Work Text:
Sprawled out on the lumpy brown couch, one leg slung over the arm rest, using Hoseok as a precarious pillow instead of the couch backing with its numerous uncomfortable spots, Namjoon switched channels with a lazy flick of his fingers across the remote. Next to him Hobi stirred, a faint complaint rising in his throat but never actually voiced. Rules were rules after all, and they’d already watched three episodes of Hit the Stage. It was Namjoon’s turn to pick, and he’d be damned if he missed another Friends re-run so Hoseok could leap out of his seat and attempt to copy every other move of the contestants on the show. (He already knew at least 80% of the steps anyways, and that number was probably being stingy.) His roommate settled down after a moment and Namjoon leaned into him more, knowing he was taking a risk (Hobi liked to jump up unexpectedly) but too tired to care.
As Chandler, Joey and Ross bickered their way through some crisis or another, Namjoon let his mind wander. He was going to have to go back to the university today – he’d forgotten a textbook he needed to complete his paper – and despite living on campus, he was dreading it. You could call it sheer laziness, but with Sunday being his only day off from school and his part-time job, the thought of hauling himself over to McCaig Tower to grab something so minimal was irritating at best. Thus, his butt was still planted firmly on the couch, with no intention of leaving any time soon.
There was a shuffling of feet from down the hallway, which suggested Yoongi had finally reanimated enough to get out of bed. Sure enough, the pale man slouched through the living room, kicking aside the boxers sitting behind the couch, and crossed into the kitchen without a word. He reappeared a minute or so later with a bowl of cereal in his hands, which he proceeded to eat whilst staring blearily into space.
“Morning hyung,” Hoseok greeted cheerfully from the couch, utterly unfazed by the grunt that Yoongi gave in response.
Actually, Namjoon was a bit surprised to see him around so early in the morning; it was only ten, and given that he’d probably fallen asleep at five or six, it was odd he’d woken up. There was no point in questioning Yoongi about it – he didn’t feel like trying to translate monosyllabic replies – so Namjoon turned back to the TV, a comfortable silence settling over the three roommates. He’d lucked out with these two, though honestly, he couldn’t have imagined two more different people. At least - despite the glaringly dissimilar personalities - they all got along well. Oh, there were arguments, but they’d been living together for two years now and had more or less figured out how to fix problems as they arose.
Unlike the three idiots across the hall. A slight frown pulling across his mouth, he glanced at their door as though he could see through it and into the absolutely chaotic mess that belonged to the freshmen who’d moved in a few months ago. In and of themselves, he didn’t mind them. They were funny, usually helpful and an enthusiastic bunch altogether; having parties with them had proven to be an altogether fun experience. But when they fought… Namjoon had literally never heard such a cacophony of complaints and insults and strung out arguments. Last night, if the thin walls of the dorms spoke true, they’d been fighting about who’s turn it was to do the dishes.
Amateurs. That’s what schedules were for.
“Yoongi-hyung?” Namjoon asked, twisting to observe their oldest roommate, who was looking more and more alive with every spoonful of sugar he shoved into his mouth. The producing major raised an eyebrow with the plastic spoon still hanging from his mouth; he was awake enough to answer questions, it seemed.
“I ended up putting in my earphones to block them out. How long were Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin fighting for?”
A shrug of small shoulders, but after he’d finished slurping up the last of the milk, Yoongi answered. “Tae tapped out around two, and I think Jungkook and Jimin gave up around three. Good thing too. I was about to go over there and break all their damn dishes so they wouldn’t have anything to fight over.” Not an entirely idle threat – Yoongi was something of a terror when he was working on a project, especially by the end when he was running on a few hours of sleep at a time – but Hoseok let out an explosive laugh like he’d made the greatest joke in the world. After a second, Yoongi grudgingly smiled, the expression lightening the strained lines of his face and diminishing the painful bruises under his eyes.
“Seriously,” he muttered, but without heat, and disappeared around the corner to put his dish away.
Namjoon smiled too, fond and pleased, grateful all over that he’d gotten these two as roommates. Hoseok could draw Yoongi out of all but his worst moods and he kept their apartment reasonably clean, and Yoongi was great at planning their foods and necessities and made party playlists like no other. The two got along so well it was amazing they hadn’t taken further steps, and honestly it would probably make things a little easier for the both of them if one of them finally confessed. Less heart eyes and more heart action. Or at least some kind of action that involved two people instead of just one. Well, as for Namjoon… he broke stuff, settled arguments, made sure his actions were discreet, and tended to treat the others more than he treated himself. All in all, not a bad deal.
There was a knock on the door, and Namjoon had just enough time to regret his kind thoughts before Hoseok vacated his solemn duty as cushion and bounded off the couch. A wild flail wasn’t – quite – enough to save himself from falling off the battered sofa with his support gone, but it was enough to knock the remote flying. It hit the floor at about the same time as Namjoon did, the taped back cracking open on impact and scattering the batteries in separate directions with a metallic clatter.
There was a mixture of two familiar voices – Yoongi drawling, “Aish, Namjoonie,” from the kitchen and Hoseok’s bright voice saying, “Yo, what can we do for you?” from the door – before Namjoon managed to get his limbs under control and sit up from his awkward sprawl. He was just in time to catch a lightly frank reply. “Well, I’m your new roommate. Kim Seokjin. It’s nice to meet you!”
Hoseok’s confused choking sound was audible even from across the room, and Namjoon hurriedly got to his feet as Yoongi practically skidded out of the kitchen, both pairs of eyes fixed on the unexpected visitor. He was more than partially visible even with Hobi in the doorway, broad shoulders doing a great job of taking up space, and even as Namjoon strode forward the visitor leaned around Hoseok, gave an extravagant wave. Seokjin didn’t seem particularly perturbed by any of their reactions, not Yoongi’s suspicious squint or Hobi’s wide-eyed stare or Namjoon’s puzzled observation. If anything, he seemed to get brighter as they all crowded the entrance. At least, he smiled at them all.
And Namjoon swore to God that if the boy hadn’t been holding a potted plant under his arm, a massive suitcase leaning against his hip on the other side, that smile, set on full lips against a breathtaking face, would have been attractive enough to make him forget where he was. Alas. There was a suitcase. And some kind of flower.
Clearing his throat (because even if he couldn’t forget, he could still lose his breath a little) Namjoon gently edged Hoseok more to the side. “Hey,” he said, still struggling with his confusion and… other things. “My name’s Namjoon. Kim Namjoon. This is Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok. I’m sorry, did I hear you say you’re our new roommate?” As far as he was aware, they weren’t up for a new roomie this semester (or any semester if Yoongi had anything to do with it. And considering he was the one who filled out all their housing forms every term, he kinda did) and yet there was an easy certainty in Seokjin, a confidence that gave Namjoon a few doubts.
It wasn’t like the housing department hadn’t ever screwed up before. Hoseok still wasn’t fully recovered from the toilet incident, and Namjoon had only just managed to stop those movers from dumping a towering cabinet into their living room because “housing said it was supposed to go there.” Maybe this time they’d neglected to tell the current tenants of a new roommate?
Seokjin laughed, a sound that came from his whole body and made something in Namjoon’s stomach tighten. “Yeah, you heard right. You guys look a little startled. Is it the plant? I promise I’m not into that kind of potting.” A delay of half a second and then Hoseok snickered, bouncing on the balls of his feet while Namjoon felt an unintentional smile curing up the corners of his mouth. Seokjin lifted up the flower tucked under his arm, proudly displaying it, and said, “See?”
Indeed, it was definitely not a pot plant (not that Namjoon would know anything about that). He knew about as much as the next city boy about flowers, but it had dark green leaves that were covered with purplish fuzz that looked like velvet. Maybe… it was a fern of some kind? The only other thing Namjoon knew was that his skin was itching just looking at the thing, and that contact with it would probably result in spectacular rashes and hives. There was a reason (besides their inability to keep anything besides themselves alive) that their apartment was a plant-free zone.
“It looks great,” Namjoon agreed neutrally, “but, the thing is -”
“We’re not supposed to have another roommate.” Yoongi’s first words were overly sharp, making Namjoon wince inwardly as the first signs of insecurity drifted across the soft panes of Seokjin’s face, his wide eyes giving a few rapid blinks. Either Yoongi realized his tone was too harsh or the shifting Namjoon felt somewhere behind was Hoseok giving him a surreptitious kick, because the short man shrugged and added, “I mean, housing is a bunch of colossal screw-ups. Not your fault if they made a mistake. Which room are you supposed to be in?”
Free hand curling into the baggy pocket of his light beige sweater, Seokjin took out a crisply folded piece of paper, smoothed it out and squinted at it for a few heartbeats before proffering it in much the same way as he had the plant. “Apartment 352,” he said, blinking hard enough that his face scrunched cutely.
Shoving down the soft sound that was hovering far too close to escape, Namjoon shook his head slightly, ignoring Yoongi’s relieved sigh. “352 isn’t ours. It’s across the hall.” He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not, but he had to admit he was a little curious about how their new neighbor had managed to miss the large, cheap plastic numbers to the right of their door that said ‘351’.
For one second Seokjin just stared at him, his delicate eyebrows drawing down in bewilderment, before he pulled back the paper, holding it protectively close to his chest. “Oh,” he said in a rather small voice, and Namjoon wasn’t sure why he looked so crestfallen. Something about him – the confidence from before, maybe - made it seem like he wasn’t often deflated. Seokjin’s eyes flitted to the side – probably looking at the numbers – and his already pink face abruptly flushed red, eyebrows furrowing deeper. It looked like he was struggling to hold something back, but the struggle didn’t last for long. Abruptly he burst out in an indignant rush, “Yah! Should I call myself blind? Why does your door say 352, then?”
Several moments of startled silence passed before a sneaking suspicion made Namjoon glance at Yoongi, seeing the same suspicion stirring on his roommate’s face. “You don’t think they…?” Yoongi began in a tightly foreboding voice, and Namjoon shook his head.
“They better not have.” Except, as he leaned around Seokjin with an apologetic murmur, one hand on the doorframe to balance himself, Namjoon already knew what he would see. Someone had taken the 1 in 351 and replaced it with a 2. The two was slightly crooked. And by “someone” he meant… Looking across the hall, sure enough, the younger boys’ room was decorated with a 351. It was with some chagrin that Namjoon noted that they’d managed to get their numbers straight.
Hoseok took one look at his face and chuckled. “They did it again, didn’t they?”
He raked his hand through his hair in a swift motion, turning back to the impatiently confused Seokjin. “Sorry,” Namjoon said. “I get it now. The freshmen across the hall… your roommates, I guess… they’ve switched our numbers before. When we ordered takeout, the delivery guy went to their door instead and since we already paid for it…” He still regretted missing out on that order of bulgogi, and after the amount he’d lectured them, and Yoongi had made idle observations about how easy it would be to hide bodies under the school field, he was a bit incredulous they’d be willing to do it again.
Apparently, he’d underestimated their love of free food.
Seokjin’s eyes had widened in something that was suspiciously close to delight, and even before Namjoon had finished he was snorting, a quiet sound that quickly grew into a full-fledged gasp that might have held a hint of relief. He’d probably thought they were playing a mean-spirited prank when they’d lied straight to his face. “You’re telling me my roommates are take-out takers? Inconvenient convenience food thieves?”
“You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” Yoongi grumbled while Namjoon clasped his hand over his mouth to hide the silly smile fighting – and winning – it’s way across his lips.
Seokjin beamed. “Sorry! It’s Yoongi, right? But anyways, I should go greet the grub grabbers.” There was something utterly unapologetic – even gleeful - about his expression as all three of them groaned, Yoongi covering his face with his hands, and he gave a little wave. “Sorry for taking up your guys’ time.”
Hobi matched the sunny smile after recovering from the spout of alliteration. “Don’t worry neighbor!” he exclaimed, grinning and sweeping out his arms. “Easy mistake to make. Do you need any help moving in? Your roomies are all young punks, they probably won’t offer to help.”
Not really true – Taehyung and Jungkook had nearly killed themselves helping Yoongi haul up the ugly couch they were now the proud owners of while Hoseok and Namjoon were working, and Jimin would have helped if he wasn’t taking an exam – but the comment had Seokjin shrugging and shaking his head with amiable ease. “Nah, nah,” he said. “This is all I have right now. Actually…”
He leaned around all of them, peering critically into the apartment, and Namjoon felt a prickle of embarrassment. From the door, you could see into both the kitchen and the living room, and into the hallway that led off to the room that Hobi and Yoongi shared as well as Namjoon’s own room. It wasn’t that messy, but they probably could have picked up the boxers on the floor, or thrown out the empty snack bag on the couch, and the near life-size Ryan doll in the corner was maybe a bit much.
Seokjin stared at the Ryan doll long enough to have Namjoon shifting, but then he seemed to snap out of it and rocked back on his heels, smiling. “I thought so. You guys have a balcony, right?”
“If you want to definite it as a balcony, sure,” Namjoon said dryly, looking over his shoulder at the sliding glass door in the living room that led out onto the “balcony”. The little ledge – maybe three feet of space – looked like it’d been added as an afterthought, just like the rest of the balconies on this side of the building, and it didn’t have a rail or anything. Namjoon supposed you could stand out there (before he’d quit smoking, Yoongi had done just that), but housing had strongly advised against it, and so did self-preservation. Falling from the third floor of an apartment complex would be a great excuse to skip exams, but it’d probably be a great excuse to skip the rest of life, too.
Their neighbor’s nod was so enthused he almost looked like a bobble head, and Namjoon had to hide his smile behind his hand again. “I thought so,” Seokjin repeated with no small satisfaction. “I saw it when I visited here last week to sign the papers and finish my living arrangements. That’s why I got this guy.” He waved the plant around a little wildly, and Namjoon hurriedly leaned away. Seokjin dropped his arm after a moment, eyebrows furrowing in complacent contemplation. “Are there balconies on the other side?”
It took them a second, the roommates exchanging considering glances, but eventually Namjoon shrugged. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember seeing a door in your room.” Maybe the already lackluster balcony plans had fallen through along with the budget by the time the builders got around to the other side of the building. They certainly hadn’t fully completed the recreation room on the first floor, or finished painting the front lobby. He supposed that was the reason that these dorms were so inexpensive, and neither he nor his roommates were much inclined to complain about it.
Seokjin also took the news in stride. Broad shoulders giving a shrug, the university student tilted his head back and forth a few times before he abruptly seemed to come to a decision. “You don’t have any plants, do you?”
“No,” Hoseok replied, glancing back into their apartment. “Namjoon-ah is-”
“Then you can have this!” Quite ruthlessly, Seokjin was abruptly shoving the flower into Namjoon’s unsuspecting hands despite his muddled protests, and there was a fragmented moment in which Namjoon struggled desperately with the smooth pot before it began to slip from his fingers. He had just enough time to have some partial vision of a future in which the pot was broken on the floor, the flower dead and Seokjin never spoke to him again, before Hoseok was abruptly there, smoothly rescuing the plant just as it dropped out of his grasp. The leaves brushed against the skin of his arms and hands as Hobi pulled it up and into his steady hold, and Namjoon could practically feel the welts that would be springing up in the next few minutes.
Yoongi snorted. “You’re giving it to the wrong person, Seokjin. Namjoon-ah is-”
“Really clumsy.” Still recovering from the near-drop, Namjoon barely managed to interrupt his hyung in time, and he wasn’t even entirely sure why he did it as Yoongi shot him a sharp look. It was just – Seokjin was beaming, an energetically, utterly unreserved amusement shining in the flush dusting his round cheeks, in the wide darkness of his eyes, and Namjoon didn’t want to have anything to do with dimming that harmless happiness, even if he was allergic to most flowers. Even if having flowers around wasn’t exactly convenient.
“I can see that,” Seokjin giggled in reply to Namjoon, a surprisingly high pitched sound that jumped into a squeaking note that was… it was damn adorable, honestly.
Namjoon blushed stupidly, smiling in sheepish apology and only vaguely appalled at how hot he was getting. “Sorry,” he said, voice dropping lower in an embarrassment that had nothing to do with almost letting the pot fall. “Promise I’ll be more careful next time. Uh… are you sure you want to give us this?”
Part of him was hoping Seokjin would change his mind, but another part of him was relieved when he nodded firmly. “Yeah, I am. I was going to get more, anyways. I love flowers,” he confided with an unabashed smile, another quick laugh. “Just take care of it, okay? You should put it out on the ledge while it’s nice out; it doesn’t need much more than watering, though if you got a trellis or a hanging basket for it, it would grow better.” His concern for the plant was blatant, and Hoseok’s grip became tighter, almost like he was imagining Seokjin’s horror if he were to be the one to murder the flower.
The sigh he heaved seemed to be pulled from the depth of his being, and Yoongi flicked one hand, dismissive. “We got it. Don’t worry, even Hobi can’t mess up watering a flower.”
While Hoseok gave an indignant exclamation, Seokjin smiled at Yoongi, his soft eyes blinking gratefully. “Thank you,” he said with simple gratitude, so sincere that Namjoon had the novel experience of seeing his hyung blush, just faintly, and jerk his shoulders in the universal sign for “don’t mention it”.
Taking a deep breath, their unexpected visitor threw back his head, looking at them for one more moment. “Well, it was really nice meeting you. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I hope we do.” Namjoon wasn’t entirely sure if he was imagining the way that Seokjin looked just at him when he said that last bit. He probably was. His psych classes taught him more than enough about wish fulfillment in the human psyche, and wow did he wish Seokjin was just saying that to him.
“Yeah, please don’t be a stranger, stranger!” Hoseok insisted. “You can come visit your flowers.” He gently shook the plant, just enough to make it sway like it was waving goodbye, and the grin he and Seokjin shared could have given a storm cloud second thoughts about its chosen profession.
Yoongi was less warm, but even he managed a pale smile. “Keep those kids in line, will you?” he asked, angling his head to indicate the door across the hall. “They could use a hyung to set a good example.”
Utterly without negative judgement, Namjoon still wasn’t entirely sure Yoongi was putting his faith in the right person, but Seokjin nodded, quite seriously. He then reached out, carefully pried the 2 off of the wall beside the rest of the numbers where it had been stuck with several pieces of tape folded on the back. Lifting the number high over his head, his voice taking on a stern cast, Seokjin said, “I’ll tell you this, seriously. The second I became their roommate, their number was up!”
“Haha!” Namjoon couldn’t stop the startled laughter that broke sharply from him at the ridiculously stupid, clever joke, and though he clapped his hand over his mouth to stop the sound, the damage was done. Seokjin laughed too, loud and brazen, and a second later Hoseok burst in, making Namjoon drop his hand, and then they were all laughing so hard it was impossible to scale back the hilarity. In the midst of the uproar Yoongi muttered something that was probably unflattering and stalked back into the dorm, disappearing into his room, but none of them could be very apologetic.
When they finally got a hold of themselves – Seokjin with hiccupping gasps, Namjoon with tears of amusement in his eyes, Hobi with bright red cheeks – Namjoon wiped hastily at his eyes, straightening up a bit. “Ah… ah, thank you, Seokjin. It was nice meeting you, too. And don’t mind Yoongi-hyung too much. He has a lot of work to do right now.”
Unsurprisingly, Seokjin didn’t seem the least bit offended. He didn’t seem to take much of anything too much to heart. “It’s fine. I’ll have a lot of school work to do, too, so I understand. And just so you know – most of my friends call me Jin.” His head tilted, full lips curling up into a cute expression. “You can call me that, if you want.”
Namjoon stared at him before hurriedly clearing his throat. Jin. He liked that. “Okay. Jin. Got it. Feel free to stop by later if you need anything; we’re usually around on Sundays.” He almost held himself from saying anything more, but then he felt Hoseok’s finger poking him sharply in the back, and with that prod, Namjoon brushed his hand over his hair, added, “We’d – Umm, I’d love to talk again, if you’ve got time.”
“Great,” Jin said immediately, with what seemed to be real pleasure. “I’ll get everything settled and see if I can’t drop in later. Until then, Hoseok, Namjoon…” With an enthusiastic wave, the boy wrestled his suitcase around, began to tug it over to the dorm across the hall. Namjoon waited until he’d made it to the other apartment without being flattened by his bag before he closed the door, a fluttering nervousness in the pit of his stomach.
As soon as the door was shut Hoseok set down the plant on the plastic folding stand that served as their dining room table, chuckling softly to himself, seemingly unaware of his roommate’s reaction. “That was funny. Yoongi-hyung’s face when he thought we were getting a new roommate… And ‘their number was up’… Ah, I think this will be good for the kids, too, having someone to look after them. What did you think of Jin, Joonie? Joonie? What’re you doing?”
Caught with Ryan in a headlock as he tried to drag the big bear through the living room, Namjoon froze, his eyes darting guilty to Hobi. “I – I’m just - uh…” Drawing himself up, he made his voice stop breaking. “I’ve been meaning to move him to my room for a while now. Yoongi-hyung’s always complaining that he’s an eyesore.”
With a puzzled little smile, Hoseok shook his head. “You know Yoongi-hyung doesn’t mean that. He thinks Ryan is cute.” A pause, and then a bloodcurdling (to Namjoon) understanding broke across his face. “Jin’s not going to care if he’s there, Joonie. He’ll probably think he’s cute, too.” When Namjoon opened his mouth to protest, Hoseok excitedly waved his attempts aside. “Yah, don’t lie! Why else would you have accepted the plant? You liiiike him!” The wiry boy swept up the plant again, danced around with the flowers in an energetic display. “Who would have thought?” he asked the deep purple leaves, and they almost seemed to dance as well. “Our Joonie has a crush! Wah, so, sooo cute!”
It took about five minutes for Hobi to calm down, and by then Namjoon had given up on moving Ryan and put him back in his corner (secretly praying Hoseok would be right about Jin not caring), and washed his hands thoroughly in the sink in the hopes of delaying the spread of his rash. That finished, he began to tidy up the apartment, starting with the broken remote. As expected, he was beginning to get a red stain across his hands, but it wasn’t very severe, and in light of everything else, it was pretty easy to ignore. Hugging the potted flowers to his chest, still almost vibrating with excitement, Hobi watched him at work before he said, “Although you know, Namjoon, I dunno what you’re gonna do with this guy. What if he learns you don’t like flowers?”
“He won’t learn,” Namjoon replied tartly. “He’ll just see a very well looked after plant and that’ll be it. Besides, I like flowers, I just… can’t take care of them.” His expression abruptly became calculating, and Hoseok paused in his fidgeting as Namjoon added, “I’m just so glad I have two wonderful hyungs.”
Wary and confused, Hoseok asked, “What do you…” His eyes drifted down to the pot, and abruptly he grimaced. “Oh.” It was his turn to look calculating. “You do all my turns at the dishes and I’ll water your plant.”
“I’ll take over one of your dish days and you’ll water our plant,” Namjoon corrected, and after a moment of consideration Hoseok grinned.
“Deal. Although remember I’m visiting my parents next week. You’ll have to get Yoongi-hyung to do it then.” Laughing, he opened the screen door. “Good luck with that.” Carefully he put the plant down, rotating it several times before stepping back to admire the way it seemed to immediately soak up the sun. “Ah, it’s kinda pretty, isn’t it?”
Namjoon stared at the velvety purple leaves, gently stirring in the light breeze, but he was thinking about a flushed, untroubled face, hearing a high and charming laugh. Running one finger across his lips, ignoring the itch of his hives beginning to break out across his hand, Namjoon smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed lightly. “Yeah, it is kinda pretty.”
-----
His books almost seemed to fight to spill out of his hands as he tried to balance them while unlocking the door to the dorm, but by some miracle Namjoon managed to open it without dropping any of them. His luck lasted for two steps into the apartment, and then they tumbled from his arms, hitting the floor with three separate thuds that made him wince. “Aish…” he muttered, bending down to pick them up. When he straightened, the first thing his previously distracted eyes landed on was…
Another pot with another set of flowers. These ones were small and a sunny yellow colour, the dark green leaves making a marked contrast to the buds. Even as he stared at them Yoongi came out of his room, headphones settled around his neck, a thick notebook in his hands. Without looking up from his notes, Yoongi commented, “Yeah, another one. He dropped it off about an hour ago. Is that the seventh or eighth one? I’m starting to lose track.”
Automatically Namjoon glanced out the screen door to the tiny ledge, where a plethora of plants were crowded, half of them climbing enthusiastically up trellises. (They’d needed to look up what a trellis was before heading to the dollar store.) The wild collection of colours wasn’t limited just to the deck; they’d managed to put two of them in hanging baskets, which Yoongi had somehow found a way to hook up, bringing the vibrant plants to just above eye level as well. They couldn’t really stand out there anymore, but as far as Namjoon was concerned this was a much better use of the space, anyways. He was already planning the best place to put this new addition.
Yoongi had torn his eyes away from his work, was frowning at him. “Ah, Namjoon-ah,” he complained. “Your face is going to get stuck like that.”
It took Namjoon a second to understand what Yoongi meant before it dawned on him. His unconscious smile was so wide it pushed up his cheeks, but he didn’t bother trying to tamp it down even as he became aware of it. Jin was just so joyful about the stupid flowers, he could hardly be faulted for smiling whenever he saw them. Even if he still couldn’t actually take care of them. He just wished he hadn’t missed Jin dropping by. Besides, for all that he complained, it was Yoongi who was in the process of making the little flower bed so that they could be moved inside more easily when it started getting cold out, and Namjoon hadn’t even asked him to do that.
“It’s nice to see you too, hyung,” Namjoon said instead, throwing his books onto the couch. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the recording studio? I thought you wanted to finish that piece with noona.”
Yoongi shrugged irritably. “I asked her if we could do it tomorrow, and she was fine with it. I wanted to…” He looked up abruptly from his notebook, eyes narrowing, and shook his head. “Never mind. How was class?” As he said it he shut the book firmly, threw it onto the couch to join the temporary graveyard of papers growing there, and headed to the kitchen.
Namjoon waited until Yoongi was out of sight before moving to pick up the discarded book. “Class was good,” he called as he flipped it open, fingers moving swiftly to find the most recent page. “Jackson distracted the professor into a thirty-minute discussion about the merits of humorous but informative social media posts versus merely informative ones, so he ended up postponing the test until next week.” Namjoon finally found what seemed to be the newest page (Yoongi tended to be quite methodical with his work) and a fresh smile broke across his face.
In neat, almost compulsively tidy strokes, the measurements for the indoor flowerbeds flowed along next to equally fastidious 3D rectangular drawings. Yoongi’s notes on each flower’s needs (collected by both him and Namjoon) littered the page, information about water and light exposure, and the page was titled, “Joonie’s Stupid Flowers.” He’d known Yoongi was planning on making the boxes, scoffing off the suggestion of buying them as being too expensive, but that he’d go to this length… It reminded Namjoon that he needed to buy some antihistamines for when they did move the plants indoors to avoid dying, but he’d get to that later.
“Jin was really disappointed that he missed you.” With a guilty start Namjoon belatedly snapped the notebook shut, and as he looked up Yoongi arched an eyebrow at him, a bag of snacks in his hand. The small man’s eyes went to the notebook and flitted away as though he hadn’t noticed it, but his expression was a bit stony as he added, “He asked me to ask you to head over there as soon as you got home. You’d better go rush over to your boyfriend.” Obviously, he’d decided the best defense was a good offense, and Namjoon winced internally.
Reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, Namjoon awkwardly proffered the book. “He’s not my boyfriend, hyung,” he said, though he was careful to keep his voice mild.
Yoongi snorted and ignored the offering. “Could have fooled me. You’re over there just as often as you’re here. More, maybe.”
If he’d thought Yoongi was anything but annoyed at him for snooping, that comment might have hurt and even been worrisome, made him wonder if he had been abandoning his roommates too much in the last few months. But Namjoon knew Yoongi, knew that tongue in cheek accusation for what it was – a distraction – so he let it go as best as he could as he sighed. “What, are you and Hobi-hyung getting tired of having the apartment to yourselves?” he asked, and had the slight pleasure of seeing Yoongi stiffen, though not from anger.
Jin had introduced flowers into their lives, but he’d introduced more than that, too. Finally, after literal years of mutual pining, Hoseok had only just recently confessed to Yoongi, and Namjoon was pretty sure Seokjin’s gentle nagging had been behind that. And, to hear Hobi tell it, Yoongi had stared at him for a long moment after he’d confessed before muttering something about stupid flowers going to his head. And then they’d kissed.
None of which Yoongi would admit to, of course.
“We’re doing fine,” Yoongi snapped, not quite managing to hide his blush as he snagged the book that Namjoon was still offering. “You shouldn’t keep Jin waiting. And if you want me and Hobi to take care of that ugly thing on top of all the others,” he jerked his head at the flower, “you’re going to have pay for my Beats the next time I need to buy a new pair.” In a huff, he strode back to his room, book in one hand and snacks in the other, and slammed the door behind him.
“Some people never change,” Namjoon commented lightly to Ryan, and took the bear’s silence for agreement. A fisherman’s hat had been placed on Ryan’s head at a jaunty angle, courtesy of Seokjin, and Namjoon readjusted it a bit as he (as always) tried to distract himself from his nerves. Not because of the confrontation with Yoongi; actually, that hardly deserved the name compared to the fights they’d had before. Yoongi would get over it, and he’d get over it faster if Namjoon slipped an apology note under his door coupled with an iTunes gift card, so that wasn’t a concern.
Hanging out with Jin, on the other hand…
Namjoon spent a few minutes in the bathroom, making sure he looked alright after two consecutive two hour long classes, tugging at the collar of his white shirt until it sat more snuggly at the base of his throat. He checked his slacks (he’d managed to knock over a cup of coffee during lunch, but it looked like he’d avoided splashing his pants or shirt) and then ran his fingers through his silver hair in a hopeless sort of frustration. There wasn’t much he could do about the mess it was in; any attempts to style it would just wilt in the heat, and besides, who had time for that? Jin hadn’t rejected him out of hand for it before, so logically there was nothing to worry about now.
He was really starting to hate how little logic had to do with liking someone. And also how “hate” could be a synonym for “love” in the right context.
Eventually satisfied that he wasn’t going to shame his parents with his appearance, Namjoon grabbed two packets of Crab Chips from the cupboard. They’d never stacked the cupboard with so many seafood snacks before – Namjoon hated them and Yoongi and Hoseok were apathetic at best – but Jin inhaled them like they were particularly tasty clumps of air, and since he often cooked big dinners for them and his own roommates, it was only fair to repay the favor. The fact that Namjoon could probably literally watch Jin stuff his cheeks to the bursting point with them for hours on end had nothing to do with it.
Finally he was more or less ready, and Namjoon didn’t let himself procrastinate even though the couch looked excessively inviting as an excuse to stay home for a bit longer. Quickly locking the apartment behind him (although with Yoongi in that mood, he pitied anyone who tried to break in) he crossed the corridor, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, and knocked on Jin’s door. A beat of silence, and then from somewhere within the dorm came a quick flurry of voices raised in argument, followed by several loud thuds and cursing. He could imagine well enough what was happening, and wondered in spite of his nerves who would win the contest.
It took a few more moments, but eventually the door was flung open, Jungkook partially turned to fight off Taehyung as the smaller boy tried to dart around him in one last desperate bid. As soon as they saw him they both subsided, panting and glowering at each other in the friendliest way imaginable, and Tae complained breathlessly, “Wah, hyung, if I’d known it was you I wouldn’t have bothered.”
Namjoon laughed, shook his head. “Who’d you think it was?”
Jimin, who had his feet up and was watching something on the TV, answered in the sheepish silence that followed his question. “They ordered some video game console and it’s supposed to come in soon. Whoever signs for it gets to play on it first.” Well, that was one way to decide who got first dibs… he guessed.
“Jin-hyung’s in the kitchen,” Jungkook supplied helpfully before his eyes fell on the snack bags that Namjoon held. It was difficult to describe the extent to which his expression lit up. “Who’re those for, hyung?”
“One’s for you to share,” Namjoon replied, and tossed the bag to Jimin, who’d looked up at the mention of food. The oldest of the three caught the packet deftly, smiling smugly at Jungkook, but despite his expression he tended to be the fairest in distributing food. Jungkook would cheerfully taunt his friends until they keeled over from hunger, and Tae was so prone to zoning out he could eat the whole bag without noticing, or have Jimin and Jungkook take all of it without getting any for himself.
Pouting as he flopped onto the couch next to Jimin, Jungkook demanded, “Hyung, why do we get one bag and Jin gets one – oof,” that was Taehyung landing in his lap, the older boy eager to sit next to the food. “TaeTae, get off you stupid…” The fight was brief and indecisive; Jungkook managed to shift Taehyung more to one side, away from the food, almost poking out Jimin’s eye in the process, but Tae clung stubbornly to him and eventually he gave it up as a bad job. Refocusing, Jungkook grumbled, “I was saying, hyung, why does Jin-hyung get one whole bag to himself?”
Before Namjoon could reply, a lightly stern voice came from the kitchen. “Yah, I’m three times as attractive as all of you, so you get a third of a bag!”
Spreading his hands in a “what can I do?” gesture, Namjoon said, “You heard the man,” before trailing off into the kitchen. He may or may not have heard someone mutter, “Whipped,” in a voice that was suspiciously loud for something that wasn’t supposed to be heard, but ignored it with the rather dismal thought that you couldn’t be whipped if you weren’t attached in the first place.
The dispirited feeling fled as soon as Jin’s thick back came into view, the other male bent over something on the counter, and Namjoon paused for a moment to just stare. The way his broad shoulders tapered into thin hips with a Mario apron tied around them, the confidence and steady surety with which his beautiful hands flew across the food he was preparing, the constant mumbling to himself as he decided what he wanted to do… If Namjoon, four months ago, had been asked to create a list of his turn-ons, a broad back might have made the cut, but he’d had no idea he could enjoy someone’s mannerisms as much as (far more) than their looks, on a level that was almost physical.
It was ridiculous and wonderful, all at once. Namjoon supposed that pretty much summed up Jin in a nutshell.
He must have made a sound, a sigh or something, because Jin abruptly turned, half a potato in his hand, the rest already sliced on the cutting board he’d been leaning over. “Hey Namjoon-ah,” Jin greeted easily. “How did your exam go?” He said it as such an afterthought, but Namjoon found his lips curling up at the kindness of a friend remembering he was supposed to have a test today.
“Postponed,” he replied, trying to match Jin’s straightforwardness and feeling he failed. “One of my classmates got the teacher rambling, so we didn’t have enough time to do it.”
“Ah, so lucky,” Jin said, but approvingly, without any envy. “Will you want help studying again, then? You seemed to know everything even before we started, but…”
He’d had the material memorized since the class they’d been given it in, but when Jin had suggested studying together, Namjoon had been willing to pretend to forget everything he’d ever learned. Another opportunity was no different so, leaning against the fridge door to stay out of Jin’s way as he threw the snack bag onto the counter, he replied, “Sure, if you’ve got time. A little extra studying never hurt.” And a little extra time with Jin never hurt, either.
“Great! I’m not sure when I’m free but I can figure it out in a bit.” Turning back to the cutting board, Jin finished chopping up the potato, adding it to an already big pile growing next to him. “Do you know if Yoongi-ah and Hobi are free tonight? I was thinking I could make enough for everyone to come over.”
Still leaning heavily against the fridge, Namjoon cocked his eyebrow. “You didn’t ask Yoongi-hyung when you spoke to him earlier?”
With a vaguely outraged expression, Jin huffed, “I was going to, but he kicked me out before I could.”
“Kicked you out?” That seemed a story worth hearing.
Turning away, Jin picked up the next round of vegetables to be chopped. “Yeah. I thought my joke was funny, but he didn’t seem to agree. Suggested I got my sense of humor from a particularly dull stump.”
“Ouch.” Although, despite Jin’s affronted tone, Namjoon knew well enough that he wasn’t offended, or at least not as much as he was appearing to be. “I managed to piss off Yoongi-hyung today as well. Just glad I don’t share a room with him, or I might be sleeping on the couch. What was the joke?”
“Mmm, I was commenting that I hadn’t seen Hobi’s sunny self recently, he’s been so busy with those dance classes. And then I said, ‘A while ago I stayed up all night to see where the sun went. And then it dawned on me.’ That’s when he threw me out.”
His chuckle rolled out, long and luxurious as he enjoyed both the wordplay but more so the thought of Yoongi’s face when Seokjin had spoken, and Jin glanced at him before joining in. Their laughter, low and deep, high and squeaky, mixed together to make a sound that was all mirth and no worries, and by the time they managed to get themselves together Namjoon’s sides ached, and Jin looked like he was regretting the pain in his cheeks as he gasped and tenderly prodded at them.
“I wish I could have seen hyung’s face,” Namjoon finally got out, and Jin nodded in an attempt at solemnity that quickly dissolved into another hiccupping laugh.
“Poor Yoongi-ah,” Jin said, smiling widely as he turned back to the food preparations. “I hoped he’d be a little happier once him and Hobi got together.”
Namjoon was smiling, too, fond and warm. “Oh, he is. Much happier. Now when he says harsh things, it’s more a habit than anything. Most of the time, anyways. I think he needs to remember how to let go of his prickles, but in the mean time he’s softening them, making them stab less. I guess it’s not as obvious if you haven’t known him as long.”
“Good,” Jin replied with a quick bob of his head, beginning to cut up the roots on the board, a quiet pleasure in his voice. “Speaking of getting together… that’s actually what I asked you to come here for.” For one second Namjoon’s breath caught, a rush of realization and uncertainty flooding over him, but Jin didn’t take long enough to give him time to come to any not-so-solid conclusions. Before the half-hopes drifting in his head could get anywhere near concrete, the chef continued. “I’m gonna go shopping on Sunday for some things, and I wanted to know if you wanted to go with me?”
His first reaction was disappointment, a clinging, dark sort of feeling that was hard to shake off, but then Namjoon noticed something. He was staring at Jin (of course he was), and despite being perfectly poised to bring the knife down, despite not looking at Namjoon at all, Jin had stopped chopping as he asked the question, and he remained frozen even now. As though he was waiting. As though he was… nervous, maybe? They’d never gone anywhere together before, just the two of them – even studying had just been in one of their living rooms.
Running his tongue over too-dry lips, Namjoon found himself nodding vigorously. “Of course,” he replied, almost hoarsely, and had to cough to get the sound to smooth away, wondering if he was imagining the way Jin’s broad shoulders seemed to abruptly loosen. He certainly wasn’t imagining the way the knife started to rise and fall again. “I’d be happy to go with you. Where are we headed? What’re you picking up?” Maybe he could get some of the things his dorm needed, too, and save Hobi and Yoongi the shopping trip.
“Well we’re going to need more groceries,” Jin explained, and his voice was higher than usual, almost strained. “And I was thinking – if you wanted – well, I kinda wanted to drop by the Gardens.”
Namjoon paused. The Gardens. A vast, sprawling park filled with every conceivable kind of flower, every conceivable kind of pollen and spore and rash-inducing burr. Needless to say, he’d never been there, and had not up until this point considered going. Except Jin had turned around, was staring at him with playful expectation, and a hard ‘no’ was so far out of the realm of possibility it might as well have been an alien.
Well… he’d been meaning to mention this for quite a while now… Taking a deep breath, Namjoon rubbed his hand across his face as he began. “Uh, look, Jin-hyung, I’d really like to go shopping with you, definitely, and I imagine that it’ll be a great experience, but the thing is that I can’t really go to the Gardens with you.” Jin’s eyebrows furrowed with a confusion that could shortly become hurt, and Namjoon hurried on. “I mean, I’d really, really like to walk with you through them, but I -”
“Walk with me through them?” Jin interrupted, and Namjoon dropped his hand, jaw aching with tension as he waited for the other boy to get annoyed. Except… Jin didn’t seem mad, or even annoyed. Just confused. “Namjoon-ah, why would you walk with me through a garden, full of plants, when you’re allergic to them?”
If he’d been sprinting and run straight into a brick wall, Namjoon couldn’t have been more floored. Eyes widening, his jaw dropping, he made a sound somewhere between a croak and a gasp. Namjoon’s mouth worked silently for a moment, trying to produce actual words, and with a great effort of will he eventually managed to spit out, “You knew?”
Jin’s nose crinkled as he laughed in a kind of bewildered amusement. “About your allergies? Yeah, I’ve known for – well, for a long time. Did you think I didn’t?”
“How did you find out?” Namjoon sputtered. It was rare – quite rare – for him to feel so solidly behind in a conversation, but in this case, he was thunderstruck. Jin knew about his allergies? Had known for a decently long period?
Idly waving the knife as he thought, eventually Jin shrugged. “I think Hobi told me? I dunno, I’d kinda figured it out before then? I mean, I never once saw you watering the plants or even touching them, and there was that one day when it was windy and all the pollen was everywhere and you took a sick day…” He shrugged again. “Honestly Namjoon-ah, it wasn’t that hard to realize.” He smiled, his head tilting in inquiry. “What’s the big deal, anyways?”
“I – I…” Blushing furiously, eventually Namjoon said, almost reproachfully, “You’ve still been giving us flowers, though!”
Seemingly utterly unaware of the contradiction, Jin nodded without concern. “Yeah. I mean, I can tell you like them, even if you’re allergic. When we were studying at your place for the first time, you looked at them all the time, and you were smiling, so I thought it’d be nice to get a few more for you. And Yoongi-ah and Hoseok-ah like them too, so everyone was happy.” His smile abruptly became brighter. “That’s why I like flowers so much,” he said in the exact same confiding tone he’d used when they’d met the first time, months ago. “Because they make me and everyone else happy.”
Namjoon stared at him, took in the peaceful smile, the ridiculous apron, the mountain of food he’d built up on the counter behind him. “Oh, hyung,” Namjoon sighed, and though the other boy blinked, he made no comment. “What about asking me to go the Garden?”
“Oh. That.” Now it was Jin’s turn to blush – it was a rare thing to see him get red from anything but amusement – and he scuffed the kitchen floor with his foot several times before he brought his eyes up to meet Namjoon’s abruptly curious gaze. Blinking hard, hard enough to make his face twitch, he began softly, a little more self-mocking than he usually was. “The Gardens has a big greenhouse aside from the grounds, a place where you can buy a lot of different kinds of flowers. That’s where I’ve been getting all of the ones I gave to you guys. I thought…” Another few hard blinks, and he jiggled his head indecisively before seeming to decide to hurry ahead. “I thought it might be cute – that you’d like to go and pick one last one. You know, for yourself. Or that maybe… we could pick it together.”
And he looked so sweet, so abashed, and Namjoon’s chest was so, so tight, overburdened with an affection that was simultaneously too heavy and too light, all the pressure of a storm cloud mixed with the gossamer freshness of a light shower, and he inhaled once, a desperate, soundless gasp that helped to loosen his chest. Reaching out, he carefully took the knife from Jin, ignored the way it almost seemed to jump from his fingers because it landed with a clatter where he’d wanted it to, anyways. Then Jin’s slightly smaller hands were tucked comfortably in his own, and Namjoon was grinning, easily, and there was very little that was fierce about the emotions churning in his heart.
“Of course we can pick it together,” he said, finding a sudden assurance in the warmth of Jin’s touch. “How else will I know which ones are hardest to kill?”
Jin’s smile was almost tentative (as close to tentative as he ever got), but when Namjoon gave his hands a gentle squeeze the expression became more pronounced, sincerer, with just a tinge of impish excitement. They stayed that way for a long moment, close but not quite brushing, connected only by their hands, and Namjoon would have been content to stay that way for quite some more time if only a whining voice hadn’t broken in from the living room.
“Jin-hyung, we’re starving,” Tae complained. “When will supper be ready?”
Abruptly they were untangling their hands from each other, pulling at shirts that hadn’t been crumpled and smoothing hair that hadn’t been mussed. After a moment Jin picked up the knife again, shook it in the direction of the living room though no one in there would be able to see. “Dinner will be ready when it’s ready, you ingrates!” Jin called. “I slave all day to make you food and what does your hyung get? ‘We’re hungry,’” he mimicked in affront. “Oh, we want -”
“We’ll help you if you need it, hyung!” Abruptly Jimin was at the kitchen entranceway, beaming, and Taehyung and Jungkook crowded his ankles, all of their faces filled with a willingness that was probably too much to be fully true. Namjoon suspected they’d just already discovered the best way to stop their hyung from going on a full-scale lecture, but he was happy enough to lean on the fridge again and hope they ignored him.
Now that it had a distinct target, Jin’s knife waving became more energetic, almost to the point of being alarming. “Yah, you lot stay out of my kitchen!” he barked. “I already have a helper. Namjoon and I will get this ready, you just stay out of our way.” Exchanging glances that were definitely too close to smirks to be comfortable, all three of the dongsaengs inclined themselves in exaggerated, sweeping bows to both Namjoon and Jin before bounding away. Their snickers filled the living room, but it wasn’t exactly a bad sound, and out of sight, almost out of mind.
“Okay,” Jin said, abruptly all business, “let’s get to work. You can take over cutting for me while I get started on the sauce.” He left the knife on the board, and, caught off guard, Namjoon picked it up warily. Yoongi and Hoseok tended to do the cooking in their apartment when they weren’t living off packs of instant ramyeon, and he… was not entirely confident in his cooking skills. Giving a mental shrug, Namjoon was about to begin his appointed task when an abrupt and loud “-Wah!” right next to him almost made him cut off a finger. Jin was there, shaking his head and quickly getting behind him. “That’s not how you cut… well, anything, Namjoon-ah,” he said. “Here, let me help you.”
His arms settled around Namjoon, fingers resting lightly over his hands, and Namjoon could only credit his parents for raising him well enough that he was able to focus on the sharp blade in his hand instead of the warm body pressing against him from behind. Mostly focus. Pretty much focus. Jin’s hands were sure, guiding Namjoon through the motions with precision, and while Jin steered he talked, passionate and animated about all the ways you could prepare food. It was another special moment on top of an already impressive tower from today, and when Jin eventually broke away from him, Namjoon was too warm to be disappointed.
“Namjoon-ah?” Jin said, and, his eyes fixed on the roots he was now chopping properly, Namjoon made an inquiring murmur. “I just thought of something,” Jin continued blithely, his confidence apparently completely restored by working as Namjoon’s head chef. “We’re going to be picking out a flower together, right?” Now Namjoon did pause, glancing at him curiously. He had some vague notion of where this was going, but…
Jin’s smile was angelic. He proved Namjoon right a second later. “Does this mean we’re in a blossoming relationship?”