back of his head. “I was just doing my job.”
“Still!” Dear Lord, the kid had bunny teeth. Fucking hell.
The boy smiled indulgently. “You really helped me out there, sir—I don’t think I’ve ever been on a tinder date as bad as that one; I really wanted to leave.”
“Yoongi.” He found himself saying. The twenty-four-year-old cleared his throat. “I’m Min Yoongi. Call me hyung, if you want; I don’t really care.”
The kid smiled brightly. He was blinding. “I’m Jeon Jungguk, but please call me Jungkook. Jungkookie, Kookie, or Kook is fine too.” The boy bowed a little again, and then the bunny teeth were back.
At full force.
“Jungkook, then.” Yoongi complied, averting his gaze from the stupidly cute sight. He whipped his phone from his pocket and checked the time; 11:17 PM. “Do you have anybody that can take you home, kid? It’s not safe to walk in the night this late.”
Jungkook pouted. “I’m not a kid. I’m nineteen.” He said, petulantly. Then he frowned, small lips pulling down. “I live alone, and Jimin-hyung is out on a date with his boyfriend. It’s their first year anniversary, so I really don’t want to disturb him. Hoseok-hyung is out of the country for a dance competition, and my family doesn’t live here in Seoul, either.”
Yoongi pursed his lips. “As a Chauffer, it’s my job to take you home, then.” He stared into Jungkook’s smouldering brown eyes. “Are you okay with that? I can just call a cab if you would like.”
Jungkook shuddered. “Uh, no cabs please, si—hyung.” He quickly corrected himself.
Yoongi nodded in understanding. Jungkook didn’t seem to do well around strangers (he absently wondered why the boy’s friend would even think that blind dates were a good idea, especially for someone as reserved as Jungkook seemed to be), and the night must have made him a bit jittery.
The cute boy smiled disarmingly, shyly. He was subconsciously picking at the material of his oversized sweater. “I also think that I trust you more, hyung, than some random cab driver.”
Yoongi tried to pretend that Jungkook’s words didn’t make him feel strangely warm on the inside.
Naturally, he failed miserably.
-
Jungkook thanked the stars for the existence of Min Yoongi.
He knew that it was the man’s job to help people with the whole “tinder-dates-gone-wrong” scenario, but that didn’t make Jungkook any less thankful. If a firefighter saved you from a burning building, you would thank them too, because, well, you could have died otherwise. Jungkook knew that his situation wasn’t as drastic, but the meaning was all the same.
Jungkook came into the bar semi-aware of the Chauffer system—he knew about the House of Cards Special, what it truly meant (through Jimin), but he wasn’t aware that Chauffers would personally intervene on the behalf of their customers. Perhaps it was better that not many people knew about that part of the job description; it meant that Chauffers could blend in with the crowd easier.
“The Chauffer system,” Jungkook started, once they were seated in Yoongi’s car, “It’s ingenious. Who thought of it?”
Yoongi paused from typing Jungkook’s address (which the latter had written on a piece of paper) into his GPS. “My friend,” Yoongi admitted. “The owner of the bar, Seokjin. He opened up House of Cards several months back, and had thought of the Chauffer system long before.” (It was after hearing an incident on the news about some local bar—something about it being linked to human trafficking. Seokjin had been absolutely disgusted, so much that he’d literally stopped in the process of making dinner, knife clattering on the cutting board as he contemplated the horrors of humanity.)
“What about you, hmm?” Yoongi’s eyes were plastered on the road, but he could see Jungkook’s confused expression from his peripheral vision. “That date of yours,” He clarified. “It didn’t seem like you knew him at all. I assumed that he was a tinder date gone wrong.”
“You heard me back there.” Jungkook sighed. “My friend didn’t want me to be perpetually lonely, so he signed me up for a dating website after the dates he forced me to go on with his colleagues didn’t work out.”
Yoongi snorted. He mumbled something indecipherable under his breath. “What’s the rush, kid? You said it yourself; you’re nineteen. Plenty of time to sort things out.”
Jungkook huffed. “That’s what I said, but Jimin was insistent.” He shook his head, looking down at the pale, limp hands on his lap. “I—he means well. I don’t talk to that many people other than him, his boyfriend Taehyung, and Hoseok-hyung, and I’ve only met Hoseok-hyung recently.”
“The fewer friends, the fewer complications,” Yoongi said sagely. He honked at a vehicle that was being particularly slow and switched lanes when the vehicle persisted to dawdle. “Do you like solitude?”
“…I do.” Jungkook said, quietly. “I mean, people—they, well. They make me nervous.”
“What about me, then?” Sharp brown eyes pinned Jungkook to his leather seat. He found himself involuntarily gulping at the intense gaze, “Shouldn’t I make you nervous, too? We met only a half hour ago.”
“I should.” Jungkook murmured, a bit meekly. ‘be nervous’ was left unsaid. “But I’m not.” His voice was barely a whisper, not meant to be heard, but Jungkook had a feeling that his companion heard him anyway.
They fell into comfortable silence after that, Jungkook resisting the urge to look into Yoongi’s smouldering, all-seeing gaze.
He didn’t notice Yoongi sneaking occasional glances at him throughout the rest of the ride.
-
“This is your stop, kid.” Yoongi announced as he parked in front of a small apartment complex. It couldn’t have been higher than ten floors, but Yoongi could tell that each of the rooms were rather large, comfortable for nice little families to live in as opposed to piss-poor, rowdy college students.
The place, well-worn and warm, oddly suited Jungkook’s aesthetic.
“I’m Jungkook, not kid, hyung.” Jungkook said pointedly as he opened the passenger door. He greedily inhaled the fresh air, glad that it lacked any hint of tobacco content.
“I consider anyone younger than me kids.” Yoongi huffed. He massaged his aching shoulder. He’d injured it a couple months back, and it was still giving him problems. “I already feel ten years older than I already am.”
A cheeky smile. “So, you’re what then, forty?”
“Shut it, brat.”
Jungkook released a hearty, cute little laugh, and Yoongi had to remind himself to breathe because damn it the kid is fucking adorable.
“How old, then?” Jungkook asked, all sing-song like. He was clearly enjoying their little banter. “Twenty-something, right?”
“Twenty-four. I’ll be twenty-five in March.”
“Not as young as I expected.” Jungkook mused, and dodged a lollipop that was aimed at his head.
“Try not to dig your own grave, kid.” Yoongi popped another loli in his mouth—a habit he got into ever since he gave up smoking for good a couple years ago. “Be glad it was a lollipop—I heard my aim is pretty damn good.”
Jungkook's face lit up—Yoongi was surprised he didn't pout, nearly pelted by a hard piece of candy after all. His eyes glinted, blindingly bright, as though he had discovered the cure to cancer. “If your aim’s so good, and a zombie apocalypse breaks out, you should use a crossbow, hyung.”
An eyebrow lifted. A zombie apocalypse? Kid was probably watching way too many American dramas. “Like Daryl Dixon?”
Jungkook nodded affirmatively, faking a solemn expression. It confirmed his suspicions. “Like Daryl Dixon.”
“I don’t think I could ever have Mr. Dixon’s killer arms.” Yoongi drawled, glancing down at his own arms, which were still rather impressive in their own right, as slight as they appeared to be at first glance. He wasn’t able to stop Jungkook’s asshole of a date with the strength of a baby, he mused idly.
“I suppose not.” Jungkook went along with him, teasingly. “We have gyms for a reason.”
“I prefer doing something more productive.”
It was Jungkook’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”
Yoongi looked him dead in the eye, serious. “Sleeping.”
“Oh my God, hyung, you’re so lazy.”
“Brat, I have four jobs, I am hardly lazy.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened. His body moved on its own, and soon Jungkook was leaning awfully close to Yoongi’s face. “Four jobs?!”
Yoongi’s heart stuttered at the close proximity—he promptly told it to shut up. “You already know one of them—I’m a Chauffer. Aside from that, I’m a songwriter for X Entertainment, a music critic, and I compose my own songs on the side.” Damn, this was the most Yoongi’s ever talked about himself since, well, since forever.
The awed expression that Jungkook bore was completely worth breaking his self-talk quota.
“You’re joking.”
“Brat, do I look like the type to joke about something like this?”
“Um…”
Yoongi sighed, exasperated. “My sense of humour can’t be that dry.”
Jungkook grinned cheekily, pink-cheeked and far too cute for someone his age, “It’s as dry as the Sahara.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. He yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Get your ass back to your apartment and sleep or something—you’re suffocating me with your bullshit.”
Jungkook laughed (his endearing giggles were going to be the death of him, Yoongi thought wryly). “Okay, okay hyung.” The younger male climbed out of the vehicle. Yoongi felt strangely hollow—the hell. “Bye then, hyung! Have a good night!”
Yoongi stubbornly shoved down the small voice in his head that pleaded for him to not let Jungkook walk away; he was the one who told the boy to go back home in the first place.
Half-heartedly, and with a gravelly tone, he responded, “See you, kid.”
Jungkook flashed him one last smile, and disappeared into the night, ducking into the safety of the warm little apartment complex that probably housed all kinds of sickeningly adorable families.
Yoongi quenched down the seed of disappointment that planted itself in his stomach and drove out of the neighbourhood.
-
Hours later, it was 3:00 in the morning. Jungkook was still wide-awake, staring up at the ceiling from his twin-sized bed.
He couldn’t believe it. He managed to hold a decent (more than decent) conversation with a really attractive guy—he’s never talked to anyone other than Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok with the same amount of ease.
This Min Yoongi was proving to be one of the few special exceptions.
The guy was quite a few years older than him, and in spite of Jungkook’s teasing (he legitimately teased the man; he’s still reeling from the shock), Yoongi didn’t look a day over twenty.
His lethargic yet purposeful demeanour, however—
Even though Yoongi was physically shorter than him, Jungkook felt that it was the opposite, that Yoongi towered over him. The man bore an air of confidence around him that screamed authority. He walked with certainty, knuckles rough and looking like they could pack a mean punch—Jungkook could understand why Yasoo had been so intimidated by him. He was witty and blunt, unafraid to tell the world his opinion, even if he was in the minority. Even if the whole world was against him.
It was hard not to admire Min Yoongi in all his glory.
And, dear God, his voice; husky, gravelly, passionate yet unfeeling. Hot and cold. Jungkook felt his face flush as he remembered hearing Yoongi’s first words.
‘Excuse me, sir. I believe that that’s my boyfriend you’re touching.’
Jungkook buried his face into a fluffy white pillow, whining. Crimson crawled up his neck and lathered his face.
Min Yoongi was going to be the death of him. He could see it on his gravestone now: DEATH BY MIN YOONGI’S GLORIOUS VOCAL CORDS. Jimin would laugh in his funeral, and Jungkook’s ghost would be helplessly watching, thoroughly embarrassed and wanting nothing more than for the ground to consume him—his physical body would end up there anyway, unless, for what ever reason, he was cremated.
Then again, Jimin could always scatter his ashes over a cliff. He kind of felt like jumping off one now, stupid feelings and all.
Ultimately, Jungkook didn’t get much sleep that night, haunted by low tones and the scent of coffee.
-
Yoongi grumbled pitifully as he stumbled into the kitchen. His sweatpants were hanging off his waist, revealing his rumpled black boxers underneath, and his oversized white tee was so wrinkled that if his mother had ever caught wind of the shirt, she would iron it 'till it burst into flames. At least then there would be no wrinkles, his mother would probably say, the cheeky woman.
Seokjin placed a plate of pancakes—western-styled breakfast—in front of him; Yoongi eyed the fork and knife that was laid out with them. He hadn’t used those in a while.
“Had a rough night?” The older male asked, preparing another plate for Namjoon. Seokjin’s boyfriend had yet to make an appearance at the table.
Yoongi mumbled incoherently, but Seokjin was fluent in Yoongi-talk. He understood the younger male loud and clear.
“You had to take a customer home. I see.” Seokjin sighed. He was glad that his Chauffer system was being put into good use, but he was generally upset with the actions that had caused such a precaution to be put up in the first place. “Are they alright?”
“Mmm.”
“Did they live far away?”
Yoongi rubbed his temples. “I’d say it’s a fifteen-minute drive from the bar. You’re asking too many damn questions.”
Seokjin chuckled. “Of course, of course. Forgive me.”
They fell into comfortable silence, eating their breakfast at a slow pace. Seokjin didn’t need to set up at the bar ‘till late afternoon and Yoongi worked at home most of the time. X Entertainment didn’t need him to come every day—once a week, maybe, and that was to present the new songs he composed for recently debuted k-pop groups. Most of his songs became rather popular in the music industry and were purchased by several other entertainment companies. He composed most of these songs in his personal studio (which was really just a humble little room linked to his bedroom, soundproofed and containing all kinds of expensive mixing equipment/instruments), and rarely left his studio unless he had to show up for his other jobs.
Some could say that Yoongi was a bit anti-social. Yoongi would simply insist that he was just a workaholic.
“Mornin’ guys.” Namjoon mumbled as he walked through the doorway. Yoongi grunted, unfazed as the taller man walked over to Seokjin and kissed him chastely on the lips. He was far too used to their show of affection and a tiny, tiny part of him thought that they were cute.
(He squashed that part just as well as the cockroach that dared to invade his studio the other day.)
Namjoon looked at the bruise-like circles hanging underneath Yoongi’s dark eyes. “Did you pull off another all-nighter?”
“Some kid got harassed during my shift, so I brought him back home.” Yoongi explained, shoving another slice of pancake into his mouth. “He didn’t live that far, but there was traffic on the way back. I didn’t get back home ‘till 1:00, and I still had a song I needed to finish up for work.” His low voice trailed off, dissolving into mutters. “I was in one of those moods.”
Namjoon nodded. He gave his companions a melancholic look—at Seokjin's steady presence and Yoongi's stubborn bedhead—and said, “We seriously don't get to see each other as much as we did back in our college days.”
Yoongi and Seokjin nodded in agreement—well, Seokjin nodded. Yoongi just grunted again.
As strange as it was to admit—even though Seokjin, Namjoon, and Yoongi lived in the same suite—they rarely got to see each other, more so in Yoongi’s case than the others. Yoongi only clambered out of his room and studio for meals (which Seokjin would prepare in Tupperware and leave in the fridge), and Namjoon was usually busy all day with work for X Entertainment. Unlike Yoongi, the other man didn’t have a studio located in their home, so he used equipment that the company lent to him.
In Seokjin’s case, he couldn’t leave House of Cards until 3:00 AM; it was a night bar, after all. He would lock up the club and come back home, fall dead asleep for the next few hours, and then wake up at 7:00 to make breakfast. Promptly after that, Seokjin would be in his room, fast asleep.
After Seokjin patted his boyfriend’s cheek consolingly—“We can all spend time this Sunday; we’ve always got time to ourselves on Sundays,” the older man said comfortingly—Seokjin’s gaze was soon drawn back to the dark circles under his friends eyes, as his boyfriend had brought it back to his attention earlier. “Yoon, you’re already so busy with your other jobs. You really don’t need to work for me as a Chauffer.”
“It’s fine, hyung.” Yoongi sighed in exasperation. He’d rather eat his shoe than admit he was returning Seokjin’s kindness from all those years ago—Namjoon would tease him endlessly about it, and Seokjin would get more fussy than usual, for reasons that Yoongi could never understand, “Are you saying I can’t handle it?”
Seokjin frowned, but decided not to push his friend any further. He tucked into his food. “If you say so.”
They ate in silence for the next few minutes until, naturally, Namjoon broke it.
“There’s this new guy that’s gonna work at X Entertainment soon,” He said. “He’ll be a dance coach for those rookie groups; apparently he was an underground dancer, and I heard he’s a pretty damn good rapper too.”
“What’s his name?” Yoongi asked, only mildly interested. He was rarely waltzing the halls of X Entertainment anyways; it wasn’t like he was going to talk to the guy on a daily basis.
“His stage name is J-Hope, but I think his real name is Hoseok. Jung Hoseok.”
Yoongi paused from his bite. Familiar.
“He’s bringing his protégé along with him—a Jeon Jungkook, or something.”
Yoongi’s fork clattered on his plate.
What a small world.