Work Text:
It started with a marketing assignment.
“Jungkook, I’m begging you.” It was past midnight, and Yoongi would’ve been able to move on with his work if only the person in question wasn’t wasting his time. Just one more respondent to fill out his survey and he'd be done. “Please?” Yoongi didn’t need any more reasons to hate the core class. He’s a Product Design major, for God’s sake, and he wanted to sketch out blueprints, not design user surveys.
“You still don’t sound desperate enough,” Jungkook snickered. He was sitting cross-legged on the carpet in Yoongi’s tiny dorm room, clad in his varsity baseball uniform with a bag of honey butter chips—which he had stolen from Yoongi’s limited snack stash while barging in—clutched in one hand. “Shouldn’t there be some kind of respondent incentives? Phone credits? Restaurant vouchers?”
Yoongi groaned, “It won’t take more than 5 minutes.” At this point he was ready to strangle Jungkook.
“That's what they all say,” Jungkook sing-songed, opening another bag of chips and making a mess.
“Okay, you're right, maybe ten min— Jesus, stop stealing my food, how many have you eaten?” Jungkook gestured a ‘four’ and Yoongi swore he almost bit the younger’s head off. Gritting his teeth, he threw the questionnaire in Jungkook’s lap in exasperation. “I'll buy you those lamb skewers again.” Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, at that fancy place—” and then his eyes lit up, “—with the green smoothie you like,” and there was a mischievous look on his face as he saw Yoongi deflate, “…or something.”
Jungkook is silly, Yoongi decided, judging from the way he crushed the five—he lied—bags of chips he’d finished into a ball, tossed it to the other side of the room and into Yoongi’s bin. Which of course he didn’t miss, because he’s Jungkook, and he goes to the gym for fun, and he’s Namjoon’s annoying little brother who’s unapologetically good at everything. “Pen, please.”
In hindsight, it may have started 12 years ago when Namjoon and Jungkook's parents decided to move into the unit next door, naturally becoming Yoongi’s Mom’s favourite neighbours as soon as the two families bumped into each other in the elevator on Christmas Eve.
But that's besides the point.
From that one marketing class onwards, Yoongi seemed to continuously find himself gravitating towards Jungkook for help.
“I’d like to call my requests ‘childhood neighbour privileges’.”
Jungkook scoffed. “Why don’t you go to my brother then?”
“We’re in the same year - sampling error, et cetera,” was Yoongi’s excuse.
First it was the survey, and then it was modelling for a product booklet for his visual communications class, and then more surveys, and then providing user testimonials on one of his product ideas, and the rest… neither of them could really remember. It was pleas for help piled on top of one another, and it started becoming the default setting of their relationship that by the end of Jungkook’s first semester at university, Jungkook’s knee-jerk reaction upon the sight of Yoongi in the hallways or even at the cafeteria was to ask, “What are you planning to use me for this time, hyung?”
Yoongi always had something, alright, his professors just wouldn’t leave him alone.
Once, the three of them were meeting up for dinner together and when Jungkook asked Yoongi the question, Namjoon’s eyes grew so large he pointed his chopsticks at Yoongi exaggeratedly, kimchi sauce flying around. “What do you mean you use my little brother?” Yoongi choked on a piece of lettuce and Jungkook laughed so hard his shoulders were shaking. Namjoon, being the unnecessarily observant person he was, only watched them quietly and said, “I feel like I’m interrupting something here.”
Which Yoongi didn’t quite get.
And that has carried on to this day - Jungkook’s halfway through his sophomore year while Yoongi’s working on his final undergraduate project as a fifth-year student. (“Industrial design is tough shit and doesn’t allow for timely graduation, 2 out of 10 wouldn’t recommend,“ he had declared drunk and sober many times.) Yoongi isn’t sure who Namjoon is trying to entertain other than himself whenever he does this, but he’d often drop by Yoongi’s design studio and ask him what's for dinner, only to have the opportunity to call the incentives Yoongi has promised Jungkook ‘dates’, which bothers Yoongi because it always gets so awkward afterwards. “You’re blushing, hyung,” Namjoon would say. Yoongi would hate him in those moments, and wouldn’t think twice to kick him out of his sacred workspace.
But sometimes his thoughts do get the better of him, and he’s left to wonder how Jungkook, an integral part of the varsity baseball team and a high-performing Psychology major, still manages to attend to Yoongi’s primarily frantic last-minute requests.
Except, today, a rare case of role reversal happens:
A few weeks back, Jungkook had demanded several portions of lamb skewers in exchange for the product packaging reviews he’d written for Yoongi’s upcoming project proposal. Now they’re seated across each other inside a crowded kebab place, waiting for their orders to arrive. The hustle and bustle around them makes up for the comfortable silence, keeping their eyes and ears busy. It’s what makes meals with Jungkook so enjoyable, Yoongi supposes.
Their food and drinks come and they give the waiter, and then each other, a small smile.
Digging into his dinner, Jungkook starts, “I drove onto a damn sidewalk two days ago and now my poor car’s stuck at the shop.”
Yoongi chuckles, amusement in his tone. “How come?”
“Beats me,” Jungkook sighs, defeated. “Now I have to figure out how to get to practice next week.”
Ah, for the baseball tournament, Yoongi reminds himself. “The bus?”
“Got an evening revision class. Won’t get there in time.”
“Namjoon?”
“I asked—he said he’ll be stuck in the middle of a practicum around that time.”
Suddenly the air feels hotter and the meat is harder to swallow. “I can drive you,” Yoongi cautiously offers. He doesn’t dare looking up at Jungkook.
“You’re kidding right?” Jungkook sounds pleasantly surprised, but it makes Yoongi feel like a loser somehow. “You’re awesome,” he adds. “The very best.”
Yoongi resorts to tutting, not knowing how to respond to compliments. “So… Friday?”
“Friday,” says Jungkook, and he has that one expression on—one where his teeth are showing through the smile and his eyes twinkle like tiny stars. Yoongi feels a blush creep up his neck. “I’ll wait at the front gate by 6.30pm.”
That’s how Jungkook ends up on Yoongi’s passenger seat on a Friday night, fingers tapping to the beat of track number 5. He trusts Yoongi’s Spotify playlist with his life. The americano Yoongi had brought to share sits in the cupholder between them, and their hands have brushed several times while trying to reach it, sending shivers down Yoongi’s spine that he chooses to ignore.
He fails consistently, but Jungkook doesn’t need to know that.
They discuss a range of topics throughout the 50-minute drive, including Jungkook’s newfound fixation on bowling, Yoongi’s favourite types of wood to work with, and which kind Jungkook would be if he were a piece of furniture. Jungkook wants to be oak. Yoongi insists he’s cedar.
When they eventually reach the stadium, Jungkook is already 3 minutes late. “I guess I’ll have to do 30 push-ups,” he sighs as the car pulls to a stop. Yoongi kind of feels bad, he shouldn’t have fumbled with the parking ticket earlier. “It’s alright, hyung,” Jungkook says, grabbing his belongings. “I’m gonna go - don’t miss me too much!”
Yoongi thinks he saw him wink.
“Oh! And thanks for the ride!” Jungkook shouts over his shoulder from afar, waving his hand. At this distance, Yoongi can’t see the signature grin decorating his face but he’s sure it’s there.
Yoongi’s about to shift gears and reverse the car when it dawns on him that Jungkook, for whatever reason, never mentioned if Yoongi was supposed to wait around. He punches himself in the thighs. This is going to be tricky. He could either go home and potentially abandon Jungkook, or wait until practice finishes and seem absolutely desperate.
Although unsure, he settles for the latter. The worst to come out of this is Jungkook refusing the ride - he can live with that.
So he parks his car, reclines his seat, and puts both feet up on the dashboard.
He’d like to think he’s got it covered when people he doesn’t recognise begin appearing from inside the building two hours later. He searches for a boy with muscles too toned for his own good and an oversized camouflage backpack, flashing his headlights as said boy steps out of the gate. Yoongi flashes once, twice, but Jungkook still won’t look his way. Strangers pass by his spot and give him a dirty look. He honks once, twice before Jungkook’s eyes finally catch his. He honks it one more time, for emphasis - or so he thought, before a scene unfolds before him:
- Jungkook stops in his tracks, squinting at Yoongi’s car, and then
- Jungkook attempts to run away, from Yoongi’s perfectly moving car, and then
- Jungkook looks back at the car with a horrified look in his eyes, and mouths, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” and if Yoongi is correct, is he blushing?
Confused, Yoongi steps on the brake forcefully next to, and almost crashing, a panicked Jungkook. He rolls down his window. “What the fuck?” He shouts.
“Why are you still here!?” Jungkook shouts back.
“I was waiting for you?” Yoongi offers, still confused.
“You didn’t have to!” Jungkook looks like he wants to start running again.
“Just get in, come on,” Yoongi tries. Jungkook frowns. “Come on, hey.” Yoongi wonders where he fucked up. “Good,” he continues as Jungkook carefully climbs into the car. “What was that—”
“—shut up,” Jungkook hisses. “Don’t say anything.” He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, so Yoongi leans forward to check, but Jungkook just folds into himself even further. “Just drive, hyung!”
And since Yoongi has lost most of his senses by now, he doesn’t retaliate. “Okay,” he says, preparing himself for the worst drive back. He turns on the stereo and prays.
It turns out that the world hasn’t had enough of playing a joke on him, because a few minutes later, Jungkook suddenly decides to run his mouth off without warning. “I’m sorry for freaking out but you could’ve just left me at practice by myself that’s what Namjoon-hyung always does so I can’t help but think what you did was so sweet and now my chest feels weird because I think I really for real like like you like for real and I know the tournament hasn’t even kicked off yet but today’s drive made me realise how much I like sitting next to you so would you like to be my date to all of my baseball-related events and perhaps other occasions?”
Stunned, Yoongi gulps. “I’m currently speeding on a highway, Jungkook,” he begins slowly. “I probably only heard one-fifth of what you said, and I’m not sure why I’m sweating, or why my heart is beating out of my chest, but yes,” he says, with more resolve this time, “yes, I’ll drive you around and maybe hold your hand if you let me.”
Next to him, Jungkook is crying from embarrassment. He looks like an idiot, Yoongi has to admit. But then Jungkook laughs, light and spontaneous at himself, and Yoongi understands why he keeps coming back.