Chapter Text
The first time they meet, the sky is a grey so light it might be called white and the wind curls around the tall building with the howl of a thousand wolves. The day is washed of colour, appropriate perhaps, considering the bleakness of the events that came and were yet to come.
It doesn’t matter that abstract paintings with colours as bright as those of a parrot try to bring some life to a building made of colourless steel and glass. It doesn’t matter that some of the office workers wear red and blue blouses and lightless smiles in an effort to make the day look less dreary, less bleak. There is still little colour to find in the throngs of people with bags under their eyes and piles of paperwork higher than the length of one’s arm.
There is little to distinguish this day from others. Yoongi’s hair might be a little more ruffled from the whipping wind, his coat just a little more damp from the misty rain, but he is still standing in the office surrounded by the sounds of clacking keyboards and clicking heels, and there is nothing different from yesterday or tomorrow or even last year, except for the turning of the seasons.
He’s wearing a mask, that might be different from tomorrow. A black one, to look different from yesterday, when the white mask had washed out all the colour from his face despite the blue of the sky and the red of his shirt. He’s colourless today, black mask, black slacks, white shirt. As if to match his mood.
He walks into the elevator, pressed between a lady wearing a red blouse and lipstick and a man in a light blue shirt. Under the harsh light, the colours look false, faintly grey. There is also the smell, that fills his nose despite the mask, floral from the lady, sweaty from the man and chemical from whatever cleaning product they use in office buildings as bleak as this one. Bleach maybe?
As soon as the elevator reaches his floor, he presses in between the bodies, feeling their skin rub against his in the most unpleasant way, until he is finally free – or imprisoned maybe – by the large office space, dozens of cubicles reaching from window to window, swathed in white light from a sky devoid of colour. He makes his way through, ignores the greetings and the calls of his name. It’s only when he is safely inside the space of his own office, separated from the cubicles and the fake smiles by a thick wall and a wooden door everyone knows not to knock on, that he lets the breath spill from between his lips. This is just a breather. Just a minute or two to look from the floor to ceiling window that overlooks the city, grey and white and some hints of black, and try to retake control of his facial muscles so he can smile even though all he wants to do is frown.
He opens the door, hands now free from his bag, and offers a smile at his secretary, at the person who was talking to her at her desk. He needs coffee and he didn’t have time to get some from a shop. The breakroom coffee will have to do. It’s the caffeine that matters, not the taste.
And it’s in that moment, the moment he walks around his secretary’s desk, eyes fixed on the door to the breakroom, that he sees him. There’s a man – only just grown out of boyhood – slumped on one of the uncomfortable plastic seats lining the wall next to the other office. His hair is chocolate brown and wavy, framing a delicate face that’s both soft and angular in a way that reminds Yoongi of fireworks. It’s the roundness of his nose, the swell of his cheeks, the size of the man’s wide eyes, and it’s the sharpness of his jawline, the curve of his lip, the darkness of his eyebrows. He’s wearing torn jeans and a loose white shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and drapes over a narrow waist. There’s bruised skin peaking through the holes in his jeans, where thick thighs strain the fabric. The man has his arms crossed in front of his chest, his legs strewn out in front of him and a sullen pout on his lips.
He does not belong in a space so devoid of life that even pouts are considered an excessive display of emotion.
‘Excuse me,’ Yoongi says, coming to a stop in front of this stranger, this boy in a place of adults, this dreamer in the place of the dreamless. ‘What are you waiting for?’
His own voice is gruff, not yet used today beyond an early morning shout as he had stubbed his toe. He should’ve spoken softer, in a tone more fit to talk to someone who looks as of yet untouched by the air of this building that has the capacity to suck out any remnants of life and energy.
‘Oh, just my hyung,’ the boy says, with eyes as large as those of a cartoon deer, pout still puffing up his cheeks. ‘He’s in the office there. I’m just waiting for him to come out.’
Yoongi’s eyes follow the finger pointed in the direction of the closed door that hides the office of the CEO of the company. Who is this boy’s hyung then, to be able to knock on that door and be let in?
The sound of rolling wheels makes Yoongi’s stare snap down, to where the boy is pushing a skateboard around underneath his feet. The little plastic wheels whine on the linoleum floor, a sound only just barely drowned out by someone’s affronted shout from the cubicle farm.
‘Is he going to be much longer then?’ Yoongi asks, looking up at the boy’s face again.
The boy shrugs, hands deep in his pockets now and biting his lip with his teeth. He looks vaguely like a bunny. Yoongi wonders if his hair is soft.
‘Probably an hour or so.’ The boy turns his wide eyes up at Yoongi, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. ‘Do you have anything interesting for me to do? I’m bored.’
At the same time, they turn to overlook the veritable sea of cubicles, white and black and grey with the occasional splash of colour dulled by the whiteness of the sky outside the windows. At the same time, they turn back to look at each other, both of their lips pressed into a thin line to hide the smile that wants to curl their corners in amusement.
‘Not really no,’ Yoongi answers.
The boy lets out a little chuckle, shoulders shaking just the slightest bit.
‘Yeah, I guessed.’ Another quick dart of deer-like eyes before the boy slumps even further, his stomper boot hitting Yoongi’s polished shoe. ‘Man, I’m going to be so bored,’ the boy whines.
Yoongi snorts disbelievingly.
‘Aren’t people your age supposed to always be on their phones? Don’t you have friends to chat with, cat video’s to look at?’
The boy laughs, clear and happy like the first rays of sunshine peaking through still-drawn blinds on a weekend morning. Some office-workers from the sea of cubicles look over, curious at a sound Yoongi would be surprised had ever been heard before in this entire building. There isn’t really the time to laugh in here.
‘I’ll have you know,’ the boy starts, leaning forward until Yoongi can see the mole underneath his lip. He whispers loudly, conspiratorially. As if he’s letting Yoongi in on some kind of private joke. Yoongi hasn’t been in on any kind of joke in a long time. ‘… that hyung took my phone. Do you really think I’d be here if I didn’t want to?’
‘Ah, the worst punishment,’ Yoongi responds, voice and face deadpan, ‘to be disconnected to the internet.’
‘Well, he has disconnected my Wi-Fi once, but joke’s on him ‘cause I just stole my neighbour’s.’
‘Why’d he even take your phone away?’ Yoongi asks, faintly perplexed by not only the fact that this buff boy let another human being steal his phone but also by the fact that he’s talking to another human being and… having fun?
The mischievous glint is back in his eyes, a satisfied grin bunching up his cheeks.
‘Ah, that’s because I got into his phone and changed his ringtone to porn sounds.’
The laugh that spills over Yoongi’s lips is unexpected and unbidden and it feels unfamiliar. It’s a laugh mixed with a snort and he embarrassingly chokes on his own spit, but even his hacking cough doesn’t keep him from letting out a few more breathy laughs.
‘Woah, you okay there, grandpa?’ the boy asks, still looking smug and as bright as fireworks in the night.
Yoongi responds as soon as he gets his breath back under control.
‘I’m not that old,’ he says, going for a grumble, but missing the mark by approximately ten miles. He just sounds fond. He shouldn’t sound fond. ‘Here,’ he says, offering the boy a crumpled bill from his pocket. ‘Go get me an americano from the café downstairs and I’ll let you use a tablet in my office.’
The boy gets up and immediately bows ninety degrees, accepting the bill with two hands. It’s ridiculous and it’s sweet and Yoongi can only smile as the boy hurries towards the elevator, skateboard under his arm and yelling too loudly that he’ll be back before Yoongi can even blink.
There are people staring, and Yoongi knows he should care. He doesn’t. He offers them a smile and small wave before turning back towards his office, where the white light from the white sky leaches all colour from everything and stares at black letters on white paper until a fiery boy knocks on his door.
The smell of coffee is invigorating, as is the sight of curly brown hair and the skateboard tucked under the boy’s arm.
‘You promised to free me from my cruel phone-less prison,’ the boy says, bouncing on his feet as his eyes rove over the office. ‘Nice view.’
‘Thank you. The tablet is over there.’
There’s a few moments of silence as the boy sits down with the tablet in his hands, only the soft rattle of skateboard wheels as he swings his legs from side to side.
‘Say, mister, what’s your name?’ the boy suddenly asks, eyes not leaving his screen. His fingers are moving quickly, blue-ish light casting sharp shadows on his face. His eyes appear orange, when the light hits them like this.
‘Yoongi,’ Yoongi answers without thinking. ‘Min Yoongi.’
The boy nods, a miniscule tilt of his head as his fingers move over his screen again. There are black letters waiting for Yoongi to read, but the sight of this boy is more interesting by far.
‘Min Yoongi,’ the boy says, ‘born on March 9th, 1993. CFO of J Enterprise. Graduated from….’
‘Did you just type in my name on Google?’
The boy hums distractedly.
‘Oh, is that your dog? Why do you keep glaring at the cameras?’
Yoongi lets out a sigh.
‘I’m not glaring,’ he grumbles. ‘That’s just how I look.’
The boy looks up, staring Yoongi straight in the eye. Then looks back down again at his screen.
‘No, you’re definitely glaring.’
‘I’m not!’ Yoongi complains, the faintest edge of a whine in his voice. Blood rushes to his cheeks. He immediately looks down at his papers and tries to ignore the sound of the faintest chuckle.
‘I’m Jeongguk,’ the boy says. ‘Jeon Jeongguk, in case you wanted to know.’
Yoongi wants to be petty, wants to reach for his laptop and Google his name. He doesn’t. Instead, he sniffs disdainfully and takes a large gulp of coffee before bending over the endless pile of paper and the endless rows of black letters and numbers. He slips his glasses onto his nose and takes a red pen between his fingers, ready to bear down and start a long, miserable day.
‘Damn, you look like a hot professor.’
Yoongi startles, head snapping up to look at the red cheeked, flustered boy squirming on the black leather couch. His own cheeks heat up at the sight. What is he supposed to say?
‘Thank you?’
Jeongguk blushes even harder. He looks cute, the pink of his cheeks glaringly obvious in the otherwise white and black office.
‘Just ignore me,’ he says, so visibly embarrassed. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘It’s okay,’ Yoongi shrugs. ‘I don’t mind.’ The blush is still there on the boy’s cheeks, but he looks slightly less flustered. The boy nods once, vigorously, and determinedly fixed his eyes on the screen, apparently set on ignoring Yoongi for the time being.
It’s at least fifteen minutes later that Yoongi breaks the silence. His mind is a hurricane of numbers and he is already bored. Had he known this was what his life would’ve looked like when he decided to go with the safe choice, he might have just gone against his parents’ wishes and focused on his music instead.
‘What’s your hyung doing here anyway?’
The boy looks up from his tablet, the screen goes dark.
‘Oh, I think he was talking about a merger of some sort? I’m not too sure. Might also just have been a friendly talk. Hyung doesn’t really tell me why he does things.’
Yoongi chokes on his own spit.
‘Right… who’s your hyung again?’
‘I never told you,’ Jeongguk answers slyly, slumping down a bit and smiling wickedly. ‘But it’s Kim Seokjin.’
Yoongi has Kim Seokjin’s friend in his office… oh, the number of people that would kill him for this opportunity. The opportunity to get information about one of the most successful business leaders in the world. But the boy looks slightly wary behind the smug façade. There’s a tightness to his shoulders that wasn’t there before.
‘And he just lugs you around to meetings? Don’t you get bored?’ Yoongi asks, looking at him incredulously. The boy groans loudly in response.
‘Don’t remind me. And nah, he doesn’t usually do this, I just beat him at Mario Kart yesterday and he’s taking his revenge. His ego bruises easily.’
Yoongi would not say that Kim Seokjin’s ego bruises easily. He’s seen the man at galas before, easily brushing off thinly veiled insults and threats. That was the smile of a man one hundred percent sure of himself.
Still, Yoongi hums in understanding.
‘Tall men are like that.’
Jeongguk immediately bursts out laughing. The sound echoes against the white walls, the whitened window. And somehow shatters the bleakness they hold, making them bright and shiny instead.
‘Are you calling yourself short, hyung?’ There’s the mischievous twinkle in his eyes again.
Yoongi grumbles about himself being normal-sized, he’s just not a giant like say, Kim Seokjin.
Jeongguk only smiles fondly. Yoongi’s heart skips a beat at the sight, the warmth that blooms in his chest. It’s nice to receive real smiles again.
They’re rudely interrupted by a loud knock on the door and a booming voice that Yoongi recognizes from interviews and galas. He straightens up, hands reaching for a tie he had opted not to wear this morning, only to still every movement as he realizes he’s doing it. He drops his hands and tries not to feel self-conscious. He’s never actually talked to Kim Seokjin. He’s not at that level, will never be at that level.
‘Come in,’ he calls and thanks everything above the clouds that his voice doesn’t crack or waver.
The door opens without a creak, but the man’s entrance is anything but silent. He enters with a loud yell of Jeongguk’s name and loud thumps of his shoes on the creaking linoleum floor. The door bashes against the wall, thrown open with too much force.
‘I thought you’d escaped!’ Kim Seokjin exclaims, coming to a stop in front of where Jeongguk is seated, hands lodged on his hip in a parody of an angry older sister. ‘I even called your phone, but you didn’t answer!’
‘Because you have my phone,’ Jeongguk answers rather petulantly. ‘Also, I should’ve escaped! I was bored to death! You wouldn’t want to drag around my lifeless corpse now would you, hyung?’ Jeongguk’s hands are clasped in Kim Seokjin’s shirt, the picture of a bratty child. The warmth leaks from Yoongi’s chest, replaced by freezing wind as he looks at the play taking place right in front of him.
There’s something inherently unpleasant about being so blatantly ignored. That must be it. It doesn’t have anything to do with longing and jealousy. He’s fine on this side of the colourless room, far from where lively energy is colouring the white around them orange.
‘Let’s go,’ Kim Seokjin finally decides and takes a first stride in the direction of the door. He freezes, stops, and turns towards Yoongi. ‘Thank you for taking care of my troublesome dongsaeng…’ a quick glance at the name displayed on Yoongi’s desk, ‘Min-ssi. I appreciate it.’
Jeongguk follows Kim Seokjin out of the room with a little wave of his hand, skateboard tucked underneath his arm.
‘Bye bye hyung! I’ll talk to you later!’
Yoongi waves back, slightly puzzled. How would they ever talk again?
The door closes with a decisive click and the silence crashes upon him in an overwhelming wave. The white of the walls and the sky outside the window is suffocating. Every breath makes his lungs heave, every movement takes more energy than that generated by the sun.
A deep breath, another and a third. Until the walls are solid again, the silence less deafening.
A one-time thing, he tells himself. It doesn’t matter that he hadn’t felt this alive in years. It was a one-time thing and it’s over.
He takes his pen back between his fingers and bows over his papers.
The black numbers feel both like the best kind of comfort and the worst kind of noose.
By the time he enters the building again the following morning, the whole moment feels like a dream and Jeongguk like a fantasy. Yoongi keeps thinking about it, though. When stuck in the elevator, eyes sore and head aching, and even when affronted by a man’s truly hideous vomit-green shirt. He compares the secretary’s smile to his and he can’t help but look over at the empty plastic chair he’d found Jeongguk on.
It’s when he opens the door to his office that even his fake smile drops off his face. The sky is still that colourless white, nibbling at the top of the skyscrapers and hiding the streets from view. Thick roiling mist that had plastered his hair wetly against his forehead, and the cold of a windless morning freezing his fingers. The lack of colour has never felt so painful.
He feels blind. Only white and grey and black, even the last appearing muted. There’s nothing to see, all lines blurred with glass edges until he’s not sure he’s even standing upright anymore. How wide are the walls? Are they closing in on him or extending forever? Where’s the floor? Will he fall down dozens of floors if he sets another step or will he sink into it like colourless mud?
He wants to sink to his knees and hug his chest, just to feel tangible and real. He’s too much of a ghost, floating through the days with fake smiles, fake words, each the same and never-ending. Tomorrow, today or yesterday. All the same. Like someone stuck in the same twenty-four hours again and again.
A bright flash of orange catches his eye just before his knees give out. The tiniest flutter of orange paper on his black couch, caused by the slightest current of air coming through the door he’s still holding open. He holds onto that, onto that single tangible colour. One step after another, the floor jarringly solid underneath his feet.
The tablet on the couch, where Jeongguk had been not even twenty-four hours earlier. And an orange sticky-note stuck to its surface. He sits down on the couch and for a few moments he fears that he’ll sink through it, get swallowed by dark leather until he can’t breathe anymore. Then, he’s entirely seated and the couch feels unmoving, solid, the orange sticky-note sticking to his thumb and eyes slowly trailing over the black numbers, black letters, black little drawing.
A phone number and…
Text me, hyung! I feel like we could be friends!
And a small cartoon bunny.
The breath that leaves his lungs feels like relief.
He types the number into his phone slowly, meticulously, checking every number once, twice, thrice. The cursor blinks on the case asking for a name.
Jeongguk, he types, letter for letter. The name reads like something else, like friends, like freedom, like warmth in his chest, like laughs and smiles and jokes and life, like a bonfire in the mist.
Hey, he sends. This is Yoongi.
Should he? Should he not?
Have you gotten your phone back yet?
A few minutes where he doesn’t move, the screen of his phone going black. For a moment, the white almost drowns him again, but the orange of the sticky note stuck to his pants pulls him out of it the again. The bunny looks at him, happy and smiling and overwhelmingly cute even if only drawn with pen.
His screen flashes on again.
1 message from Jeongguk
His fingers have never moved faster to unlock his phone, until the letters blink up at him, black on white and yet tinged with orange.
I have! Although I’m sending you this through my neighbour’s wifi again…
The sky is now a dark grey instead of white, the blackness of night and pinpricks of light hidden behind a thick cover of clouds. The light from the streetlights spills onto rain-darkened streets, the glass windowfronts of shops coloured red and green and yellow from the traffic lights and passing cars.
It’s been a while since Yoongi stayed at work until the streets were virtually empty, even the roads unclogged from regular traffic. It’s been a while since he hasn’t tried to finish work as fast as he could, to escape the lifeless building as quickly as possible. It’s been a while since he’s smiled and laughed and his fingers felt warm, and now his cheeks ache and yet he’s still smiling.
Jeongguk had sent a last goodbye over five hours ago and left Yoongi with a pile of unfinished work. He’d been too distracted by the cute and funny tales Jeongguk had told him. He now had pictures of a dog on his phone. The only dog picture he used to have was that single one of Holly that he’d been to weak to delete once the little poodle had passed away. There’s now a little Pomeranian filling his camera roll belonging to Jeongguk’s friend and roommate.
He doesn’t mind the cold now, as he walks home with a spring in his step. He doesn’t mind walking, prefers it to the crowded public transport. He doesn’t mind the wind pulling at his hair and jacket, or even the smell of wet asphalt and car exhausts.
And even when he’s finally home, he doesn’t mind the silence that greets him or the lack of the smell of food. No, instead he throws himself down onto his bed and muffles his delighted giggles. He doesn’t feel tired, not at all. He wants to jump and dance and talk for hours, because he made a friend.
‘Why exactly are we taking a walk when it’s about to rain any second?’ he grumbles, burrowing his face further into his scarf. His fists are shoved into his pockets to protect his fingers from the biting cold and to resist the urge to grab Jeongguk’s coat to pull him back onto the path and away from the pond. He’s going to fall into it, just you see.
‘Because this is the only time we’re both free and I’m broke and I don’t want to be stuck inside,’ Jeongguk tells him, counting off the reasons on his fingers. He’s hopping now. And if he slips, he’ll not only hurt himself, but also fall into freezing cold water and Yoongi’s hand is out of his pocket and tugging at Jeongguk’s coat before he even realizes he’s doing it.
‘You’re going to fall,’ he scolds, when Jeongguk turns large, questioning eyes towards him.
‘No, I won’t,’ Jeongguk says with a laugh. ‘I’ve never fallen before.’
‘Doesn’t mean you won’t fall now,’ Yoongi retorts. ‘Listen to me, I’m older.’
‘Whatever you say, hyung,’ Jeongguk says as he rolls his eyes.
‘Yah, you shouldn’t be so disrespectful to your elders.’ Yoongi can hear the chuckle in his own voice. He’s not even mad about it.
Jeongguk doesn’t respond, instead skipping ahead a step or two until he reaches the children’s climbing rack. He’s scrambled up and perched on the top of the structure before Yoongi has the time to tell him to get down again.
‘You’re going to slip and break your neck,’ he can’t help but say once he’s within mumble-hearing distance.
‘Get up, hyung,’ Jeongguk insists, completely ignoring Yoongi’s mumbles.
And Yoongi could resist, could put his foot down and refuse. He also knows he won’t. Knows he’ll probably never really say no to this man. So he grips the metal bars and immediately lets out a little squeal that makes Jeongguk laugh at the wet and cold feel of it. His hand looks abnormally pale compared to the red metal.
He clambers up without slipping and dying and he counts that as a win. Jeongguk shoves him when he tells him that and he has to hold onto Jeongguk’s shoulders to not crash to the ground. He pushes Jeongguk in retaliation but the man doesn’t even budge, just looks down at Yoongi with a smug smile.
‘This is unfair,’ Yoongi whines, and he feels his own lips purse into a pout. Not on purpose!
Jeongguk laughs and Yoongi feels a smile bunch up his cheeks at the sound.
‘No, it isn’t. You should work out, hyung. Look at your noodle arms.’
‘They’re not noodle arms!’ Yoongi protests, crossing his arms and giving his own biceps a squeeze for good measure. It’s not as if there’s anything to see anyway, with his coat in the way. And hadn’t it been for the too-tight jeans Jeongguk was wearing, he would like a formless blob in that coat too.
Before Jeongguk can answer rumbling thunder and a flash of lightning tear through the sky. They both freeze, hands locked around the metal bars.
Jeongguk turns towards Yoongi with wide eyes.
‘Unless we want to be electrocuted I suggest we get a move on,’ Yoongi tells him with the straightest face he can manage.
Jeongguk lets out a squeak and immediately leaps off the structure. Yoongi can’t help but laugh at the sight and slowly climb down the bars despite Jeongguk’s hurried gestures.
He pays for that when it starts raining the second his foot hits the ground. He’s soaked within seconds, cold water trickling down his neck and underneath his shirt. He shivers. And then a hand closes around his wrist and he’s being yanked in the direction of the café just outside the park.
‘Hurry, hyung, run!’ Jeongguk yells above the sound of the torrential rain and a second clap of thunder.
Yoongi doesn’t answer, too busy heaving air into his lungs to say a word.
When they finally crash through the door, Yoongi almost sinks to his knees as he tries to catch his breath. Instead he just bends over, hands on his knees and tries to stop the burning of his lungs.
‘Really, hyung,’ Jeongguk scolds him, patting him on the back as if Yoongi were having a coughing fit instead of suffocating. It’s supremely unhelpful, but very nice nonetheless. ‘You should work out more, this is bad bad. It wasn’t even a hundred meters!’
‘At breakneck speed!’ Yoongi heaves in protest before almost hacking up a lung with a violent cough. Yeah, maybe Jeongguk is right.
Jeongguk only tsks in response.
‘What do you want to drink?’
‘I thought you were broke?’
‘That’s why you’re paying, hyung. Keep up!’
‘Yah!’
Yoongi finally stands up straight, only to be met with Jeongguk’s worried expression. Every pretence of protest drains out of him.
‘Go order, hyung will pay. One americano for me. Get whatever you want.’
‘Okay! You go find a space to sit!’
Yoongi finds a spot near the window and watches as Jeongguk waits for their drinks. The light inside the café is tinged orange, casting sharp shadows onto Jeongguk’s face. But as Jeongguk turns around with the cups in his hands, the light catches his hair. It tinges it orange, as if this man full of life and energy, with a smile as bright as the flashing lights of lightning outside, were made of sparks.
‘What kind of snacks do you like, Guk-ah?’ Yoongi asks as he throws a packet of sweet popcorn into the cart Jeongguk is pushing. After a few seconds of silence, Yoongi turns towards where the man is bent over the cart, trying to hide a pack of cookies underneath the rest of the groceries.
At the silence, he looks up and at Yoongi’s stern stare offers him a very convincing pout and puppy eyes. Looking Yoongi straight in the eye he pushes the pack just the last bit underneath the packets of noodles.
Yoongi gives him a light swat on the head.
‘You don’t need to do that. Just throw it in, hyung will pay.’
‘Can I throw in all my groceries? It’s my turn to do groceries,’ Jeongguk whines.
‘Not if it’s all instant ramen,’ Yoongi says, turning back to the shelf. ‘But sure, just tell me which snacks you want for the movie.’
‘I’ll have you know, hyung, that I eat healthier than you,’ Jeongguk says, waving one of the many packs of instant ramen in front of Yoongi’s face. Yoongi swats it away.
‘Probably, but that’s kind of a low bar,’ Yoongi admits, throwing some chips into the cart. And a second one for good measure. ‘You really need to tell me what you want or I’ll just take one of each.’
‘Don’t do that, hyung! I’m fine with the popcorn.’
‘Really?’
‘Really, hyung.’
‘Okay. What do you want to eat for dinner? I can cook you something.’
‘You really don’t need to, hyung! I only brought the movie, I’ll feel guilty.’ There is a slightly guilty expression marring Jeongguk’s face. His teeth are nibbling his lower lip and he looks hesitant, almost shy. Yoongi doesn’t like seeing Jeongguk unsure like this.
‘And you still won’t tell me what movie it is,’ he tuts as he walks away from the snack aisle.
‘Right, about that… do you like Iron Man?’
‘Iron Man?'
At Jeongguk’s expression he hesitates. This feels like a topic someone could have said something shitty about and there's nothing Yoongi wants to do less than to hurt Jeongguk.
‘Which movie?’ he asks, throwing a second pack of cookies similar to the ones Jeongguk had hidden earlier into the cart.
‘The first one,’ Jeongguk says quietly.
‘It's a good movie,’ Yoongi reassures him before changing the topic. ‘What do you need for your groceries? We should probably head to the fresh produce, hmm. I'll make you anything you like for dinner. What do you want?’
‘Meat!’ Jeongguk exclaims, beaming again, and Yoongi's heart warms at the sight. He gives the token grumbles at the price of the meat Jeongguk selects and whines when Jeongguk makes him push the cart so he can run between the aisles. But he knows there's a fond smile on his face and he doesn't even try to hide it.
They watch the movie from the couch, fingers greasy from the popcorn and Yoongi listens fondly as Jeongguk rambles on about the movie and lets out small noises of excitement. He doesn't even mind when Jeongguk grips the blanket he’s huddled under with his greasy fingers. He simply plucks the fallen pieces of popcorn from the carpet when he's done and they try to catch them with their mouths as the other throws them.
Yoongi’s apartment, too big, too white, too silent, is for once filled with sound and the smell of food. The walls soak up the happiness, the laughter sinks into the floor. And when the time finally comes to say goodbye, Jeongguk gives him a hug. His warmth fills up Yoongi's bones, his scent drowns his lungs.
Even when silence takes over the life is still there.
Goodnight hyung, the newest text reads and Yoongi falls asleep with his phone still clutched in his hand, feeling warm and happy, Jeongguk’s scent still filling his lungs.
The days get colder, the trees drop the last of their leaves. There’s a small drawing now, on Yoongi’s desk. A pencil drawing of a metal climbing structure and two men perched on top, huddled in thick coats. Whenever the whiteness of his room feels like it’s about to drown him, he will look up from the black numbers on the white paper to look at the silvery lines and the orange sticky note stuck to the garishly orange frame.
He has dog pictures on his phone, and plenty of memes. Pictures of Jeongguk too and a few of himself.
When he’s feeling down he will call, just to hear Jeongguk’s voice. And sometimes Jeongguk will come over and nestle on the couch, huddled underneath the blanket he had claimed for himself – that had involved a chase and loud laughter and Yoongi still smiles every time he sees it – and ramble to Yoongi about his day or listen to Yoongi talking about his. Sometimes he will launch into long monologues about some of his patients or his roommates and sometimes he will complain about his hyung disconnecting his Wi-Fi again.
They’ve watched Iron Man five times now, and Jeongguk has sworn that he would make Yoongi watch all the Marvel movies with him. They’ll eat dinner together at Yoongi’s rarely used dinner table and play cards or Jeongguk will show him dumb videos on his phone.
‘What are you thinking about, hyung?’ Jeongguk suddenly asks and Yoongi looks up from his cup of coffee. The warmth of the café has made him drowsy and his eyelids feel heavy. He closes his eyes.
‘Nothing, just sleepy.’
‘You look like a napping cat.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘You’re even curling towards the sunlight, you see? Don’t argue with me, I’m always right.’
Yoongi blinks one eye open. Jeongguk is sipping his drink, something loaded with sugar and looking decidedly smug.
‘Like you were right about the convenience store still being open at 1am?’
‘Are you still bitter about that?’ Jeongguk laughs, before stuffing his mouth with his pastry.
‘Instead of checking on your phone, which would take exactly ten seconds, you dragged me out into the rain. Yes, I’m still bitter about it.’
‘You do realize you’re only supporting my statement of you being a cat, right?’ Jeongguk doesn’t even have the decency to look regretful. He simply grins, chewing obnoxiously with his chin perched on his hand.
‘No, I’m not. I’m not a cat.’
‘Hyung, if a cat were to become human, they would be you. You’re as catlike as they come.’
‘Says the bunny,’ Yoongi grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
‘Now, that’s just mean. Just because I have a slight overbite…. Stop looking so worried, hyung. I’m not insecure about it or anything.’
‘I’m not worried.’
Yoongi was worried. He gets like that sometimes, when Jeongguk carelessly says self-deprecating things or when he looks like the slightest wrong word could break his heart. He’s worried that he could ever hurt a man so full of life.
‘You’re always worried. Your default setting is worried. Or no, that’s wrong. Your default setting is cat, and the most frequently opened app is worried.’ Jeongguk says as brattily as possible and Yoongi lets his worry drain away. Instead, he groans and he would have faceplanted into the table if it hadn’t been for his cup of coffee. He settles for swatting in Jeongguk’s vague direction.
Jeongguk only laughs and sticks his tongue out, showing off chewed up bits of pastry. Yoongi mimics gagging at the sight and delights in the giggles escaping from Jeongguk’s mouth.
The sky outside is a grey so light it might be called white and the wind curls around the tall building with the howl of a thousand wolves. Yoongi doesn’t mind. The inside of the café is warm. The light are bright. And Jeongguk’s eyes gleam orange like eternally burning sparks. There’s not enough white in the world to put them out.