Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

when yoongi was nine years old, his brother stabbed him with a screwdriver.

not on purpose - they never tried to kill each other despite fighting their way through childhood and his relationship with his family not being great today, courtesy of differences of opinion regarding things such as basketball teams and piercings as a way of self-expression and whether or not yoongi is claiming to be bisexual just to be difficult. it’s mostly the last one.

it didn’t help things that during their annual awkward christmas dinner a couple of years ago, at his mother’s hopeful probing, when will you bring a girl with you to these dinners, yoongi, it would be so nice if you brought a girl with you, yoongi didn’t shut up but instead corrected, or a boy. i could be dating a man in the future. his mother went very quiet and his father gave him such a look that if you were to walk in right then with no context, you would’ve thought yoongi had just said, hey, hear about that subway accident in gangnam? they are still trying to match all the body parts to their owners.

he didn’t speak more than a handful of words with them for months, until his mother finally called to have a stilted conversation that very carefully circled around the topic of boys and girls and everything remotely related to yoongi’s sexuality/romantic life. that’s how it always goes.

it’s been yoongi’s personal agenda ever since then to bring home someone who is not 1. nice 2. a girl. also, someone he is not actually seriously dating because he would never subject a significant other to that . maybe one of those people off craigslist with ads like i’ll pretend to be your douchebag boyfriend at a family gathering in exchange for free food. will pick a fight with your dad for beer. it’s in the planning stage.

back to that time his brother stabbed him with a screwdriver.

it was an accident, the kind kids have, usually with less blood and guts. they were playing around in their uncle’s tool shed, the edge of the screwdriver was jagged and sharp, the space below yoongi’s last rib was soft and perfect for a screwdriver to sink in when swung at the right angle.

he doesn’t actually remember the pain that well. the passing of time has reduced it to something like a movie - he remembers it as if it were a movie he saw, passively consumed through the eyes of someone else; the screwdriver tears through skin and muscle and you think, ooh, that must hurt, but you don’t actually feel the pain yourself.

what he does remember is how his eleven-year-old brother freaked out, almost certainly more than yoongi did, thought he had killed yoongi, kept screaming, don’t take it out, you’ll bleed out if you take it out. which was an impressive thing for an eleven-year-old to know. he’d seen it on tv last week and it was dumb luck that he had.

he also remembers how his uncle freaked out, even more than both yoongi and his brother had. in retrospect, it’s almost hilarious to picture: yoongi waddling out of the shed with a literal screwdriver sticking out of his abdomen and his uncle going white as the sheets hanging on the clothesline, going, they’ll never let me babysit again. that’s what he said. and then he rushed him to the emergency room with his brother wailing on the backseat.

the wound turned out not to be fatal at all. the screwdriver so happened to miss all the vital organs and didn’t leave him with nasty infections, either.

he only remembers the pain as the wound started healing. his skin repairing itself and closing up over where it had been torn away. how it was a terrible dull ache that seemed to stretch on for ages and sometimes left him unable to sleep, until, he supposes, he became numb to it; until it just didn’t hurt anymore. the scar stays, though, a couple of centimeters long raised white line on his right side at the bottom of his ribcage. it’s a great ice breaker. i was stabbed with a screwdriver once. it doesn’t come up often, though. for it to come up yoongi would have to be shirtless, and if he’s shirtless in the presence of another person it means a) he’s having sex with them and obviously way past the ice breaker stage, or b) the person is his roommate/self-proclaimed best friend jungkook with whom he is not having sex now or ever.

jungkook thinks his scar is cool. jungkook thinks lots of things about yoongi are cool. even things that yoongi himself finds terribly uncool. like the shape his mouth takes when he smiles without holding back, and shows more of his gums than any other smile yoongi’s seen. he mentioned feeling self-conscious about it once. cool was not the word jungkook used, then. the word he used was cute but yoongi does not think about that because it’s a terrible thing to say.

jungkook is really quite terrible.

being in love with his roommate/self-proclaimed best friend is a lot like being stabbed with a screwdriver.

sometimes, especially if he’s running a fever, he dreams of a screwdriver in his gut and his brother’s frantic voice: don’t take it out! you’ll bleed out if you take it out!

sometimes, especially if jungkook’s been close all day, yoongi can feel the wound closing up. it’s the same dull ache, a simmering burn below his skin. it seems to stretch on for ages. it leaves him unable to sleep, sometimes. only this wound is healing around the screwdriver still lodged between his ribs and yoongi is the one who put it there. don’t take it out. you’ll bleed out if you take it out.

sometimes, especially when he’s too exhausted to stop himself, he entertains the idea of pulling out the screwdriver blocking the words, blocking everything that’s been growing wild inside of him ever since jungkook moved in or possibly before that; pulling it out and letting his heart bleed all over the damn place until there’s nothing left. just to see what jungkook would do with it all. what would anyone do. it wouldn’t be quite fair to bleed out on anyone like that, so he doesn’t.

he lets the screwdriver sit there in his chest and honestly, it’s probably infecting him with all kinds of things. he can’t imagine this is healthy. there is also something to be said about a wound healing all wrong if you leave in the very thing that did it but that’s usually the point where yoongi steers the conversation elsewhere.

“first of all,” namjoon says, and it’s hardly the first point he’s made, “just the fact that you’re comparing this to the time your brother literally stabbed you with a sharp object is… worrying.”

“it’s a metaphor,” yoongi says evasively, and chases a drop of water slithering down the side of his americano with a fingertip. “why are we even talking about this, we were talking about… hobi. i hate to even ask. what the fuck are you doing?”

hoseok barely spares a glance at them across the table.

“whatever do you mean?” he asks as if he hadn’t been doing something highly questionable and suggestive with his straw and the lid of his coffee while maintaining eye contact with… yeah, a glance over the backrest of the seat confirms that is theater major kim seokjin at one of the tables of the café, staring back at hoseok with an arched eyebrow and his lips wrapped around a straw in a manner that is also remarkable in how inappropriate it is.

yoongi turns back to the table and feels rather defeated.

“that’s not how you drink through a straw,” namjoon remarks flatly, still peering past the backrest, “there is no need to move your lips up and down like that.”

yoongi kicks hoseok in the ankle.

“you two are shameless. just bang already.”

“oh, don’t be boring.” hoseok finally tears his eyes away from seokjin and slouches against the table, smiling a smug satisfied smile that’s somehow just as disturbing as his public eye fucking session. “this is the fun part. i’m not even sure there will ever be any banging. we’ll just bang in our heads from the distance until one of us caves in and we’ll see what happens then.”

“that’s so incredibly gross,” yoongi sighs, and lays his temple onto the pillow of his folded arm. “happy for you. you’re perfect for each other.”

“so, back to jungkook,” namjoon starts. yoongi screws up his face.

“not back to jungkook. we were never on jungkook.”

“but you wish you were,” hoseok says. namjoon chortles loudly.

“we were talking,” yoongi emphasizes each syllable, “about how one of you is going to accompany me to my parents’ house on christmas break as my pretend boyfriend.”

“no, we were talking about jungkook,” namjoon insists in a tone that makes yoongi feel like he’s being hypnotized. “we were talking about the thing you mentioned, we turned down your offer, and then we started talking about jungkook. because you know he’s your best option.”

“out of the question,” yoongi dismisses. then he stretches himself over the width of the table and claws at hoseok’s shirt sleeve. his friends call it exhibiting kitten-like behavior. yoongi doesn’t see it. “hobi, please. they would hate you.”

“does that usually work?” hoseok raises an amused eyebrow. “is telling them your parents would hate them a good way to score a date?”

“you know what i mean.” yoongi glowers. “i’m trying to piss them off. namjoon might accidentally win them over with his adorable clumsiness and absurd knowledge of 18th century belgian poetry. you, on the other hand, are in complete control of all of your limbs and don’t know shit about the 18th century or belgium or poetry.”

“i’m not sure which one of us you’re offending,” namjoon says.

“even if we wanted to play your boyfriend for some reason - i mean, what’s a christmas dinner without a side of systematic oppression,” hoseok says, and yoongi mumbles, touché, “it wouldn’t work. your parents have met both of us before. they’d never believe we’re suddenly dating.”

“one day we opened our eyes and realized true love was right next to us all along?” yoongi suggests desperately.

“they’ve never met jungkook,” namjoon adds, “and, he’s your best friend. and, you, well… you have actual feelings for him.”

“which is exactly why it’s out of the goddamn question.” yoongi frowns as he pulls his spine upright again. “plus, he’s… you know…”

“not into men?” hoseok suggests.

“obviously out of your league?” namjoon offers.

“thank you,” yoongi says as dryly as humanly possible, “for reminding me i don’t have a chance in this life. i see now where i went wrong. it was when i decided to come to you for any type of help or advice.”

“oh, no, i know what yoongi was going to say,” hoseok grins, “you were going to say, he’s so wonderful my parents would love him. weren’t you?”

“no i wasn’t.” it’s not a lie. he was going to say, he’s so lovely even my parents couldn’t hate him.

“oh my god, hyung,” namjoon says in a weird mixture of tones yoongi never wants to be addressed in again. it sounds adoring, exasperated and amused all at once. he tips his head back to down the remainder of his coffee. “you’re so in love you can’t see why anyone would find jungkook less than perfect.”

“your parents would not find him perfect,” hoseok snorts, “first of all, he has a tattoo on his -”

“that’s not it.” it’s not a lie. yoongi presses his fingertips against the cup so hard the plastic dents with a cracking sound. he feels the wound closing up around the screwdriver.

it’s just that he knows jungkook… as well as one can ever know another person. knows how he first comes across, knows the process of getting to know him, knows what a pleasure it is, what a privilege to be let in and discover all the versions of him that make up the boy that is jeon jungkook. knows how he is when you do know him, knows what kind of a friend he is. the kind who stays up until three a.m. recreating his mom’s chicken soup and trying to get it right when you’re sick. the kind who doesn’t ask why you’re crying over chicken soup and just gets in bed with you and holds you until you fall asleep instead.

yoongi would like to think he can be objective about this. he doesn’t think jungkook is a wonderful person because he loves him. he loves him because he is a wonderful person.

maybe some of this is showing on his face because the looks he’s receiving are decidedly softer now. yoongi hates it. he wants them to go back to watching hoseok perform sexual acts on his coffee cup. wants things to be simple for once. wants to not be in love with his best friend.

“jungkook is not perfect,” namjoon says gently, “but he could be perfect for this. it’s a show you’d be putting on, after all. a show that needs to be convincing.”

“by the way,” hoseok says, “he’s definitely into men. he calls you cute all the time.”

“that means nothing,” yoongi says, currently staring lifelessly at the mangled corpse of his empty cup. “calling something cute does not equal being romantically attracted to it. i won’t ask jungkook to come to my parents’. let’s not talk about it anymore.”

they definitely share one of their glances over the table. there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that is not the screwdriver - not all of it, anyway.

the day is warm for november. ice is melting into a puddle at the center of the table. yoongi sticks his finger in it and attempts to draw a heart. hoseok looks at it with his head tilted.

“a butt, a bean, a potato,” he rattles off like it’s pictionary.

“craigslist?” namjoon suggests with a shrug.

“yes,” yoongi says to one of those.

/

jungkook’s not home yet when yoongi gets back. he shoulders off his jacket, kicks off his boots, heaves his bag into the closer one of the two bedrooms. detaches the pale yellow post-it note from his door.

be back late, practice -> 8pm -jk

in place of be, there’s a cartoonish drawing of a bee. it makes yoongi smile.

jungkook doesn’t text like normal people. oftentimes he doesn’t seem to remember that’s a thing you can do with your phone. he leaves post-it notes around the apartment for yoongi to find, informative things like be back late or we need milk but also things like let’s go see black panther next week and ask me about giant snail. the last one is still a mystery. he left it on yoongi’s door handle in the morning, and later had no memory of even writing it.

he doodles on each of them and always signs his name the way he signs his artwork, the letters jk combined into two elegant strokes, as if there would be any confusion as to who left them. it’s ridiculous. yoongi finds it hard to get rid of something jungkook made - even if it’s a doodle that took him five seconds - so he keeps them all between the pages of a notebook in his drawer.

he goes to turn on the electric kettle and finds two more notes on the way.

please eat the leftover kimbap -jk

sometimes, especially when yoongi’s on a deadline and has convinced himself he can function on no food and no sleep until he’s done, jungkook adds leftover in front of foods that are obviously not leftovers, that he placed in the fridge specifically for yoongi, just to get him to eat it. to make it seem like yoongi’s doing him a favor. it always makes him think: jungkook knows yoongi, too. probably knows everything about him except for the fact that yoongi’s been in love with him for almost a year now.

the other note is just a drawing of yoongi - the expression and pose look familiar and yoongi stares at it with his head cocked until he realizes it’s a recreation of the knife cat meme. of course.

he mixes the instant ramen ingredients into a bowl and unwraps the plate of kimbap and considers - it’s a thursday. thursdays are usually when they go down to the basketball court and he kicks jungkook’s ass in a series of one-on-ones. he really values their basketball sessions because it’s one of the rare instances he beats jungkook at something physical. he likes the rush he gets from driving past an opponent and nailing a lay up, and he likes the way jungkook looks at him after scoring a three-pointer like yoongi is something wonderful. he likes the easy way he throws an arm around yoongi’s shoulders and says next time.

he likes that they go to grab food in a shitty diner afterwards and likes how life seems simple just for a moment.

lately, though - they haven’t gone in a long time. this fall’s been busy for both of them. yoongi’s working on his master’s and jungkook takes an inhumane amount of classes that stretch late into the evening. it’s the least yoongi’s seen him since he moved in a year and a half ago.

it’s okay. jungkook’s doing things that make him happy. with people that make him happy. he practices with his dance partner park jimin almost every evening and comes home with a sort of gratified post-workout glow about him.

sometimes yoongi does things that make him happy, too.

yoongi pokes at his instant ramen at the tiny kitchen table and wonders if jungkook remembers thursdays were sort of their thing. it’s okay to be a little bummed about that, right? to miss that a little.

he lets himself feel a little bummed for a while. then he picks up his phone and starts looking through ads on craigslist.

he does not find anyone willing to pick a fight with his dad for beer but he comes across someone selling their collection of karl marx sex toys - yes, they have his face on them, which is both hilarious and terrifying - and forwards it to namjoon. namjoon blocks him on kakaotalk.

he’s doing the dishes that have been piling up in the sink since the beginning of the week when he hears the door over the running water. a moment later jungkook’s light-treading steps, then his back and shoulders being swallowed by warmth; jungkook’s running hot, jungkook’s draping himself over yoongi.

“sweaty,” yoongi groans, but makes no move to push jungkook off. jungkook hums against his shoulder, and yoongi decides this is a lot less gross than it should be.

“i’m beat,” jungkook sighs, “hi, hello, hyung, how are you? how was your day?”

yoongi replies by flicking hot water at his face. jungkook merely hides behind his nape and doesn’t unlock his arms around yoongi, his fingers loosely hooked with each other at yoongi’s chest.

“it was okay,” yoongi hums, “i even had two entire minutes of free time after psychoacoustics so i met namjoon and hoseok for coffee.”

“yeah?” jungkook says softly. “sounds nice.”

suddenly his arms around yoongi feel too gentle. it’s unbearable. yoongi grips a glass in the sink white-knuckled and wonders if it’s obvious.

the closeness is easier to handle when it comes rough around the edges. when he’s guarding in basketball and shoulders and chests collide, when he pulls yoongi close by his shoulders after a game, all adrenaline and electricity singing just beneath the skin.

it’s harder when it comes with gentleness. sometimes yoongi doesn’t know what to do with it. that’s why he started fucking crying when jungkook stayed up making him chicken soup. it gets too much, sometimes, and it’s hard to mask how utterly he wants this, craves this, to be touched like this by jungkook, when things are so still.

he pictures the screwdriver in his chest: pictures himself leaving it there. releases the glass and watches it swallow soap water and sink. when he breathes, it feels as though he’s only mimicking breathing. like he knows the mechanics of it, knows how to make his chest rise and fall, but doesn’t know what it’s supposed to achieve. his rhythm is all off and jungkook notices. knows it to mean he needs space.

knows that it’s not an insult. his arms slip off yoongi, and he steps back, easy as that. doesn’t go far, leans a shoulder against the fridge with half a meter between them. yoongi glances at him, the fact that he hasn’t really seen him properly for a few days not escaping him, and gives him a tiny smile. jungkook’s in his practicewear, grey joggers and a loose yellow t-shirt. he smiles back. yoongi buries his gaze into the murky water.

“how was dance practice?” he asks.

“exhausting,” jungkook says. he looks exhausted, like he’s about to fall asleep standing up, his temple resting against the fridge door and lidded eyes following the movements of yoongi’s hands. “but fun. we just fucked around for most part but i think i’m still learning a lot. jimin-hyung’s teaching me tumbling."

“that’s great.” it is great. he’s not just saying that. it’s great that jungkook’s happy. so he misses spending time with him a little. or a lot. but he feels like bringing it up now would be selfish. he hesitates for a moment. “jimin’s a dance major, right?”

“yeah.” jungkook lifts his head. yoongi’s chest feels all wrong and he doesn’t want to think about what it means. doesn’t want to glance over at jungkook to confirm or deny whether his face lit up a little because it shouldn’t matter. “he majors in contemporary. why? do you know him?”

“nah… i thought… if he’s in dance, hoseok might.” he knits his brows at the sink, thoroughly disappointed in himself. it’s not what he was thinking at all. it’s not like hoseok knows every dance major. he sighs a little, pulls the plug. the water circles into the drain with a final death gurgle. “just… you talk about him a lot. i’m just curious. what goes on in your life.”

“ah… i do?” jungkook pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. “i guess i’ve… been hanging out with him a lot.” when yoongi goes to dry the cups at the edge of the sink, jungkook reaches out to touch his fingers to yoongi’s. yoongi wordlessly gives up the rag, and leans back against the counter as jungkook takes up the task. his eyes absentmindedly fixed somewhere around the wings of jungkook’s shoulder blades, shifting under the t-shirt. “sorry if that’s all i’ve talked about recently.”

yoongi blinks, focuses his eyes on jungkook, who’s looking back at him, eyes big and completely sincere. yoongi feels a little rattled.

“you don’t have to apologize.” he licks his lips. “i have to work this weekend but. next week. let’s do something, yeah? a movie, a day trip, whatever.”

the way jungkook’s expression softens is truly terrible.

“yes,” he says, a smile ghosting on his lips, “let’s do something.”

/

they already knew each other before jungkook moved in. they met through namjoon two years ago, at namjoon’s party that wasn’t pretending to be anything else than a means to get fucked up - so essentially this can all be blamed on namjoon. have you ever wondered who takes my kim daily pictures, namjoon asked. not really, yoongi said. this is him, namjoon said, and left yoongi with a boy who was more hoodie than boy and making a valiant effort to not look like the taste of stale beer was about to make him throw up.

tastes like piss, huh, yoongi said, come with me, i’ll mix us both better drinks.

oh, god, yes please, the boy sighed like he’d just been waiting for yoongi to offer all night, and poured his remaining beer on namjoon’s already dead potted ficus.

in a true party fashion, they didn’t learn each other’s names until after they’d learned various intimate details about each other’s personal histories. jungkook knew yoongi’s brother stabbed him with a screwdriver when he was nine before he knew yoongi’s name. yoongi knew jungkook has a tattoo of a frog he got when he was eighteen and still hasn’t told his parents about before he knew his name.

it’s not even a nice, artsy frog. it’s the here come dat boi meme frog on a unicycle.

jungkook said he doesn’t regret it.

then he said he’s an art major and yoongi knew he was the most incredible person he’s ever met.

as much as the very concept of fate goes against yoongi's principles, it almost felt like it had been written in the stars or something cliché and poetic like that. jungkook always felt like that to him. the last time he became friends with someone this easily and this fast was when he still lived in the dorms and a drunk hoseok mistook the third floor for the fourth, stumbled into yoongi’s room and yoongi’s life and then just sort of never left.

a couple of days after the party, jungkook stumbled into yoongi’s workplace and yoongi’s life and then just sort of never left.

well, frog-tattoo, yoongi said, and thus marked the first thing said to each other sober, what is your non-alcoholic drink of choice?

well, screwdriver, jungkook said, and yoongi said, i said non-alcoholic. we don’t serve screwdrivers here. jungkook said, i can’t believe you told me that story just to set up this joke.

then he ordered a white chocolate strawberry caramel frappuccino with sprinkles and yoongi was delighted to find he was completely serious about it.

half a year later, yoongi’s roommate went to prison, and yoongi was left with an extra bedroom and a rent too high to handle by himself. he didn’t want to move, either, because moving is a pain and he’s got a lot of stuff.

wait, hold on, go back, you can’t just offhandedly mention your previous roommate went to prison and immediately move on , people will usually say at this point of the story. um, yes i can, this is my story, yoongi will say, and it’s not about my ex-roommate who turned out to be a serial arsonist who terrorized gwangju five years ago. it’s about my friendship with jeon jungkook so pipe the fuck down.

around the same time, jungkook was looking to move out of the dorms, the joke of him calling himself yoongi’s best friend hadn’t really been a joke for quite some time, and so yoongi naturally offered him the room.

(pop quiz: they say you should never live with your best friend because you will

a) hate them
b) fall in love with them
c) hate yourself for falling in love with them.)

things seem to move in half years. about half a year into living with jungkook, yoongi realized he’s dug himself into a hole and that he is, very much, in love with jeon jungkook’s frog-tattooed ass.

the tattoo is not on his ass. but it is on a body part that is not usually exposed for people to see, much like yoongi’s screwdriver scar. yet both came up within two hours of them meeting. that says something. that says plenty of things, yoongi’s sure. namjoon says plenty of things, too, including, hold on, let me get this straight, you were in my kitchen when you saw the tattoo on his -

it was sort of easy to accept because the moment you find yourself having feelings for someone who has a unicycling frog tattooed on them, you know it’s for real. plus, jungkook is the best person yoongi knows. if they were fated to meet, then yoongi was fated to fall in love with him. he cannot imagine himself knowing jungkook, knowing all that he is, and not being in love with him. instead of fighting it, he made namjoon and hoseok sit through hours of him drawing comparisons between falling in love and getting stabbed with a screwdriver.

that’s a way to deal with it. he supposes.

he’s dealing with it.

anyway.

the point of this story was that this is all intrinsically kim namjoon’s fault.

/

“again, it’s not my fault,” namjoon insists on the phone, “like i’m very sorry he turned out to be creepy but his ad said nothing about wanting his payment in pictures of feet. if someone’s to blame here, it’s you. and obviously the guy who wanted pictures of your feet. but also you.”

“how is it my fault,” yoongi grumbles as he adjusts the laptop bag on his shoulder and braces himself against the november air that’s starting to feel a lot more like november. “you arranged a meeting with a random guy from craigslist without even asking me first.”

“it’s not like i gave him your address and social security number.” yoongi can tell he’s rolling his eyes. “his ad made him sound like a match. and i don’t know what you think of me, but i am pro making your conservative family uncomfortable and forcing them to challenge the limitations of their narrow minds. i just want to help.”

“that is exactly what i think of you. but -”

“and it’s your fault,” namjoon cuts him off, “because you won’t do the sensible thing and ask jungkook to help.”

a little known fact: yoongi almost asked jungkook to come to daegu with him last year. it was early on, jungkook had moved in a few months ago, and yoongi’s burning need to wreck a little havoc at the christmas table and upset some heterosexuals was fueled by a standard stilted phone call with his mother during which she cautiously inquired if yoongi was coming alone.

sometimes yoongi thinks - maybe he should be grateful. that his family’s the quiet kind of homophobic. the tight lips and disapproving looks kind of homophobic. some kids have it a lot worse.

then he considers just how fucked up the world is that he feels grateful to be sort of treated like a human being and gets a little angrier.

it’s hard to sit there alone and be angry alone while the people around you chat about roast pork and pretend like they don’t think a part of you is wrong and unacceptable and disgusting. just like when jungkook gives him gentleness - it’s the stillness of things that makes it unbearable. only it’s so completely different.

the stillness with jungkook is a warm lake at the end of a summer day. it’s gliding your hand just above the surface never quite breaking it. it’s hearing curlews in the distance and the sun bleeding soft orange into the water. it’s carnage, yes, but softly. it’s also love. it’s loving someone who loves you back, maybe not the way you do but loves you nonetheless.

the stillness at his parents’ house is a frozen lake in some cursed eternal winter. it’s the tension between the foot and the ice, it’s waiting for the moment it cracks and you plunge into the cold cold cold.

both make yoongi want to lash out and break the tension, break something; his own heart or the ugly stained glass candy bowl gifted by an aunt who a few years ago was very vocal about casting her vote to an openly homophobic candidate in the local elections. lovely. just having the bowl there every christmas feels like a fucking insult to his existence. it might be just a candy bowl. his parents might not even remember who it’s from. but it feels like its presence says: we condone this violence against you.

there isn’t much to add to that story - he almost asked jungkook to come as his pretend boyfriend, or even just as - his someone, because just yoongi bringing a guy with him without establishing a label for them would be enough to generate plenty unease.

jungkook is his someone, isn’t he.

he backed out before he could pose the question. couldn’t really pinpoint why it suddenly felt like an abysmal idea until after he returned from daegu, and the coldness and emptiness of the apartment sort of hit him in the face even though he had known jungkook left for busan. he realized how much he’d really wanted jungkook there. realized how much he wanted him here, now.

he stood there in the hall realizing things and subconsciously pressing fingers to the bottom of his ribcage probably for an hour. then he called namjoon in ilsan, said, i’m in love with him, and proceeded to cry like an idiot on the phone.

that’s all there is to that story.

he won’t ask jungkook to come to daegu because he’s scared, he is, and he can tell exactly which three things he’s scared of: 1. him feeling like he’s using jungkook to briefly live in a fantasy that could never happen, 2. him not wanting to stop the fantasy, 3. jungkook finding out yoongi isn’t pretending as much as he should be, and feeling used, betrayed, and everything snowballing from there.

into the phone, now, he says,

“‘cause i don’t wanna.”

namjoon heaves a raspy sigh.

“hyung, have you considered it might be good? like, for you and him. something good might come out of it.”

the only thing yoongi sees coming out of it is a broken heart and/or candy bowl.

“you’re breaking up,” he informs. there’s a confused pause.

“no i’m not. the connection is fine.”

“i can’t hear you at all,” yoongi says with no inflection whatsoever, “sorry. bye.”

“at least bother to pretend like you’re breaking up, for fuck’s -”

yoongi hangs up. he clumsily pockets his phone with numb fingers and tugs his scarf up his face as he moves along in the civil twilight. he knows his friends want to help; but he’s tired of repeating the same thing over and over. would appreciate it if they respected his decision to not involve jungkook in this.

there’s also this: november is in its last leg and in a few weeks yoongi would be suffering through another subtly homophobic christmas dinner alone or with a fake date.

the feet guy namjoon directed into the café yoongi was writing his paper at with a ten minute warning was great - mid-twenties, pretty good-looking, assured he had no trouble acting disrespectful towards strangers - until he announced he was expecting to be paid for his services in photos of yoongi’s feet and the whole thing just fell apart.

that just really seems like something you should mention in your ad, yoongi said. then he asked, how many? because when you think about it, who hasn’t sold a foot picture or two in a time of need.

i usually ask for twenty to twenty-six photos, the guy said, or ten and a three minute video of -

at that point yoongi was so uncomfortable he threw his things into his bag, told the guy he suddenly remembered he doesn’t have feet, and left.

now he’s unlocking his front door and sort of wishing the day was over.

jungkook isn’t home. the post-it note on his door is pale pink and reads: call me abt weekend plans -jk

at least there’s that. something not-horrible about this week. he drags his feet into the kitchen, finding bane of my life in his contacts. pulls the note saying eat the leftover pizza off the fridge door as the line rings.

“so weekend plans,” he says as jungkook picks up on the fifth ring. there is subtle music in the background, voices he doesn’t recognize. jungkook is at the dance studio. “you got something in mind?”

“actually,” jungkook starts, and something in yoongi drops, just a little bit, just gently. oh, he thinks. “sorry, hyung, i forgot jimin’s throwing a party this weekend… i promised i’d go like weeks ago, i messed up with the dates, i’m really sorry.”

yoongi knows he means it. he sounds a little bit breathless but genuinely apologetic and a little bit upset. for a fleeting moment, yoongi feels a bitter sense of satisfaction at this. he stares at the labels on the shelves of the fridge in the ghostly incandescent light that doesn’t seem to quite reach him.

“it’s okay.” it probably is. it’s just a weekend. there would be others. “we can reschedule.”

jungkook is quiet, for a moment, and yoongi thinks he hears the background noise subside a little bit. there’s the sound of a door clicking shut.

“it’s not okay,” jungkook says so softly yoongi almost doesn't catch it. he’s all cold from standing in front of the fridge for so long. he closes it without taking anything out. “we keep… making plans to hang out and they keep falling through.” he pauses. yoongi’s body feels very heavy, and he lets his shoulders collide with the fridge door with a muffled thud. a magnet from oslo digs into his shoulder blade. he closes his eyes. fucking norway. “i can… you know what, fuck the party, i won’t go. let’s do our thing.”

it’s a nice gesture. jungkook is always nice. yoongi doesn’t want him to be nice, not now, not if it’s at the expense of himself. he shakes his head even though jungkook can’t see it.

“you should go. hang out with your friends. they don’t see you every day, unlike me.”

“are you saying you’re tired of my face?” jungkook teases, but there’s still a tension to it that yoongi hates. he merely snorts, doesn’t say, i don’t see your face enough.

“really. we’ll do something another time.”

“then,” jungkook says, and sounds determined, “i want you to come with me.”

a beat passes.

“to jimin’s party?”

“yeah. i’ll check, but i’m sure it’s fine. i kinda really want to introduce you guys.”

“i won’t know anyone there, kook,” yoongi protests, assuming it’s going to be dancer people, feeling uneasy about the whole thing in general.

“you’ll know me,” jungkook says. “come with me, hyung, i’ll feel less awful about cancelling on you.”

“a literal pity party,” yoongi scowls. there’s an increase in the background noise; someone calls jungkook’s name.

“you know that’s not it. i really really want you there.” jungkook is speaking hurried. still, something tells yoongi he’s not going to get back to practice until yoongi says yes. “please, hyung? pretty please?”

“fine, you fiend,” yoongi says, exhaling out of his nose. jungkook lets out a victorious hiss that makes a smile rise to his lips.

“it’ll be fun. i promise. i’ll be home in a couple of hours. see you soon.”

yoongi falls asleep curled up on the couch after finishing and submitting his paper before jungkook comes back. wakes up around one a.m. with a blanket draped over him and a cartoonish version of his own face drawn on a post-it stuck to his laptop. yoongi sits up, wildly disoriented, and blearily stares down at what is surely an exaggerated puddle of drool out of the corner of his mouth and the text cute!!!!!!! with no less than seven exclamation marks in the top left corner.

stuck to his left shoulder is a note that says goodnight hyung with no less than three hearts.

the one in yoongi’s chest is incorrigible.

/

turns out yoongi knows a lot more people at jimin’s party than he thought.

“hobi i sort of understand, i thought he might know jimin through dance,” yoongi says, gesturing vaguely with a cup of something fizzy and green that got pushed into his hand as soon as he stepped into the apartment, “but what are you doing here?”

“i take offence to that,” namjoon says, and doesn’t sound offended at all. “i can’t have a social network?”

he’s got cat whiskers sharpied onto his face and they were already there when yoongi got here. he looks tipsy and happy. they are huddled fairly close to hear each other over the rather lively party.

“you know jimin, too?” yoongi knits his brows. why is everyone suddenly knowing park jimin. not that there’s anything wrong with that. yoongi’s sure he’s a nice young man. has refined abs from what he’s seen on jungkook’s instagram. just a side note. his abs probably have nothing to do with anything. or maybe they do. who knows, who cares. yoongi doesn’t. it’s none of his business how many individual abdominal muscles jungkook’s hanging out with. he takes a sip out of the fizzy green drink and the unexpected strawberry flavor knocks him off kilter. “why is it green,” he whispers, staring at the liquid disbelievingly.

namjoon’s shaking his head.

“i know his roommate, taehyung. he’s actually the kid i told you about. the one who got kicked out of latin because he wouldn’t stop bringing his lizard to class.”

“ah. i see,” yoongi says levelly. he glances around the place, hoping to happen upon one of two people, but hoseok slipped away from them ages ago and even his bright orange hair isn’t jumping out at yoongi, and yoongi has yet to find jungkook for the first time. the music is a dance beat and sort of loud for his so-far-sober person, and the people are: myriad. “how’s this place so huge? is it just the two of them here? how do they afford this?”

he would’ve thought google maps was broken or that jungkook had sent him the wrong address, but it was sort of hard to miss with the muffled music all the way to the street and the heaps of people smoking and talking outside and the creepy old mannequin propped on the sidewalk holding a piece of cardboard that said: PARTY!!! (FUCK COPS BE GAY) from the outside, it’s a massive block of stone and looks more closely like an old brick warehouse than an apartment complex.

“oh, that’s because this place is a shithole,” namjoon says cheerfully. when yoongi turns back to him, a solo cup has materialized to his lips. “there are holes in the floor so you should watch your step. and the bathroom has no door.”

yoongi stares at him.

“it has a curtain in the doorway,” namjoon elaborates. “this place is totally unsuitable for a party or any type of human residence. oh, and don’t go out to the balcony.”

“have you seen jungkook?” yoongi asks, deciding right then the less he knows about this place, the better.

“he is… around,” namjoon says with a broad look over his shoulders. he points to his sharpie whiskers. “he’s the one who did this. it wasn’t too long ago. try the kitchen.”

yoongi shifts through the jostling mass of people while using his sharper than average elbows to his advantage. he really doesn’t know where he’s going - the layout of this place is fucking weird, rooms meld into other rooms seamlessly and there seem to be corners in places where there aren’t supposed to be corners. yoongi is not an architect but he’s pretty sure that if you walk into a room and the presence of a corner surprises you, there is something wrong with your apartment. he also sees what namjoon meant when he said there are holes in the floor. he meant there are holes in the floor. yoongi’s heel slips right into a fist-sized cavity and for a moment he’s honestly 20% certain it’s satan pulling him down to hell. if that's ever going to happen to him, this seems like the place for it.

he ditches the suspicious drink on a random surface and finally arrives to a room he can fairly certainly say is the kitchen because it has a sink and a fridge. there also prevails an absence of people and an abundance of liquor. no jungkook, but yoongi just found his favorite nook in this weirdly hostile flat so he’s going to stay for a while.

he pulls his phone out of the back pocket of his torn jeans and texts jungkook to come into the room voted most likely to be a kitchen. then he finds an unused plastic cup and sets about mixing a drink that’s not fizzy or green and whose flavor you can guess with a fairly narrow margin for error when you see the color.  

not a couple of minutes later there’s the presence of a person, and a voice:

“hey, screwdriver.”

a smile automatically tugs at yoongi’s mouth. without turning around because he’s in the middle of pouring wine out of a box, he says, “frog-tattoo.”

“i’m glad you came.” there’s a touch on his lower back, so brief it was barely there at all. yoongi fills the cup to the brim. “what are you making?”

“a delicacy. sangria, but without the fruit or the other ingredients. so red wine out of the box.”

jungkook snickers softly, and yoongi turns to him. ah. jungkook is wearing one of his looks that make it hard for yoongi to look away from him. it’s not awfully different from what he usually wears, but whereas he looks effortlessly good in his daily life, yoongi can tell some effort was made today. his hair is brushed off his forehead. the white shirt is a little bit see-through - backlit, yoongi can see exactly where the lines of his waist are under the fabric. his legs are also there. awesome. paired with alcohol, this should be a disaster.

“you want a drink?” he asks, gesturing at the liquor supply.

“nah. i don’t really feel like drinking, to be honest. i’ll just steal yours.”

there are no chairs in the kitchen, but yoongi hoists himself up onto the counter and jungkook leans his butt against the edge of the rickety table. it’s dangerous, the combination of jungkook looking like that and his cup full of red wine, and how he wouldn’t have to extend his leg much to touch jungkook with his toes. but he’s still glad there aren’t other people here. to finally have time and hang out with jungkook and just be with him. it’s not what they talked about in their vague plans, but - this is what yoongi missed, being with him.

maybe it’s selfish of him. maybe jungkook doesn’t want to just be, maybe he’s not getting as much out of this as yoongi is. maybe that’s why they are at someone else’s party instead of being somewhere else right now.

but jungkook’s already jumping right back into a conversation they started and never quite finished earlier in the week, and yoongi tries to shut down the part of his brain that worries. jungkook looks happy to be in this weird fucking kitchen with yoongi, talking about the odd documentaries yoongi’s been binging on youtube in between projects and about jungkook’s photography assignment he’s struggling with and about hoseok and seokjin whom jungkook saw earlier, like, having heated sex by the home theater except that they were meters apart and fully clothed and not really doing much anything, but you could, like, see it happening? does that make sense, it was very disturbing?

it does and it is, yoongi agreed with a defeated nod. their hands keep meeting in the space between them as they pass the wine back and forth.

“hey, so like, what’s up with this place?” yoongi asks, slumping lethargic against the wall and raising eyebrows at jungkook over the rim of the cup. jungkook laughs breathily.

“it’s something, isn’t it.”

“something is a good word for it. i’m not sure this qualifies as an apartment, like, legally.”

“i think it has character,” jungkook muses as he takes the wine from yoongi.

“it has pitfalls and bear traps. and i mean both of those literally. i saw bear traps in some of the doorways?”

“they’re probably props,” jungkook shrugs, “there’s lots of strange shit here. this place used to be, like, a storage unit for an old theater that used to be on the lot next to this building. before it went out of business and got torn down.”

that is what you’d call character, yoongi thinks, but some petulant part of him does not want to start liking this place. what he says is, “this place sounds potentially haunted.”

“it’s definitely haunted.” jungkook hands the wine back. the cup is stained where their lips have been on opposite sides of it. this is nice, yoongi thinks, this casualness, this being close but still having space between them, wrapped in the pleasant dull buzz that tastes like red berries. he feels good, feels like pushing it, so he kicks his leg out just slightly, pokes at jungkook’s hip with his toes. jungkook’s hand catches his ankle. like a bear trap, but less deadly teeth and more soft tender fingers.

scratch that. jungkook’s soft tender fingers are plenty deadly. they pull at yoongi’s ankle until it’s resting against his hip, his foot propped against the table edge, and even still he doesn’t let go. it’s making yoongi think about the feet guy from craigslist. almost begins to tell jungkook about it, but remembers he hasn’t even told jungkook he’s looking for a fake boyfriend. why hasn’t he told him, that’s uncharacteristic of him.

“how’s the party so far?” jungkook asks, and yoongi looks up from where they’re touching. he’s smiling a secret kind of bear trap smile. “shown anyone your screwdriver scar yet?”

“nope, haven’t gotten to that stage with anyone yet.” yoongi huffs out something laugh-like. “shown anyone your tattoo?”

“no. you’re the only one i’ve ever pulled my pants down for in a friend’s kitchen during a party.” jungkook grins slyly and yoongi almost chokes on the inhale.

“how special i am,” he whispers against the rim of the cup, eyes cast down at the red river as it snakes past his lips.

“how special you are,” jungkook agrees in a strange quiet tone. his thumb is doing something at yoongi’s bony ankle over the denim. it’s funny, it is. how he’s burning down a city inside yoongi’s chest and he doesn’t even know.

there’s such an ungodly mess within yoongi. it’s so fucking funny.

“oh, hello, hello,” says a new voice. jungkook lets his ankle go, and yoongi’s foot slips off the table like jungkook’s grip was the only thing keeping it there.

he knows, already before turning, that it’s park jimin - isn’t sure how because he’s never met jimin in person. maybe he’s heard his voice on a video on jungkook’s instagram; maybe he emanates some sort of park jimin eight-pack type of energy.

park jimin stands at the edge of the room with an empty cup he’s probably here to refill hanging from his fingers. he’s sort of very pretty and it’s annoying because you can’t deny it, it’s just there in your face. “yoongi, right? i’m jimin. welcome to my crib, glad you could make it.”

sometimes, especially if yoongi’s inebriated or sleep deprived or just on a kind of high from jungkook jungkook jungkook, he lets his thoughts wander. he wonders - jungkook has always been sort of vague about his sexual orientation. not because he’s particularly meant to, it just… doesn’t come up. he hasn’t dated in the time yoongi’s known him, and hasn’t expressed any interest in wanting to. yoongi knows he had a girlfriend in high school, but apparently they were, in jungkook’s words, “just kids who wanted to know what all the hype was about”. he doesn’t go around talking about the people he sleeps with, either, but he does sleep with people, yoongi’s pretty certain. saw bruises on his neck a couple of times in the first half year of their cohabitation.

he knows yoongi is bisexual, of course, he’s probably known since the night they met. yoongi’s never hidden it or been particularly quiet about it. jungkook, on the other hand, is quiet. yoongi, especially in the early stages of their friendship, sort of gathered that… maybe he’s still figuring it out. yoongi told him, during one of their rare straightforward talks about it, that it’s okay to be figuring it out. even to never have it fully figured out because really, who knows shit on this earth. and that yoongi would be there if he ever needed to talk about it.

jungkook just sort of shrugged and said of course. then they went back to playing mario kart.

anyway. the conclusion he always arrives to after useless pointless wandering is that even if jungkook liked men, he wouldn’t like yoongi. he likes yoongi as a roommate, as a cool music producing hyung, as a super uncool best friend. and yoongi’s not saying the way jungkook loves him is not enough. he’s not. it’s just pointless wandering that leads him to concluding that jungkook would probably like someone who is a little more like him in every aspect. someone with same interests and hobbies. someone on his level when it comes to aesthetically pleasing physical attributes. someone who touches as easily as him and doesn’t tap out after five seconds of skinship. maybe someone like park jimin.

maybe it’s just one of those things you have to let yourself feel a little bummed about for a while. and then you move on. then you act like a decent supportive friend and you look at park jimin and you say,

“what’s up with your weird ass kafkaesque fever dream apartment? it’s tried to kill me twice.”

then you will be kind of snarky and petty because that’s just who you are as a person but you will get there. you will get over it.

the screwdriver stabbed into his chest begs to differ, but, really. he’s sure there are lots of people who are going around with metaphorical sharp objects sticking out of them and they’re living just fine.

park jimin looks neither offended nor surprised.

“twice? that’s not bad. the building must like you.” he moves swiftly to the liquor stash at the sink and uncaps a bottle. he pours without looking at what he’s doing, grins up at yoongi. “i can’t wait to get to know you! jungkook’s told me so much about you. he said you’re in music production? that’s so cool. do you make your own music?”

“yeah,” yoongi says, and kind of wants to go back to jungkook telling jimin about him. jimin snaps his fingers. yoongi doesn’t know how to tell him only about half of the apple vodka he poured made it into the cup.

“that’s right, you do, i knew that,” jimin says, “it was your beat that jungkookie wanted to make a choreo to. it sounded really nice, i remember, deep and dreamy, sort of like being in a misty forest or underwater. jungkook had such good ideas for -”

jimin shuts up at jungkook clearing his throat at the table and the strange high-pitched screech it makes. yoongi’s never heard him sound so much like a dying cat. he turns to jungkook, who’s glaring at jimin with some intense fire. there’s a warm flush on the edges of his face, spreading down his neck, under the rumpled shirt collar. yoongi looks away.

“whoopsie, was i not supposed to say that?” jimin doesn’t sound apologetic in the least. his smile is full of mirth. “anyway, we’re about to play beer pong, or some variation of it? will you guys join?”

“we’ll be there,” jungkook waves him off. jimin two-finger salutes them and slips through the doorway. there’s a faint yelp, followed by a coarse swear word, and yoongi thinks he probably stepped into a hole in his own home.

there’s a silence - at least in the kitchen, at least between them. jungkook smooths his fingers down his thighs, and yoongi watches their movement.

“i didn’t wanna tell you i’m making a choreo to your song yet,” jungkook says, and yoongi meets his eyes. jungkook is still pale pink like the post-it notes he leaves. it’s making yoongi extremely upset. “because i don’t know if it’s gonna be any good. it’s not a big thing, just this exercise we do - and i… really wanted to use your song for it, although i probably should have asked - shit, i should’ve asked. i understand if you don’t want me to choreograph your song -”

“it’s okay.” jungkook snaps his mouth shut. yoongi’s brain feels hazy and his face feels warm. “it’s… okay. it’s more than okay.” he curls his fingers around the cup between his thighs. “i’d love to see it. when you’re done.”

jungkook looks relieved and instantaneously happy like he’d been honestly expecting yoongi to say no. yoongi hasn’t told him no since he asked if he could fill the entire bathtub with coke and mentos.

“okay,” he says, grinning with all of his teeth. “whew. okay, i’ll have someone film it when i’m done - or, i’ll show you - i’ll show you. um, disclaimer? i’m really not a choreographer.”

“you’ll do a good job,” yoongi says and means it. jungkook doesn’t say anything, but smiles that pleased little smile he does at compliments. he separates from the table, is instantly closer to yoongi.

“beer pong? we should - do you want to play?” jungkook blinks at him, sort of alarmed like he just realized he hadn’t considered what yoongi wants. “if you don’t, i’ll -”

“yeah, sounds fun.” yoongi takes a breath. he raises the cup, only the bottoms left. “just go ahead. i’ll get a new drink and follow.”

“okay.” jungkook doesn’t move, however. he’s looking down, something nervous and uncharacteristic about him; yoongi doesn’t have time to pick it apart because then there’s a hand on his knee, fingers brushing at the bare skin where the denim is torn, feather-light. jungkook looks up, and yoongi can just stare back, wide-eyed, not daring to move, feeling like if he were to move, something would break, vanish, die. jungkook looks at him with an odd mixture of hesitance and certainty on his face, fingers gently on the side of his knee like they have a meaning, and says, “i’m really glad you came, hyung. i’m glad you’re here.”

yoongi swallows.

“sappy,” he manages, and knocks his foot against the side of jungkook’s leg. jungkook licks his lips, and yoongi’s eyes flit down to them and back up within a millisecond.

“i’m drunk, probably,” jungkook says, and they both know he’s not. there’s a strange kind of smile on his face that’s not really a smile but more like the afterglow of one, like the warmth that stays after a fire has gone out. “see you soon, hyung. try not to get lost.”

/

of course yoongi gets lost.

well, it’s not so much that he’s lost, he just took his time wandering through the rooms and getting distracted by oddities - props, as jungkook said, but yoongi can’t stop thinking about how he added probably. there’s a giant birdcage hanging from the ceiling with bones in it, a whole bunch of creepy old mannequins like the one outside, a green iguana in a terrarium. the iguana is not a prop, and the least weird thing about this place by far.

he can hear the sound of people winning at beer pong, and other people losing at beer pong, occasionally drowning out the music that’s been changed to happy pop punk. there’s a hand on his elbow.

“hyung,” namjoon says. he’s out of breath, for some reason. his sharpie whiskers are smudged, and there’s a burger king crown askew on his head. yoongi narrows his eyes suspiciously. it really looks like namjoon had a hookup not five minutes ago. “i’m so glad i found you. i have some thrilling news.”

“congrats on the sex,” yoongi says mildly, “how did you do it in this apartment without dying?”

“what?” namjoon frowns. “no, no sex. i mean, yes sex, a little bit, but that’s not the news. the news is that i found someone perfect for your fake date christmas dinner extravaganza.”

yoongi parts his lips, closes them.

“really? you banged someone and then immediately asked if they wanted to fake date your friend? how does that even happen?”

namjoon just shrugs.

“it was a strange situation all around. there were a lot more clown dolls present than i was expecting.” yoongi would love to comment on that but then namjoon grasps someone’s shoulder and pulls them into view. “this is taehyung. he lives here, which also answers your question about doing it without dying. taehyung, this is yoongi. he can’t get a date with the love of his life so he needs a fake one.”

yoongi groans heartily.

“you go around telling people that?”

“have a good talk, guys, hope it works out,” namjoon says, patting yoongi on the shoulder. yoongi casts a betrayed look at his retreating back.

“hello, i’m kim taehyung,” kim taehyung says, and yoongi turns back to the man in front of him, automatically takes the hand held out to him. “i hear you’re looking for a fake boyfriend for the duration of christmas and i believe i am an excellent fit for the position.”

taehyung has a very striking look about him. it’s like - classically beautiful but with a twist. yoongi can’t quite put his finger on what that twist is, but it makes him very intriguing to look at, more so than your average conventionally attractive actor or actress on tv. he’s a bit ruffled, too, but somehow pulls it off so that if yoongi didn’t know he’d been banging yoongi’s friend a moment ago, he would think it’s on purpose.

“he’s not into feet,” namjoon yells over the scattered groups of people with a hand cupped around his mouth. yoongi would hate to think about how that might’ve come up.

taehyung gives yoongi a calculating look.

“should i be into feet? because i am flexible, both of mind and physically, and an excellent actor.”

“no, that’s - no.” yoongi sighs. “okay, sure. to the offer, not the feet. can we talk business somewhere quieter?”

“yes, the balcony,” taehyung nods, and gestures with his arm, “right this way.”

“namjoon told me not to go to the balcony,” yoongi says just because he remembers that definitely happening. taehyung glances at him over his shoulder as he leads the way.

“that’s just because it doesn’t have a railing and is super unsafe.”

“hmm,” is all yoongi says. they come to a door that has yellow police tape over it. taehyung rips it off unconcernedly.

“did someone actually die here?” yoongi asks.

“before or after we moved in?” taehyung asks as he pushes the door open and stands aside.

“nevermind,” yoongi says, and steps out onto the balcony.

the balcony is a small-room-sized slab of stone protruding from the wall. it really has no railing. yoongi’s stopped being surprised by things being exactly what people tell him they are. it’s only the second floor, but somehow the knowledge that he’d most likely only break his leg instead of dying immediately doesn’t make him feel better.

“please take a seat,” taehyung says, gesturing at the garden set of two chairs and a table to the left of the door. yoongi sits down. there’s a draft, november feels like november, but it’s welcoming right now. he closes his eyes briefly at the relief of cool wind on his face, until taehyung’s velvety voice sounds again. “first of all, i’m very sorry.”

yoongi cracks his eyes open.

“about what?”

“the love of your life. the fact that you can’t go with him. sucks, man.” taehyung interlaces his fingers on the table. he looks so completely serious about it that yoongi can’t even laugh. he just presses his lips together, shrugs minutely.

“it is what it is.” does taehyung know jungkook? does he know they’re roommates? even if he knew, he doesn’t know it’s who they’re talking about. it’s fine. “it’s not… that he wouldn’t come if i asked. it’s that i can’t ask. we’re friends, and i don’t want to mess things up between us.”

“hmm,” taehyung says, “so he doesn’t know you have feelings for him? how do you know he doesn’t reciprocate them? is he straight?”

yoongi bites at his lips.

“look, can we just talk about what we came here to talk about? are you going to help me out?”

“you’re right.” taehyung pulls back. “i didn’t mean to cross a line. we only just met, that was invasive of me.”

“it’s fine,” yoongi mumbles, scratching his fingernails against his itchy knuckles. “you’re fine.” he really is fine. he seems like a good guy. taehyung gives a thankful smile, and starts by telling yoongi about himself. he’s twenty-three, also from daegu, into conspiracy theories and fashion design, crushing on your friend namjoon so badly, allergic to peanuts.

“wait, what,” yoongi says.

“my whole face gets red and itchy, my mouth feels all tingly, and if it’s really bad, i get breathing problems,” taehyung says.

“not your peanut allergy,” yoongi says, “uh, namjoon?”

“yeah,” taehyung says. they hold eye contact in silence for a few seconds.

“oh,” yoongi says, “it really sounded like you were talking about your peanut allergy.”

“applies to both,” taehyung shrugs. then he sighs heavily, his whole demeanor deflating. “he’s so damn cute. cute and smart and sexy. he liked my lizard so i kept bringing him to latin even though i knew it would get me kicked out. it was worth it because his smile is so beautiful. it’s literally more beautiful than any flower in the world. any star in the sky. stars are actually just massive lumps of gas i guess, but you get my point. his dimples are deeper than my love for pictures of cats sitting like people. and when he laughs and it looks like the XD emoji. it makes me really happy.”

yoongi is kind of speechless.

“damn,” he says, “wow, uh… have you told him that? i’m sure he feels the same, i mean. you did hook up?”

“yes, but it was like, a party hookup,” taehyung says sadly. everything about him looks sad, even his dangly earring. yoongi’s not sure how he’s doing that. “it sort of felt like a one-time thing. i’m sure he doesn’t have actual feelings for me.”

“how are you sure if you haven’t told him?”

“how are you sure if you haven’t told the love of your life?” taehyung leans in. yoongi presses his lips into a thin line.

“touché, i guess,” he mumbles. “i guess i’m not in a place where i can tell people to speak their feelings.”

“ah, well.” taehyung grins sheepishly. “this got invasive again. i’m sorry.”

yoongi waves a hand. “still fine.” he considers for a moment, absently working the frayed edge of the denim between his fingers. “i know i’m the worst person to give love advice, but. namjoon’s a good guy. he would handle your heart with care. i really think you should tell him. it might make you feel better. it can get painful… holding onto it for a long time.”

taehyung blinks slow, gives yoongi a look that sympathizes but doesn’t patronize.

“from experience?”

yoongi gives a gauzy smile.

“there’s too much on the line,” he says quietly, “we live together. he’s the most important person in my life. i can’t lose that. i’m… fine with how things are. with just having him in my life any way i can.”

taehyung considers silently.

“it doesn’t sound like you’re happy.”

yoongi’s brow furrows faintly. happy, he thinks, what is it to be happy, really? to be content with absolutely everything in your life? that doesn’t sound achievable. people are far too complex for that. he’s sure happiness is something else. in little moments, perhaps, coming and going, fickle like the human heart.

“sometimes,” is what he says out loud, “i’m happy sometimes.”

taehyung makes a small sound that has the air of something like acceptance or agreement or understanding.

“well, this has been the mandatory existential garden table meltdown at a party with a near-stranger.” he sets his palms flat against the table. then he flashes a grin, infectious and box-shaped. “i’m glad it was with you. you’re cool.”

yoongi grins back, tired and gummy. “likewise.” and that’s that. “are you sure you want to do this? it’s not just because namjoon asked?”

“oh, nah, i’m totally here for the job opportunity and the free food,” taehyung assures. “so what kind of a boyfriend do you need? the Obsessively Jealous, the Arrogant Prick, the No-Good Loser? give me a romanticized unhealthy arch type, i’ll do it.”

“the worst you’ve got,” yoongi answers. “can you take the lizard with you? that would be excellent.”

“auguste is not a prop,” taehyung scrunches his nose. “but i’ll see if he’s up for travel. he probably is. he loves to see places.”

“his name’s auguste?” yoongi quirks an eyebrow.

“mr. renoir if you don’t know him,” taehyung nods. “pierre-auguste if you’re acquaintances and he likes you.”

taehyung is a theatre major, which means he’s got 1. acting skills, and 2. little to no reservations. there is little he won’t do. this list includes complimenting the james cameron movie avatar and being mean to animals. the more they talk, the more yoongi feels like this is going to work.

he’s in the middle of telling taehyung the when, the where, the why, the how, when a voice from the door cuts him off.

“hyung?” yoongi looks up. jungkook stands one foot out the door, clutching at the knob. pieces of police tape flutter in the wind. yoongi’s heart is instantly tightly wound and explosive. “someone said you were… taehyung?” jungkook’s gaze shits from yoongi to taehyung on the side closer to him, eyes big and surprised. “you… know each other?”

“ah, jungkookie,” taehyung greets brightly - so he does know jungkook, yoongi miscalculated, there. “oh, you know yoongi? i just met him, but it’s moving along fast. he’s already taking me to see his parents.”

“what?” jungkook asks, hollow and confused. of course he’s confused, yoongi hasn’t even fucking told him -

“i’m about to be his fake boyfriend for christmas,” taehyung informs, because yoongi’s foot missed his ankle by several inches. yoongi clears his throat, eyes dead set on the plastic tabletop and nails digging crescents into his thighs.

“jungkook is my roommate,” he mumbles. his face feels hot.

“oh,” taehyung says. then, “ oh. oh.”

“what’s… happening?” jungkook peeps from the doorway. yoongi forces himself to meet his eyes. he should’ve told him. shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. shouldn’t have gotten stabbed with a screwdriver when he was nine. “fake boyfriend? christmas?”

“yeah,” yoongi says. feels boneless and weightless. “it’s this stupid ploy to fuck with my parents and make them uncomfortable. i’m gonna bring someone i’m supposedly dating to the christmas dinner.”

a horrible beat passes.

“oh,” jungkook says, “and taehyung’s… okay.”

he’s hurt. yoongi can see it on his face. hurt that - yoongi didn’t even tell him, probably. that - he wasn’t yoongi’s choice for this or that yoongi never showed up to beer pong or that they never have time anymore.

yoongi’s been fucking this up for quite some time, he knows. he wants to get up and go to him, but everyone and everything here is frozen.

“you know what,” taehyung says slowly, turning from jungkook to yoongi, “what did you say the date was? yeah, i’m not sure i can make it. i believe, hmm, there is someone else you’d like to take.”

he holds yoongi’s gaze as he gets up with his eyebrows set in a meaningful sort of way. yoongi’s not sure whether he wants to thank him or push him off the balcony. he pats jungkook’s shoulder as he slips past him.

yoongi gets up as well.

“jungkook -”

“i was just,” jungkook interrupts, “i was just wondering where you were. since you never showed. and i was waiting. fake date, huh? that’s - that’s very you.” he sounds empty and lost. november howls around them. jungkook wraps his arms around himself. “i’m sorry taehyung can’t make it. i hope you’ll find someone else.”

“jungkookie -”

“it’s cold, hyung,” jungkook says, softly. “let’s go inside.”

it takes a moment to catch up with him in the incomprehensible maze of rooms. when yoongi does, he hooks his index finger with jungkook’s pinky. jungkook slows down, and then he stops. the party’s concentrated right around the corner, but it’s just the two of them right here.

“jungkookie,” yoongi says quietly, “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.”

“it’s not like -” jungkook turns to face him. he’s not taking his hand away. “it’s not like you have to tell me everything. i’m not mad.”

“no, but you’re upset.” yoongi bites down on his bottom lip. “i would be too. will you hear me out? will you let me tell you something?”

jungkook’s eyes skim his face. he just looks sort of sad now. yoongi holds onto his finger tighter.

“yeah,” jungkook says. it comes out like a sigh. when he blinks, he lets his eyes linger closed for a second longer. “can we go home?”

“we can,” yoongi agrees, feeling relieved and terrified at the same time.

taehyung scurries up to him as he’s getting his jacket, and slips him a piece of paper with his number on it. if you ever need a buddy for an existential meltdown, he says, or just someone to talk to.

/

when yoongi was sick last spring - it was like his body taking revenge, finally deciding to get back at him for the countless all-nighters and his poor eating habits. he came down with the worst cold he’s ever lived through. he tried to power through it and insist he was fine until jungkook had to physically carry him to bed.

yoongi had fever dreams about a screwdriver impaling his stomach and his brother screaming, don’t take it out, you’ll bleed out if you take it out! woke up shivering in cold sweat, nauseated and dizzy and unsure whether he’d dreamed jungkook’s hand in his hair and his voice whispering things yoongi wanted to hear.

jungkook tried to be quiet in the kitchen at three in the morning but yoongi heard him anyway. heard him curse as he spilled hot water and heard him sigh frustratedly as he tried to recreate a childhood memory, a taste, a scent, a feeling that always made him feel better, that he thought would make yoongi feel better.

it did, but it did so much more - it made yoongi feel a truly indescribable mess of things, some confused whirlwind of happiness and sadness and deep deep deep affection. he stumbled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen wrapped in a blanket, and collapsed against jungkook’s back, forehead nuzzled into his nape. just trying to say something that way.

“hyung?” jungkook whispered, and yoongi didn’t dream his hand in his hair for certain this time. “hello. hi. are you okay? sorry, was i too loud?”

yoongi shook his head against his nape, then pressed his cheek against the back of his shoulder.

“what are you doing? you should be sleeping.”

“you should be sleeping. i should be taking care of you.” jungkook let out this small exasperated huff. it made yoongi smile. it also made him immensely sad. he didn’t quite tear up, but he sniffled, and jungkook didn’t ask him whether he was crying or had a runny nose because why would he. who would cry over a simple nice gesture. the hand came back to run through his hair. just a breezy touch but it felt so nice. “i’m - well, i’m trying. to make you soup like my mom used to make it when i was sick. i just… thought of it, suddenly, i don’t know. i went to the 24-hour market to get ingredients. go back to bed, yeah? i’ll be there soon.”

yoongi sat on the edge of the bed feeling like - he was on the brink of something. he just couldn’t really tell what, which left him feeling lost and agitated. watched jungkook come in balancing the bowl of steaming hot soup, brow furrowed in concentration and the tip of his tongue just barely poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“it’s not as good as my mom’s,” he said with a breathy laugh, setting it onto the nightstand, “but it’s the closest i could get. it’s really hot, so you should wait for a while.”

yoongi caught him by the waist before he could move away. the light press of his fingers against jungkook’s sides were more a suggestion than a demand. tipped forward to lean his face against the flat stomach.

“stay,” he asked quietly, “can you stay?”

a beat, and then jungkook’s fingers were skittering across his shoulders, the ridge of his spine, up his nape. yoongi’s heart was hammering out a messy beat.

“yeah,” jungkook breathed, “of course.” sit down with me, yoongi had meant, but then jungkook said: “food’s gonna take a while to cool down. get into bed. i’ll get in with you.”

“i’m sick,” yoongi protested, “you’ll get sick, too.”

“i won’t.” fingers tugged gently at his hair. “if i do, that’s okay. then you’ll just have to take care of me. i’ll lie down with you. if you want, that is.”

once they were lying in bed, jungkook pressed up against his back, his fingers softly tracing yoongi’s ribs over the t-shirt, yoongi started crying. his body jerked with the first sob as it was ripped from him; and then he couldn’t stop, curled in on himself and half-buried his face into the pillow. jungkook’s arm around him tightened, his nose brushed against yoongi’s shoulder as he lifted his head.

“hyung?” he was clearly alarmed. he’d never seen yoongi cry like this before - not many people had. yoongi didn’t reply, couldn’t, just curled his fingers in the sheets. “hyung… yoongi. what do you need? tell me what you need. do you want me to leave?”

yoongi felt his hand slipping from his waist, and hurriedly grabbed it. he cleared his throat; then cleared it again. it took a while to get his voice to somewhat work and it was sort of embarrassing, but jungkook waited quietly, thumb stroking at his stomach in such an upsettingly gentle manner.

“don’t leave,” he rasped.

“what can i do?” jungkook asked instead of why are you crying, and yoongi loved him so, so much in that moment.

“can you - can you just hold me? i think i just need to cry for a while.”

jungkook wrapped his arms around him instantly, nuzzled the back of his neck, said, “i’ve got you.” yoongi thought, oh, god, and then he cried for an unidentifiable tangle of reasons, quietly save for the occasional ragged sobs that escaped his throat. it was jungkook holding him tightly, jungkook whispering kind things in his soothing voice, jungkook loving him in that unselfish, unasking way - that was both the incendiary and the water that puts out the fire, both the thing that undoes him and the thing that puts him back together. it’s always like that.

yoongi’s not sure whether he rolled over before or after he fell asleep - but when he forced his gross clumpy lashes apart several hours later, he was facing jungkook. watched his pretty face for a moment, his long lashes fanning out against his cheeks, the smudged dark blue shadows at the edges of his eyelids. then jungkook opened his eyes, slowly, and yoongi’s pretty sure he’d been awake for a while.

“morning,” jungkook whispered, and it really was morning. they were all tangled together, jungkook’s arm thrown over his waist, yoongi’s leg hooked over jungkook’s. jungkook, quite possibly, knowing him, hadn’t wanted to get up and risk waking yoongi. yoongi cleared his throat for what felt like an embarrassingly long time again.

“sorry,” he mumbled, “fell asleep on you.”

“‘s okay. i needed a nap.” probably true. he’d been making chicken soup for yoongi until three a.m.

“soup’s cold now,” yoongi mumbled, and because he was half-asleep, sick, and lying in jungkook’s arms after essentially crying himself to sleep in them, he inched closer to press his face against jungkook’s neck. “sorry. so sorry the soup’s cold now.” then he almost felt like crying again because of the soup. “that was so nice. that you made me soup. made me really happy. thank you.”

jungkook’s hand stroked along his arm. his lips at yoongi’s hairline might have been a kiss.

“i’ll make you soup every time you’re sick,” he promised. yoongi hummed and toyed with the collar of his t-shirt. then he wiped his face with said shirt and jungkook said: “ew.”

“so that was weird,” yoongi said when he pulled his face away. “gonna have to kill you now. hope you understand.”

“sure,” jungkook nodded slowly, biting at his lips, amused. “but who will make you soup, then? consider that.”

“good point,” yoongi allowed, closing his eyes again, “good point.”

“get some more sleep, hyung,” jungkook whispered, and yoongi was glad he had closed his eyes because jungkook sounded like he had that tiny soft smile on his lips. “i’m gonna heat up the soup.”

they ate it together on the couch watching big hero 6 because yoongi was feeling a lot better. jungkook thought it was too salty but yoongi thought it tasted like love.

/

no one cries. no one raises their voice a lot and no one confesses their undying love. yoongi considers that a success.

if someone had bugged their apartment with eavesdropping devices, they would’ve heard:

door opening, rustling of jackets being stripped and stuffed in the coat rack.

“- might be stupid. it might not be a big thing, but - it - it did hurt me, a little bit.”

“i know. it’s not stupid.”

loose boots rolling on the floor. socked feet walking without destination and stopping.

“i just thought - i really thought you would ask me first? or at least tell me about it. i don’t care if it’s childish to be upset about that.”

childish said like it’s a sore bruise.

“i never called it childish, jungkook.”

said with a frown that means, have i made you feel like that before?

“and it’s not… i’m not hurt just because you didn’t tell me, you know that, right? it’s that… we never see each other anymore even though we live together. tonight was the most time we’ve spent together in months, and i know it’s not anyone’s fault - but i - miss you, hyung. and i just… tonight… i felt like maybe you don’t feel the same way, maybe you don’t miss me?”

said with a hesitant edge, said with heartbreak.

“that’s not it. that’s not it at all, kook.” said rushed, said with the sound of feet starting towards but stopping halfway, said like, how could you ever think that? “of course i miss you. i miss you so fucking much even though you’re right there.”

a silence because the person who said this usually doesn’t say these kinds of things out loud.

“why don’t… why don’t you want me in daegu?”

said small.

“i want you there. you’re the only one i ever want there.” said with almost too much honesty, said like it means a whole bunch of things. footsteps either coming closer or getting farther away depending on which side of the room is bugged, two bodies settling against couch cushions. knees knocking together if it made a sound. “i didn’t ask you because it’s not going to be a pleasant experience. my parents are not pleasant people. they are going to be judgemental, ignorant, and hurtful. and i wouldn’t want to put someone i care about in that situation.”

said like a half-truth.

a sigh.

“yoongi. stop worrying so much. i appreciate the concern, but - do you know what’s harder than taking whatever your parents might dish out at me? watching you be upset and alone and not being able to do anything from afar other than send you stupid memes.”

“i like your stupid memes.”

“thank you. i put a lot of thought into them.” said with a smile, finally. a pause. “if you still don’t want to ask me, if you’d rather take someone else, okay. i promise i won’t be upset about it. but… if you want me there? then i’m gonna have to ask you to let me come to daegu with you.”

the sound of someone considering these exact things in this exact order:

1. what kind of good fucking deeds he must’ve done in a past life to deserve someone like this in this one
2. the broken heart and/or candy bowl
3. the last time he told him no was when he asked if he could fill the bathtub with coke and mentos

“if you’re sure… will you attend what’s probably the most horrible uncomfortable dinner of your life with people you’ve never met before - and me?”

“oh, shit, you will be there too? i don’t know, i’m gonna have to think about it.” a hand shoving at a shoulder, followed by a high-pitched giggle, the best kind, the kind that makes you smile involuntarily, the kind that makes you think, there are good things in the world.

so jungkook’s coming to daegu. that, apparently, is happening. yoongi is still relieved and terrified at the same time.

it’s been a long night, and they agree to talk over the details tomorrow; but as they’re brushing their teeth over the bathroom sink, jungkook turns to him partially, and says:

“as your fake boyfriend, right?”

yoongi stares at him, them, in the mirror, bends down to spit into the sink and rinse his mouth. gaze steered down at his hands under the faucet, says, “or as my someone."

“your someone,” jungkook repeats, softly but with an unfamiliar edge. yoongi can’t quite picture the look he might have on his face and doesn’t dare look.

before he leaves, jungkook presses a goodnight kiss to the top of his white-clad shoulder, just a fleeting, gentle brush of his lips in passing. he’s never done that before. yoongi wonders what made him do it tonight. he stays in the bathroom until he hears jungkook’s bedroom door click shut.

/

yoongi [1:14]
traitor

traitor [1:17]
ok there r like 11 people who have valid reasons for calling me that i need u to tell me who this is

yoongi [1:18]
i was going to take you to meet my parents. we had something

traitor [1:18]
again i need u to be more specific

yoongi [1:19]
are you serious

traitor [1:19]
nah lmao
sup yoongi

yoongi [1:20]
you threw me under the bus

traitor [1:20]
i did what had to be done
we all know u want to go to daegu with jungkook!!!
wait did he say no??

yoongi [1:21]
of course he didnt say no
because hes a wonderful fucking person and i saved the world at least twice in a previous life  

traitor [1:22]
oh cool i was a forger in my previous life

yoongi [1:24]
taehyung
is it too early for existential garden table meltdown round 2

traitor [1:26]
yes
bc u got this. i know u do. i just met u and i dont rly know u at all but i know u got this.
the things u said to me abt namjoon - abt how he would handle my heart with care?
i do believe that applies to jungkook too
hes a good guy too isnt he?

yoongi [1:28]
i cant believe you would use my own words against me
i shouldve killed you when i had the chance

traitor [1:28]
i knew this would shape up to be a beautiful friendship!

/

yoongi [3:08]
thanks

taehyung [10:32]
u kno it my chemical bromance <3

yoongi [10:46]
i change my mind fuck you

taehyung [10:48]
</3

/

“so you’re going with jungkook after all, huh,” namjoon says, “how did that happen? you were so certain you didn’t want to involve him.”

“it’s a long story,” yoongi sighs, wiping up a spill and then shooting a glare at the duo at the end of the counter. the bar stools are a recent investment and a mistake, yoongi thinks. “at least pretend like you’re ordering something so that it doesn’t look like i’m just letting you loiter here.”

“you are just letting us loiter here,” hoseok points out, glancing lazily up from his phone. shared earphones dangle between them to fill out the absence of music in the coffee shop. it’s easy to forget, sometimes, in all their differences, that they grew up together; but other times, when you watch them in little moments like this, you can see there’s a long history there.

“my manager doesn’t need to know that.”

“just give us empty cups and we’ll pretend to drink,” namjoon suggests. yoongi tsk s and then hands them cups over the counter anyway because it’s not like he’s aiming for employee of the month here. he’s only going to work here until he’s done with college. hopefully.

“fuck capitalism, i guess,” he mumbles.

“i would never fuck capitalism,” namjoon says tonelessly, and then points a finger at yoongi. “and if you so much as mention the words communist fucker and bring up the karl marx sex toys again i swear i will get you fired.”

“you’re the one who went there,” yoongi shrugs. namjoon lowers his hand, toys with the ceramic cup.

“but for real. how are you feeling about this whole thing?”

“i’m. dealing with it, i guess.” he is. he’s spent hours lying in bed staring at the ceiling at night, playing scenarios in his head: best case scenarios, worst case scenarios. scenarios where they go to daegu and eat with his family and play with the dog and his parents don’t do or say anything that might aggravate him into doing something he’ll regret. it’ll be him taking a trip with his best friend and they’ll return to seoul and nothing will have changed.

scenarios where they’ll be forced to sell the boyfriends act and jungkook will realize, at some point, that yoongi isn’t faking it, or maybe yoongi will finally wrench the screwdriver out of his chest and bleed out his words and feelings. it’ll be him fucking up his relationship with the most important person in his life and they’ll return to seoul and everything will have changed.

“yup,” he says, “i’m totally calm about it.”

“sounds fake,” hoseok comments, but yoongi doesn’t need to acknowledge that because a customer comes in and yoongi’s busy selling her a cup of self-serve coffee and a piece of pecan pie.

it’s one of those days that drag on forever. or maybe he’s just now noticing how slowly the hands actually move on a clock face now that daegu is a little more than a week away. it’s like standing on the tracks and waiting for the inevitable train to hit you while being acutely aware you’re wasting the little time you have left.

(he’s dealing with it.)

he saunters back to the corner occupied by his friends. casts a glance at namjoon thumbing at his phone and purses his lips.

“hey, so, taehyung,” he starts, observing namjoon from the corner of his eye. namjoon’s thumb halts, and he glances up cautiously.

“yes?”

“have you talked to him after the party? after you, you know, slept together?”

“slept together a little bit,” namjoon corrects. yoongi makes an incredulous face.

“you keep saying ‘a little bit’ . what does that even mean. how do you have sex a little bit. ”

“there wasn’t as much touching as you’re thinking,” namjoon says, leaning forward with a contemplative frown on his face. “there was a lot of sensual reciting of poetry, though. and blowjobs. but mostly poetry.”

“hmm,” yoongi says.

“why’s no one asking about my love life?” hoseok demands loudly.

“no one wants to hear it,” namjoon says, while yoongi shoots him an unimpressed look.

“how’s your grossly inappropriate mutual flirting with seokjin going?”

“great, thanks for asking,” hoseok beams. “we’ve been texting. it’s innuendos and dad jokes. and the occasional tasteful nude. and i do mean tasteful. abs. clavicles. thighs. knees. ankles.”

“please stop listing bodyparts,” namjoon begs, and yoongi’s pressing his lips together to hold back a laugh.

“you’re mad because you’ve been pining over taehyung since the party,” hoseok says patiently, “instead of simply texting him.”

“i do want to,” namjoon says, suddenly fidgety. “i really like him. but he hasn’t texted me either and i don’t think… that he’s interested in me like that.”

yoongi blinks. “what.”

“i mean,” namjoon huffs. “you saw him. you saw what he looks like. like a greek god. like apollo but not an asshole. he’s so clever, too, and so interesting, and he could get anyone he wants. he wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“yoongi, ice,” hoseok commands, holding out his empty coffee cup. yoongi instantly takes it from him, scoops ice cubes into it, and hands it back while namjoon watches, confused.

“wh-”

within a second, hoseok has hooked his fingers over namjoon’s shirt collar and emptied the contents of the cup inside. namjoon’s screech carries across the slow coffee shop. he bangs both his knees on the counter as he jumps up, ice cubes clattering onto the floor. the people on the far side send mildly alarmed looks.

“we’re fine,” yoongi tells them, while namjoon’s finding new purpose in life as one of those wacky car dealer tube men, jumping up and down and flailing his limbs around wildly, groaning, it’s in my underwear, it’s freezing, fuck.

“namjoon, joon, my bro,” hoseok spins around on the stool and seizes namjoon’s face between his hands, squishing his cheeks so that he looks like an offended pufferfish. “you are not allowed to talk about yourself like that. listen to me.” namjoon raises his arms uselessly, and seems to give in, letting them flop to his sides as he stands slightly crouched in hoseok’s hold. “you are a catch, my dude. you are just as beautiful and clever and interesting as mr. greek god. he’s not too good for you. he’s just a person too.”

“i can’t believe you,” yoongi says, shaking his head on the other side of the counter, “either of you. i’m so mad. your feelings are very requited. he kept bringing mr. renoir to class even though he knew it would get him kicked out because he liked how happy it made you. he talked about your smile for five minutes on that hazardous murder balcony. go get him, dude.”

“i… he… did?” namjoon pries hoseok’s hands away to turn to yoongi with his eyes the size of coffee cups. “he brought mr. renoir… for me? he likes my smile?”

“like, a lot,” yoongi arches an eyebrow. “there was a whole bunch of metaphors. really, just text him. ask him out. have some more poetic sex.”

namjoon looks really happy looking down at his phone with pink-tinted cheeks. a fond smile sneaks its way to yoongi’s lips like a thief.

hoseok squeaks as namjoon’s palm grazes the back of his head.

“that was still unnecessary,” he grunts with narrowed eyes.

yoongi is in the process of handing namjoon fistfuls of napkins, when the bell on the door chimes. he prepares to greet a customer, but the words never make it out of his mouth as the boy marching towards the counter is a lot more familiar than expected.

“jungkook,” yoongi says, openly surprised, “shouldn’t you be, uh…”

“art history,” jungkook announces. he’s in a good mood. there’s a happy curve to his mouth and a lightness to his step. “class is cancelled. i have two hours to spare. hello, namjoon-hyung. hobi-hyung.”

“hey, kook,” namjoon says, and hoseok says, “so you’re going to daegu with yoongi on christmas break, huh?”

“ah… yes.” jungkook scratches his neck, now at the counter across from yoongi. his wearing a black beanie, his fur-hooded jacket - it seems to be cold outside, that’s been the most popular topic for small talk with customers today - but jungkook has his jacket only half-zipped. yoongi grabs the front of it, pulls him closer until jungkook is leaning slightly over the counter.

“zip up your jacket,” he mumbles, does it for him even though it really doesn’t matter now that he’s inside, “are you trying to catch a cold just before christmas? where’s your scarf?”

“you stole it from me,” jungkook argues. his palms propped against the countertop to keep himself from face-diving into a thing of teabags and individually packed sugar cubes. his cheeks are a frosty rosé from the cold. “you said you’d borrow it and you never gave it back.”

“i definitely gave it back.”

“you’ll be playing boyfriends, right?” hoseok muses from the side. “i can’t imagine that’s going to be very hard for you.”

yoongi turns his head just enough to subtly glare. a cool hand closes around his wrist where it’s still lingering at jungkook’s chest. yoongi is faced with jungkook looking at him with the slightest hint of a smirk around his eyes, the corners of his mouth; the light flush on his face looks warm even though it must be the result of biting winds.

“can i still call you screwdriver at your parents’ house?” he asks. “or should i opt for a cuter pet name? should i call you baby?”

“please call him baby,” namjoon pipes in, “i’m actually begging you.”

yoongi is not fine. he thinks all the blood in his body is currently packed into his face. he swallows - god, let it not be obvious - and twists his wrist out of jungkook’s loose grip.

“call me baby and i’ll break up with you in front of my family,” he scoffs, hopes that sounded like something a min yoongi who’s not in love with jeon jungkook would say. “no pet names. that’s - over the top. we can talk about - all these little things later.”

“sure,” jungkook shrugs, and leans his elbows on the counter. a happy pretty smile on his lips again. “make me a caramel latte, hyungie?”

yoongi makes him a hot white chocolate caramel latte with cinnamon and chocolate chips because that’s what he really meant and they bargain over the price for a minute like they always do. they settle for jungkook waiving his movie choosing rights for three consecutive movie nights.

once he’s seated at a table, sketchbook and notes and course reading spread out in front of him, earphones in his ears, yoongi stalks back to the other end of the counter, avoiding eye contact with namjoon and hoseok.

“oh, boy,” hoseok says, “i take it back. it’s going to be so hard for you. you can’t blush and freeze every time your supposed boyfriend of several months shows you affection.”

“fucking order something,” yoongi pleads, slumping against the counter, “like a hitman to take me out.”

“i thought you were calm about all of this,” namjoon notes.

“i’m calmly asking you to order a fucking hit on me,” yoongi says flatly, lifting his face.

“at least he seems to be taking to this fake dating thing well,” hoseok observes. “he seems, hmm, into it.”

“that’s because it’s a game to him.” yoongi stands up. doesn’t look at his friends. his chest feels tight and stormy. “it’s make-believe. it’s pretend.” he starts preparing drinks for them just to have something to do with his hands. “and that’s fine. that’s how it should be.”

/

they talk about the little things - talk about them on the rec center basketball court of all places.

jungkook sits on the bench knees wide apart and sweat dripping down his neck, chugging a bottle of water. yoongi isn’t as spent despite playing twice as aggressive. he feels like he could go on forever. he feels like he could slam dunk from the free throw line. he feels like he could take on an entire college level basketball team. he wouldn’t win. but he’d take them on.

he feels like there’s fire and dark dark things coiling inside of him. he dribbles in front of the bench, right hand, left hand, behind his back, between his legs.

“met at a party, became roommates, started dating six months ago,” jungkook memorizes out loud.

“it’s literally just how things actually went, with the addition of dating,” yoongi sighs, makes the ball float from his left wrist to his right across his shoulders. “i don’t think you have to take notes.”

“when’s our anniversary?” jungkook wants to know.

“they won’t ask. and it won’t come up naturally.”

“what if they do? what if it does? and we say different dates at the same time and i’ll have to slap you and yell at you for forgetting our anniversary to minimize suspicion.”

“why am i the one getting slapped? i’d never forget our anniversary.” yoongi watches the ball spin on the tip of his index finger. “especially since it’s the twelfth of june. which happens to be the score with which i beat you today. twelve to six.”

“hey,” jungkook protests with a breathy laugh.

“you ready to go again?” yoongi bounces the ball hard and resounding, raises eyebrows at jungkook, who’s watching yoongi, elbows on his thighs, fingers closing the bottle which hangs between his knees. his skin is glowing with sweat. his white t-shirt is soaked through in places and clings to his chest and biceps.

still, things are too still. yoongi clenches his jaw and looks away. goes back to dribbling like he’s trying to break the floor.

“what about the way we act,” he hears jungkook say.

“what about it?”

“how… how do we touch? do we hold hands?” come on, yoongi thinks. it’s not aimed at anyone in particular.

he could hold hands. he’s thought about it and made up scenarios about it and he’s come to the conclusion that he could do that.

they already hold hands sometimes. they hold hands when they’re watching a movie on the couch and jungkook’s curled up into a sleepy ball against his side and his thumb is sliding languidly over yoongi’s knuckles. they hold hands when yoongi is anxious in a crowded place and jungkook squeezes his fingers in a promise to keep him close. they hold hands, sometimes, yoongi supposes, just because. because it’s a nice way of touching - not too overwhelming except for when everything is too overwhelming.

then jungkook asks:

“what about kissing?”

“fuck,” yoongi curses as the ball slips away from him. it rolls all the way to the other half-court, and one of the three guys there return it. yoongi catches it, lifts a hand in a thanks. jungkook is quiet behind him. waiting, yoongi supposes. his brain is asking all the wrong questions. like would you kiss me? “no need. let’s just act like we usually do. no one kisses in front of their parents.”

he thinks of the shoulder kiss that night after the party.

thinks of jungkook’s lips at his hairline when he was sick.

thinks of bouncing the ball off the floor so hard it knocks him out cold.

the guy who returned it jogs over.

“you guys up for a two-on-two?” he sounds awfully confident. possibly because he’s half a head taller than yoongi and jacked.

yoongi grins.

/

“do i have to carry you home?” jungkook asks and yoongi knows he’s only half joking.

“i’m good,” yoongi grunts, and knows that jungkook knows he’s half considering it. his legs ache. his knees feel bruised. he gained some of his energy back after a meal at their go-to shitty diner, but he still feels drained and sore. he grabs his own shoulder and cracks his neck as they walk, loudly enough for jungkook to wince.

“you went hard,” jungkook comments. yoongi sees him out of the corner of his eye, observing yoongi under the street lamps. he’d noticed, of course. out of all the people on this planet, he’s the most familiar with the way yoongi plays. he noticed it was different today.

“i always go hard,” yoongi notes, “won four games out of five, didn’t we?”

in his peripheral, jungkook grins. yoongi had almost forgotten - how good a team they make. he likes playing against jungkook. but playing with him is another thing. it’s another kind of electrifying buzz.

they walk in comfortable silence for a while. it’s dark, cold… mid-december already. let’s buy christmas lights, jungkook wrote on a post-it note, but they still haven’t. yoongi doesn’t necessarily see the need since they are never in the city on christmas anyway. if jungkook wants christmas lights, though. it’s not like he’ll say no.

“i missed this,” jungkook unexpectedly says what yoongi had been thinking. when he glances to his left, jungkook is looking back at him.

“yeah,” yoongi breathes, “me too.” there’s a prickly thing in his throat. he reaches out, tugs at jungkook’s jacket sleeve. “give me a piggyback ride.”

jungkook laughs quietly.

“now you want me to carry you?”

“kicked your ass good,” yoongi mumbles, “i earned it.”

“you sort of did.” jungkook gives yoongi his drawstring bag and crouches down enough for yoongi to climb on. his hands are warm underneath yoongi’s thighs. yoongi half-buries his face into the nook of his own arm and jungkook’s shoulder. “don’t fall asleep. i will not carry you up the stairs.”

“don’t think you could carry me up the stairs?”

“oh, i can definitely - hey, don’t try to trick me.” yoongi snickers faintly into jungkook’s jacket. a moment passes, and he thinks he really could fall asleep like this. listening to jungkook breathe, his feet on the pavement. his body heat nice in the cold. then jungkook says: “hey… you know it’s going to be fine, right? daegu. it’s going to be fine.”

yoongi says nothing. but tightens his arms around jungkook just a little bit.

/

they board the train to daegu early in the morning a couple of days before christmas eve. the dinner won’t be until tomorrow evening, on the twenty-first, but jungkook said he wanted to really see daegu - wanted to see where yoongi grew up.

yoongi feels rigid and numb and like he’s still half-asleep as he sits in the aisle seat with a black mask pulled up to his chin, staring lifelessly at his own pale hands in his lap, the bruise-blue veins an even starker contrast than usually. jungkook’s thigh in his peripheral, jungkook’s hand fiddling with the armrest between them, jungkook restless on the window seat.

“hyung.” fingers tugging at his jacket sleeve. yoongi lifts his head and turns to look at jungkook. “i know this visit is probably going to be uncomfortable, for most part. but i can’t help but be excited, too. to see your childhood home. your childhood neighborhood. is your room still the same as when you were a kid? full of chicago bulls merch? how many framed pictures of tablo?”

there’s a teasing sort of grin on his face. his hair is still half in bedhead stage, bangs shoved off his forehead. he usually wears contact lenses but wears his glasses for travel, round and too big for his face. he’s wearing a softly tinted lip balm. the one that tastes like peaches. or so it says on the stick.

he looks handsome. yoongi wonders idly if his family’s going to believe he’s dating such a handsome man. his brother certainly won’t.

“more or less. mostly michael jordan. one.” yoongi answers his questions one by one, and jungkook laughs, delighted. yoongi gives a tired shadow of a smile that probably barely shows.

three days. they’re going to spend three days in daegu. two nights in yoongi’s childhood bedroom.

yoongi would love to worry about that some more but he’s managed to tire that part of his brain out to the point of breaking it. now when he tries to think about it, his brain just plays the dora the explorer theme song.

“hyung.” yoongi blinks sluggishly and jungkook fades into focus. he’s twisted in his seat to lean slightly towards yoongi, backlit against the white-grey window. “you’re spacing out. take a nap, hyung. we still have an hour and a half to go.”

“i’m not tired.” more like: i’m too nervous to sleep.

“right. your eyes are literally closed right now.”

“no they’re not.”

“i’m looking at you right now and they’re clearly closed.” jungkook sounds incredulous. “why are you lying?”

“hey, jungkookie.” yoongi says suddenly, blinking his eyes open. jungkook goes still, and yoongi can see on his face - that it came out strange, like he’s in a hurry, like he’s running out of time, like he’s in a movie and this is the part where something bad is about to happen and it’s the last chance to say what they’ve been wanting to say.

everything might change after this trip.

yoongi doesn’t want this train ride to end.

“hyung.” yoongi didn’t even say anything, but he didn’t have to. jungkook speaks so calming. like a breeze on a spring meadow. he takes one of yoongi’s hands on his thigh, brings it to the armrest between them; traces yoongi’s fingers with his own, the edges of his hand, traces the tendons and then the bumps of his veins. yoongi stares like it’s something mesmerizing, swallows around the lump in his throat. “tell me about daegu. tell me what it was like to grow up there. tell me about the walk from your house to school. tell me about the places you went with your friends.”

yoongi hums, slightly strangled, but if jungkook notices - he notices, he notices yoongi is near panicking, that’s why he’s doing this - he doesn’t say anything. yoongi turns his hand palm up; lets jungkook redraw the lines of his palm. closes his eyes and tells him about daegu and the big rottweiler their neighbor had and the arcade he used to go to with his friends after school until he’s too sleepy to really finish his thoughts; then jungkook talks, tells him about busan, and yoongi’s heard most of it before, but it’s nice to just listen to the cadences of his voice.