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During one of many inebriated nights watching some dumb reality TV show with your best friend in the entire world, aforementioned best friend had somehow managed to gather enough brain power in his fucked-up state to pose you a semi-relevant question. Somehow, his alcohol damaged synapses managed to form a somewhat coherent sentence good enough for your own equally damaged synapses to comprehend. With his voice slurring so much, it was a miracle you even understood what he was trying to say. If memory served you right (which it probably didn’t), he asked you something like this:
“If you could go back in time to change anything—hic!—in your past, what would you change?”
Well, sadly, that question had remained unanswered for quite some time because drunken you from three months ago had promptly vomited all over your shared apartment’s carpet after thinking too hard about the consequences of altering the space-time continuum, causing all discussion of the hypothetical situation to cease immediately.
Luckily, sober you from the present finally had her answer, and it was something like this:
You would happily staple Min Yoongi by the balls to a chair so he wouldn’t have fucking ditched you at one in the afternoon after almost 26 hours straight of staying cooped up in the library, and leave you to drool all over the desk like some sort of friendless loser!
(Not that you wouldn’t have drooled on the table with or without Min Yoongi’s presence, but at the very least you’d be doing it together.)
With murder and ball busting on the agenda, you wiped your face with as much dignity as you could muster and went looking for the bastard to give him a piece of your mind. He could only be at two places at this hour, and given that it was a Friday and you could already see a line forming near one of the campus cafeterias, you had a very good idea of where he was. And oh boy, these bystanders were about to see the best medieval torture method reenactment of their lifetimes.
For the record, you could say with 95% confidence that you were usually not a violent person. Civil conversation and good natured debates were more your forte when it came to settling disagreements, but when it really came down to it…
You were definitely not opposed to using your fists once in a while, especially when it meant dealing with a certain Min Yoongi.
With your boots angrily making squelching sounds on the soggy snow, your hair in perfect rat’s nest decorum, and your eye bags as purple as Park Jimin’s secret stash of women’s underwear, it came as no surprise when the rest of the student populace made way for your seething form as you stomped your way to the bundle of black jackets currently lining up for fucking—
“Churros? Min Yoongi, you left me in the library to get fucking churros?” You finally managed to grit out, pulling the offending man out of the line and purposefully making him fall on his sorry excuse of a bum. He barely offered a grunt back in response, as it seemed that he had already managed to acquire one of the aforementioned succulent treats and was actively trying not to let it fall onto the ground with him.
“No, I did not leave you in the library to get fucking churros,” was his simple reply. You watched as he started to carefully stand up with unnatural ease that was uncharacteristic of Min Yoongi, but it seemed to do the trick, as he was able to keep the hot treat up in the air without his hands even touching the ground. “Phew, that was close,” he muttered, barely even glancing at your infuriated self.
“Where the fuck were you then?” you accused, your hands on your hips as a universal sign of you-fucked-up-big-time-mister-min-yoongi.
In lieu of a response, Yoongi simply lifted up his prize towards you: a single churro wrapped in wads of greasy tissue.
You felt your eye twitch. “Are you fucking telling me… that you forgot to wake me up in the library because you lined up for a single, free churro?”
Yoongi shrugged his shoulders, showing you the churro once again as if that was answer enough, like all the world’s answers were held in that single doughy, sugary stick of pure diabetes. Stunned to silence at his appalling behavior, you could only watch as he proceeded to devour the churro whole, chomping on it for three whole seconds before swallowing it immediately. He patted his stomach contentedly.
“Not just any single, free churro, Y/N. It’s a next-level churro.” Yoongi looked down at the butchered remains of the sweet sugary goodness on his fingers. He licked them off with gusto. “Well, was a next-level churro at least.”
If looks could kill, then the sneer on your face would have completely eviscerated him. “You? Sicken me. Best friend in the entire world, you are.”
Just like the complete idiot that he was, Min Yoongi only grinned back cheerily, flecks of brown sugar still present on his pearly whites. You fought the urge to point it out to him. Let him suffer with food in his teeth, Y/N! He deserved it. “I do my best, Y/N. If you’re really mad, we could line up again and get another one for you—“
“I don’t want a fucking churro, you asswipe! What I did want was one solid hour nap in our little library nest, after which I would be promptly woken up by my best friend so that we could switch roles and I would let you sleep so that we wouldn’t lose our coveted spot in the library! But no! You left me for a damn fucking churro, and now our special table is probably gone!” You fumed, huffing out in anger as you turned away from the boy. Barely two seconds passed when curiosity got the best of you, a sadistic and maybe childish side of you just wanting to see Yoongi grovel for your mercy. You dared to sneak a peek behind you to see his pouting face, pathetically asking for your forgiveness, just like you predicted. You swung your head back, unwilling to let his cute face make you submit to his will that quickly. Not again Satan.
Just as you were about to steel yourself for his onslaught of pouts, you felt his arms wrap around your torso, his chin resting on your shoulder as he rocked the both of you to a silent beat, rotating the both of you in circles in the middle of the campus, just like how the two of you used to dance in your living room many summers ago, with his weird grunge hip-hop music accompanying your intimate swaying. And just like those summers ago, you still had to force the rate of your heartbeat to calm down, his proximity to you still a surprise even after almost a decade of friendship.
No matter how much Min Yoongi grated your gears, he also sorta, kinda, maybe, possibly, owned a piece of your pathetic heart. And hell, you were kinda mad about it!
“Y/N, pleeeeease forgive me!” He drawled, swinging the both of you around in circles. You couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth, as he propelled you both onto the thicker parts of the snow bank. His rapid movements made the snow flutter about, most probably soaking the both of your legs to the bone, but you couldn’t even begin to wonder how that even mattered right now because he was being a cute little shit and you were trying your damned hardest not to let your heart jump out of your ass.
Despite having already forgiven him (almost ten minutes ago, when he had first smiled back at you with that damned churro of his, causing your heart to jump ten places to the right), you were still as stubborn as a person could get. You shook your head defiantly, but the obvious grin on your face showed that you were well past anger at that point. “Nope! I can never forgive you. Because of you, we lost our spot in the library and now we’re both going to fail our finals next week!”
“Oh c’mon, I already said I was sorry! Look, I’ll even line up for you to get another churro,” he tried, spinning your body around until you were finally facing him. Oh shit, a power move! His dumb, cute face was busy smiling that gummy grin back at you, urging you to accept his proposal and move on with your merry lives.
Dammit. Knowing Min Yoongi, he probably didn’t even know how fucking powerful his cute smile was… Curse your damn crush on the densest human being on the planet, and damn you for being a stupid shit who couldn’t even shit out a normal human emotion if your life depended on it.
Clearing your throat, you turned your face away, trying your best to hide the rising blush from his prying eyes. “You know how I hate waiting, and I don’t even like churros that much.”
You only heard his quiet scoff before his deft fingers promptly pulled down your fluffy beanie to cover your eyes. “Hey!” You cried, hearing his quiet chuckles ringing in the air. Ba-dump goes your fucking heart. Shit, another power move.
“Well, you’re about to love churros when you get a hold of these! Just stand here, I’ll go get you a churro. It’ll only be a minute!” When you finally got your beanie off of your line of sight, you saw him already bounding up towards the end of the line, making it clear that he really wanted to make amends with you (either that, or he just wanted another churro for himself, which sort of defeated the purpose of the thoughtful gesture, but oh well.)
“Hey, wait for me!” You called out, already going to follow after him when you suddenly felt the faint buzzing of your phone in your jacket pocket, causing you to pause in your steps. Wondering who could be calling you (who the fuck called in this day and age?), you whipped out your phone to see the caller ID of one of your more responsible and elderly friends. A responsible friend, who also happened to live with a less than responsible roommate. This phone call could not be good.
“Seokjin-oppa? Where’s the fire? Which hospital room is Namjoon in this time?” You asked immediately, worried that the younger boy had somehow burnt down their shared apartment—again.
“Fire? Who said anything about a fire?” Seokjin chuckled, his unique laughter sounding warbled through your phone’s speakers. “Is there anything wrong with calling your favorite dongsaeng from time to time?”
You let out a sigh of relief. You really didn’t feel like powerwalking to the campus hospital that was only three minutes away. That required, like, energy.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but calling people other than for emergencies is considered barbaric nowadays—maybe you really are getting old,” you snickered, delighting in the huffy grumble that the elder lets out in response.
“Since you’re probably running on two hours of sleep and still in the middle of finals, I’ll let that insult slide.”
“How magnanimous of you,” you said sarcastically. “Anyway, what is it that you needed to tell me? Unless the apartment isn’t on fire, then I honestly can’t tell you why I’m still on the phone with you right now. I’m surprised this call has lasted,” you looked at your phone screen, “20 seconds.”
Faintly, you heard the echoed voice of another man, their voice too garbled for you to understand fully except for the words “the asshole couple” and “forgot.”
“Was that Namjoonie calling Yoongi and I the asshole couple again?” You questioned, amused but not surprise by Namjoon’s lack of tact. Not that the two of you were a couple, anyway. Tragic.
“Yeah. He was saying that you and Yoongi probably forgot about the Christmas party today, which you guys did, didn’t you? Judging by how the both of you just seenzoned my Facebook event invite and clearly forgot to press Going because you both didn’t want to seem too eager to attend my wonderful party, we both assumed you both would need a reminder so that you could prepare—“
The moment Seokjin uttered the words “Christmas party,” you had already stopped listening. Hanging up on Seokjin immediately, you powerwalked (wow so you did have some energy to spare after all) the rest of the distance to where Yoongi was still standing in line, who was almost at the front, before you promptly pulled him out of the queue and made him fall on his bum, again.
“Ouch! What the fuck? Y/N—“ Yoongi began, about to pull a full Min Yoongi tantrum before quickly being shushed by a well-aimed kick to the shin. “Ouch! I’m not made of Jungkook muscles, you know! I bleed like normal people do!”
You cut to the chase. “Dude! We fucking forgot about Seokjin’s Christmas party!”
Instead of panic like you expected, he just gave you that classic Min Yoongi glare and snorted, standing up to dust off the snow off his pants. “Ew, my butt is really wet now because of you,” he complained, rubbing his sore ass with a groan. He wiped his wet hands on your sweater. Gentlemanly, wasn’t he? “Also, I don’t get what the big fuss is all about. It’s just a party; we go, eat Seokjin’s food, get drunk, then leave.”
“No, you fucking dunce! You’re forgetting something important.”
“Uh… We take a shit outside of Seokjin’s yard and blame it on Taehyung?”
“Wha—what the actual fuck Yoongi? No!”
Yoongi huffed. “Don’t act as if you hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, either way, you’re fucking wrong. We forgot about the White Elephant gift exchange.”
Finally, the nerve endings of Yoongi’s last two remaining brain cells seemed to have finally gotten their shit together. “Oh shiiiiiiit! I totally forgot about that.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “Well. Bummer.”
“Bummer? Dude, the gift exchange is, like, tradition. We’d go to hell if we didn’t participate!” you said, clearly frustrated with the nonchalant behavior of your less than helpful friend. Missing White Elephant was the equivalent of hooking up with Kim Taehyung: kind of okay at the beginning until the all-consuming horror of what you did finally caught up with you. (Kim Taehyung sneezed in the distance.)
“I know that, which is why I stocked up on generic Christmas presents last week in case a circumstance just like this would happen.”
You paused, staring at him in bewilderment before trying to think who this forward-thinking person was before suspicion slowly began to creep up on you. You do recall him going with you to that store with you a few weeks ago, and he had emerged with a much too large bag of purchases. You glared skeptically at him, poking him not too gently on the chest.
“We’ve been hanging out nonstop together for the past week and we’ve gone out exactly two times: to the sex toy shop and the dollar store—“
“Which reminds me by the way, we have yet to attach a knife to that rotating dildo we purchased to create an indestructible, knife-wielding monster.“ Yoongi interjected.
“—and I honestly don’t know which option is worse: you giving that rotating dildo as a gift or giving some dollar store shit,” you finished, clearly ignoring his previous statement about that dildo experiment you admittedly still wanted to try out. “But judging by the fact that you came out of the dollar store with a bag full of crap, I’m guessing it’s the latter, isn’t it?”
The much too accomplished smirk on Yoongi’s face was answer enough. “Daiso probably already restocked their make-up aisle by now.”
“Oh my fucking god. So you’re telling me that you got everyone dollar store makeup for their gifts?!?”
Yoongi nodded sagely back at you. “Even wrapped them myself.”
“Dude, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but, you’re useless with wrapping presents. Wipe that stupid grin off your face, you ain’t slick.” You chided, flicking his forehead petulantly. Despite the sound of nail meeting skull reverberating across the campus, the stupid grin did not vanish. There was a joke about how empty his head was, but you chose not to comment about it for once.
“Yeah, well. It’s the thought that counts right? I even used my old high school calculus notes as wrapping paper. You know, to spread the knowledge.”
“The knowledge,” you repeated flatly, “Of what? Your C+ grades?”
Yoongi crossed his arms. “Look, we already established that I’m a far superior friend because I actually had the foresight to plan ahead. So really, who is the real winner here?”
“You’re about to be the world’s first headless and penisless man, so yeah I guess you are.” You groaned, pathetically dropping your ass on a nearby bench. Like everything around you, it was still covered in snow, so now you and Yoongi were matching wet butt buddies.
“We’re wet butt buddies,” Yoongi verbalized for you, choosing instead to pat the snow away before carefully sitting down beside you. He nudged your shoulder pityingly, offering you a semi-comforting smile (or as comforting as he could get, which was like, not a lot but you know. Shut-ins typically don’t know how to express emotions.)
“Hey, Y/N. It’s not so bad. We got like, what? Five-ish hours left to buy something. Also, I’m sure you could find some random shit in our apartment to give,” he proposed, puffing his cheeks out in that cute way he did sometimes when he was actually doing something smart and thoughtful. You managed to rip your gaze away from his face moments before he turned to look back at you, the bastard still oblivious to your maybe not-so tiny infatuation (luckily or unluckily. God, why were the two of you so dumb?)
“Y/N. Don’t thank me too much—“
“Wasn’t planning to,” you deadpanned.
“—but I just got the best fucking idea for a gift in the world,” he declared, a mega-watt gummy smile on full display, effectively shoving it’s sunshine-ness down your throat and blending your innards into soft, mushy fluff. Yeah, that’s what you were: just a flesh sack filled with marshmallow fluff, c/o Yoongi.
“O-oh?” You cleared your throat. Be cool, Y/N. He’s just a nerd, like you. “And what is this genius plan of yours?” You decided to humor him, thinking that any idea, even if it was Min Yoongi’s idea, has got to be better than having no idea at all.
He pointed at the churro stand just a few feet away from you. “Dude.”
And just like that, Min Yoongi once again proved why he was the biggest shithead in the world.
“Are you fucking proposing I make like ten trips through that damned churro line just so I can have enough to give as a gift later?” You balked. Yoongi just gave you a look as if you were the idiot.
“No, you dumbie! Although, now that you say that, that actually doesn’t sound that bad…” He said. You nudged him not unkindly with your shoulder.
“Jeez, calm down! I was joking,” he grinned.
“Then what were you originally proposing?”
“I was just gonna say you bake your own churros. I mean, you’ve made some before and the guys really loved it. I’m sure anyone would want your food.” He added the last part like an afterthought, his voice dropping to a lower tone as his eyes started to unfocus a bit.
You knew that look. “Are you seriously getting turned on by the thought of my churros right now?”
He snapped out of it quickly enough. “I stand corrected about the free churros; your churros are the next-level churros.”
Compliments were a seldom occurrence from Min Yoongi, and you supposed you should take what you could get. Besides, your traitorous heart was already fluttering from his offhanded praise.
“Well,” you sniffed, taking care to hide the pink tinge of your cheeks. “If you say so…”
“Wait, so you’re really going to go with my suggestion?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” You narrowed your eyes at him. He gave you a sheepish smile.
“I don’t know. Feels kind of nice.”
Ba-dump. Curse you, feelings.
“Anyway, we should get going and start on those churros. Knowing us, it’ll take us maybe ten minutes to walk to our five-minute walk apartment,” he quipped, moving to stand up while offering you an ungloved hand to pull you up. You gave him your own similarly ungloved hand as well. You couldn’t really tell from how numb your fingers were, but you swore the space in between your fingers felt warmer than anything you had ever felt before.
And throughout those ten minutes, neither of you let go.
(In retrospect, Yoongi was probably using your hands as an insulator, but that was neither here nor there. Maybe.)
Shuffling into your cramped home, the two of you immediately set off to the kitchen. Your fingers were just about to grab the black apron when large hands grabbed your waist, carrying up, up—
“NO! THIS IS SO UNFAIR!” You screamed, watching helplessly as Yoongi basically threw your smaller form onto the counter behind him. He grabbed the black apron victoriously, a shit-eating grin adorning his face.
“Ha! Guess who’s getting the sexy chef apron!” He mocked, grabbing the offending apron with his other hand and proffering it to you. You don’t even try to hide your disgust as you snatched the gag gift out of his clutches, pouting as you hastily put it on.
Back when you were furniture shopping when you first moved in, Yoongi thought it would be funny to get one normal apron and a hideous bikini body apron as a sort of incentive to see who could get to the kitchen faster. Yoongi teased and said it looked better on you than it did on him, anyway.
“Alright, winner. Why don’t you start getting the materials while I try to drain the oil in my nasty hair,” you said with disgust, fingering the limp locks sadly. You wondered how Yoongi’s hair always managed to look decent, even without having washed his hair in three days.
“With the amount of grease in your hair, I don’t even need to open this bottle of vegetable oil,” were the last words Min Yoongi said before getting kicked in the nuts.
One quick shower later, you finally found yourself in companionable silence with Yoongi. It was times like this when you were both focusing on a certain task that you could almost trick yourself into thinking the two of you were normal human beings.
But like all things, nothing really lasted forever.
It started with a mistake, really:
A cup of flour that you may or may not have purposefully dumped into the bowl not too gracefully. Then, the puffs of white scatter, leaving the both of you looking like Made in China versions of Jack Frost. A moment or two of astonishment, and finally…a scream for revolution breaks the silence.
“This is war!” He hooted, grabbing a raw egg (A RAW EGG) from his right and smashing it on your head without another thought.
You were never really a shrieker; that was more of Hoseok’ss thing. But no one could really blame you for screaming like a banshee when your previously washed hair currently had dead chicken fetus running down its once pristine locks.
That’s it. “It’s on!” You challenged, brandishing your rubber spatula and remorselessly smearing the batter all over his dumfounded face.
With how frequent food fights were at your abode, it was already a predetermined rule that food fights were free-for-all. No food product or utensil was out of bounds (save for maybe the butcher knife…for now), and it was agreed that no saltiness should remain after the war.
So it really shouldn’t have surprised anyone when you both finished with more batter on each other than in the actual deep fryer—the big smiles on your faces showing that you would deal with the consequences of your actions later.
“Hey,” you said.
“Hey yourself,” he said back, breaths coming out in short puffs, but the grin on his face said it all.
“You have flour on your face,” you teased, giggling madly when you tried to flick away some of the flour on his nose, only to have the batter that was on your hand leave a bigger mess on his face than before.
“Hey! That’s foulplay!” It wasn’t much of an effective complaint when he was wheezing that dying cat laugh he has when he’s having too much fun. You reluctantly admit that you felt pride surging through your veins, knowing that only you could pry such a sound out of Yoongi with ease.
He looked around the warzone, whistling lowly at the random piece of raw chicken hanging from the ceiling. “Well. Do you think we still have enough batter to make like, eight churros? Maybe we can get that chicken down and pretend it’s a churro. Doubt those ramen-eating zombies would even notice the difference.”
“Nah, Seokjin would know. He’s got like, standards.” You swiveled around and looked for the original bowl of batter that had started it all. You poked the batter a bit, and after seeing how it didn’t immediately fizzle with radioactivity, you figured that it was as good as it was going to get.
“Yeah, I think we can manage. C’mon, plug in the fryer so we can shower and leave this mess for tomorrow.”
“I like the way you think, missy.”
Four hours, seven and a half churros, and two showers later, you and Yoongi were finally making your way to Seokjin and Namjoon’s shared apartment. You wished you could say the two of you had a romantic walk down the campus boulevard as the sun was setting beautifully behind you, but that dreamy image was completely ruined by the chronic complainer with a burnt tongue pouting noisily beside you (you could hear him pouting without even looking. That’s the magic of a pouty Min Yoongi.)
“It’s your own fault you know. I told you the churro was going to be hot, and now I’m left with seven and a half churros instead of eight and a whiny baby to boot,” you pointed out. Yoongi only pouted deeper (how was that even possible?)
“I hate waiting,” he whimpered, lolling his tongue out to let the cool air soothe it. Someone should really give you a prize for not doing something to him (and that tongue) ages ago.
“Yeah, you and me both, bud.” Your feet ground to a halt, stopping in front of the cozy apartment complex with an even cozier front garden. Yoongi stopped to stare at it as well.
“Why doesn’t our apartment complex have those fancy fountain things?” He noted, watching somewhat dazedly as the mermaid statue spewed jets of water out of her, umm…
You snorted. “Yeah. Fancy.”
After a trip through the lobby and up the elevator, you finally found yourselves outside their apartment. It wasn’t going to be a big party—just the eight of them having a little meal together before getting flat out drunk and puking into Seokjin’s many potted plants, so you shouldn’t have had to expect any sort of commotion coming from behind the door.
You turned to Yoongi, who only gave you a withering glance back. “I guess we know where we get our traits from,” he mused, before opening the door to absolute chaos.
“Oh. Hi hyung and noona,” was the all too calm reply of a currently being bench-pressed Taehyung, courtesy of the muscle pig himself. At Taehyung’s greeting, muscle pig tilted his head to the side, bunny smile on full power. “Hey hyung and noona!”
“Hey,” was your tired reply, before two flesh sacks of pure adrenaline basically pummeled you to the ground, with Yoongi in tow of course.
“Jimin, if you don’t put down that whisk right now, you bet your ass it’s going up your—“ was Hoseok’s discontinued threat before Park Jimin waggled the offending utensil with glee.
“Oh, hyung’s so kinky! I thought Namjoon was bad; wait until Yoongi and Y/N hear this—oh.” His gaze finally met the two of yours on the floor. “Hey hyung and noona!” was Jimin’s own personal greeting, his smile much too innocent in juxtaposition with the mysterious green substance staining his once pristine white shirt. He looked at the both of you confusedly. “Hey. Why are the two of you on the floor?”
“Well, you fucking pile drove us to the ground, thank you very much.” Yoongi grumbled, struggling to stand up while helping you up as well.
Jimin waggled his eyebrows. “Pile drive? You mean like how you pile drive Y/N into the bed every—“
“ALRIIIIIGHT EVERYBODY,” came the distressed voice of Seokjin from the kitchen, saving the two of you from Jimin’s monologue about his weird sexual fantasies about the both of you (not that you share any of those fantasies with him, anyway. Nooooope!) “That’s enough noise for now! Everyone, should we eat first or should we do present exchange first?”
The rumble of your stomach couldn’t even begin to compete with the hoots of the three youngest idiots. “Presents, presents!” They hollered in unison, jumping up and down and making the floor shake with their excitement.
“I guess democracy is dead,” you mourned. Yoongi was the only one who heard your comment, giving you a pitiful frown.
“See? You wouldn’t be as hungry if you just let me line up to get you a churro—“
“If you say churro one more time, I’m shoving all seven of these up your—“
Before you could finish your delightful thought, a devil with two left feet had been eavesdropping on your conversation unknowingly. “Did someone say churros?” Namjoon peeked out behind the two, seemingly out of nowhere. If anyone asked, no, you and Yoongi did not pee yourselves. Okay, maybe a drop or two. I digress.
The maknaeline’s chant suddenly stalled after hearing the new information. Their heads whipped eerily in sync towards you, eyes zeroing in on the small plastic container in your hands.
“Churros, churros!” They pounded their fists to their chests, somewhat reminiscent of the savages from Lord of the Flies.
“See? Told you they love your churros,” Yoongi supplied helpfully.
“Never doubted it,” you deadpanned, watching with something akin to unadulterated terror as the three hounds prowled towards you with an odd glint in their eyes. You swore you could see Jungkook’s mouth foaming a bit.
“Well, this isn’t exactly going to be a fair White Elephant gift exchange is it? Everyone is just going to go for Y/N’s gift,” Seokjin mused, observing the three idiots circling you from a safe distance. He was actively trying not to make eye contact with you, the sick bastard.
“What do you suggest we do, then?” Hoseok asked, who had taken a page out of Seokjin’s book and was now backing away from the rabid trio. “Someone better think of something quick, because I don’t think Y/N is getting out of there alive.”
Once again, you thanked your lucky stars that day for Yoongi’s two remaining brain cells somehow managing to fizzle together long enough to come up with a somewhat decent solution. “How about we draw lots? To make things fair?” He proposed, causing all the heads to turn towards him.
“Ok.” In your opinion, the speed at which Jungkook had acquiesced was a bit eery, and you watched with morbid curiosity as he plopped himself on one of the saggy couches comfortably. Not that you were complaining, though. The rest followed suite, and somehow the rowdy bunch of boys you had found just twenty something minutes ago were as docile as could be.
“Well, since we’re drawing lots, I’ll write the names on the papers then.” Yoongi volunteered, and his sudden enthusiasm to be in the midst of festive actives rung some pretty heavy alarm bells in your head. Min Yoongi was a lot of things, but he definitely never volunteered. He was forced, blackmailed, and tortured to do things, but he never did them willingly. You squinted at his crouched figure by the coffee table; your eyes were trying to look for that glint of mischief Yoongi tended to wear when he was up to something (and by something, you meant cheating.)
No one seemed to notice Yoongi’s attitude since everyone was too busy accessing each other’s gifts. Seokjin didn’t even bother hiding his distaste for Yoongi’s gift.
“Is that a lump of…calculus homework?” Seokjin questioned more than declared, poking the object as if it might explode, or worse, hiss at him. “Yoongi, you are literally so useless at wrapping presents. Also—”
“That’s what I said!” you concurred, raising a fist in fellowship with your fellow gift wrapper-er.
“—if this is a raccoon again, I’m suing.”
“For your information, no, it is not a raccoon. I’m not Taehyung,” Yoongi scoffed, still busy writing the ballots. He spared a glance at the other gifts. “At least my gift doesn’t look like it was dunked in Jimin’s weird protein shake.”
“Hey! That was Jungkook’s fault; he knocked off my tumbler because he’s a dumb ass,” Jimin sulked, thumbing the green stain on the wrapping paper that matched the one on his shirt. One mystery down, you supposed. “My gift is good. Don’t judge a gift by its cover.”
“Also,” Hoseok added, watching warily as he swore he saw Taehyung’s gift twitching again, “Are we not addressing the fact that Taehyung’s gift just moved two spaces to the right?”
“Did it? I thought it was dead,” Taehyung said ambiguously.
“Dead,” Namjoon repeated.
“Well, it’s unalive at least.” Jungkook commented solemnly.
“What the fuck?” You said, inching your body away from the…thing. “Dibs on not getting Taehyung’s gift then.”
“Well, can’t say if calling dibs is the right word, but you get first pick of gifts at least.” Yoongi said, standing up from his position and heading over to you. Jungkook looked like he was about to complain and call Yoongi out on favoritism, but Yoongi beat him to it.
“If you think you can one-up Y/N’s churros with that rock you just wrapped in toilet paper, then I’ll let you take first pick. ‘Til then, you’re last in my book, bud.” After that, Jungkook shut his trap.
Yoongi finally turned back to you, the folded ballots dumped haphazardly in a fedora. (“If I say they’re in style, then they’re fucking in style!” Taehyung huffed at everyone’s teasing.) Yoongi lowered his head, bringing his mouth so close to your ear that you could feel the hot puffs of air leaving his mouth and caressing the fine hairs there. You may or may not shiver in response.
His voice was lowered, conspiratorial. “Here you go. Might want to choose the one on the right, but that’s just me saying that. How could I know what that ballot is? Not me,” Yoongi said with all the subtlety in the world. You looked into his eyes. Ah, there it was: the mischievous twinkle you’ve come to know and love.
“How am I sure you’re not gonna prank me and I end up getting Taehyung’s shady gift?” You grinned, trying to trip him up to see if he was willing to budge and tell you what gift he was trying to set you up with. He only shrugged impishly.
“Do you trust me?”
More than you know, actually. But this wasn’t the time or place for that.
“Nah, not really. But I do love danger,” you conceded, carefully plucking out Yoongi’s suggestion from out of the bag. “Kinda hope this is Taehyung’s just so I can use whatever it is against you all.” Yoongi only grinned back at you.
“Alright, my turn.” Yoongi announced, earning more backlash than when he had allowed you to go first.
“I could accept Y/N going first, but you? Your gift looks like you just shat into a plastic bag and wrapped it in your math notes!” Hoseok whined.
“Wow, you psychic or something?” Yoongi teased. Hoseok’s eyes widened in disgust.
“No fucking—“
“I’m kidding, you bastard. And I get to go next because I’ve got like one and half pints of piss inside my body right now and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Jungkook stepped up to the challenge. “Bitch, I got three pints of piss inside me right now.”
Yoongi smirked. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”
Now it was Seokjin’s eyes turn to widen. “Jungkook, don’t you dare piss on my carpet!”
While the commotion was going on, Yoongi stealthily rustled his hand inside the hat, daintily plucking a particularly folded piece of paper before shucking the hat towards Namjoon. “All yours, dude.” He grinned, but he wasn’t looking at Namjoon. You rolled your eyes back at him. Cheater, your eyes said. Whipped, your heart replied.
Touché.
The hat got passed around with no further mishaps (“A miracle,” Seokjin wiped away a stray tear), and everyone was finally ready to reveal their gifts.
“I guess I’ll go first,” you said, unfolding the small bit of paper to see…
“I got…Namjoon?” You said confused, looking first at Yoongi’s smug face then to Namjoon. The younger grinned happily back at you.
“Oh, neat. Someone who’ll actually enjoy my gift is getting it. You might even call it,” he paused, giving Yoongi a small onceover. The elder stared back head on, unflinching. “…a miracle.” Namjoon finished, his suspicious gaze never yielding.
Nevertheless, Namjoon walked to the kitchen and came back with a relatively neat looking package, obviously wrapped by those gift-wrapping services that department stores usually had. “Go on, open it.” Namjoon smiled giddily, just as excited as you to see the gift as everyone else.
Not one for much theatrics, you opened the package without much ado, your eyes already knowing what it was the moment the first bits of wrapping paper were removed.
“Oh my God! New colored pencils? These are good quality too…” You gushed, turning the box around to see the product description. “This is a wonderful gift! Thank you so much!” So what? You were a bit of a stationery hoe. Everyone sort of is one, deep down.
“Wow, Namjoon-hyung actually has a pretty decent present this year. Someone helped him choose, I know it.” Jimin guessed, and his words made you turn to the one prime suspect on your list. When your eyes sought his, you found that he was already looking.
Thanks, you mouthed towards him.
Yoongi shrugged his shoulders, a smirk on his face. Don’t know what you’re talking about.
“Yoongi, you’re up.” You grinned, handing him your gift immediately without even waiting for him to open his ballot.
“You bitch!” Taehyung cried out, already leaping out of his seat to strangle Yoongi. “This was rigged! Rigged I say!”
Yoongi’s body bent at an angle you had not previously known he was capable of doing, and you watched with fascination as he dodged Taehyung’s attacks like they were nothing. He popped one whole churro into his mouth, winking saucily at you before looking back at Taehyung. “Don’t hate the player dude, hate the game.”
“I fucking knew it,” Namjoon sighed, but he didn’t look as angry as, say, Jungkook, who was looking about 99% ready to release his weird weeb energy attack.
“You guys, it’s not really a big deal. I could always make some more,” you tried placating the rabid trio once again. To your surprise, you found their feral eyes suddenly morphing into those of tiny woodland creatures.
“You would, noona? That’s so sweet of you!” Jimin giggled, pulling you into a hug. Then Jungkook did the same, and then Taehyung. Soon, the massive dog pile that always seemed to happen during your get-togethers followed.
Barely managing to take a breath, you craned your head to the left to still see Yoongi chewing thoughtfully on the churros, his gaze complacent despite currently being buried alive by Park Jimin’s thighs. (Not a bad way to go, but I disgress.)
“You having fun over there?” You rasped, pushing Hoseok’s armpit away from your visage. You felt more than heard Yoongi chuckle back.
“Yep. Hey Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
“If I’m 130 pounds and I eat 1.3 pounds of churros, does that make me 1% churro?”
Hoseok shifted just enough to elbow you in the boob. “Wow, hyung is asking the real questions here!”
“Also,” Yoongi said, grunting slightly when a stray foot almost hits him in the groin. “I gotta say, Y/N. I think I was wrong.”
“Not an uncommon occurrence, by the way!” Namjoon quipped from somewhere below you.
“You know how I said the churros from this morning were next-level? I think yours is top-level. S-rank, if you will.”
The wriggling of the dog pile stopped for a moment. “Wait,” Jungkook paused, twisting his body in a way that should not be possible in order to get a good view of Yoongi’s face. “Is this his way of confessing to Y/N?”
“Booooo! Zero stars! No romance!” Taehyung called out from…inside Seokjin’s shirt? “That was so anticlimactic!”
“Oh Taehyungie, be kind! Yoongi never compliments anyone except for Y/N. This is a sensitive moment in a person’s character arc,” Seokjin commented sagely, patting the weird lump in his shirt that was indeed Taehyung.
“Confessing?” Yoongi asked. “Why would I be confessing if it’s already a fact?”
“Oh my God, can we get off of each other now? This is awkward,” you whined, the conversation suddenly going from 0 to 100 real quick.
“Nah hyung, we’re not talking about confessing about the churros. We’re talking about the whole you having googly eyes for each other since before the dinosaurs walked the planet,” Jungkook added.
“OKAY IT’S REALLY TIME TO GET OFF ME NOW!” Alas, like the shitheads that they were, no one chose to listen.
“Googly eyes? What?”
Oh my God Min Yoongi could you be any denser? If there’s a god out there, please zap all seven of these idiots and let their ashy remains fertilize the earth and germinate a money tree so that you can go live in some penthouse apartment in Gangnam and never return to this place and time!
That was too specific, wasn’t it?
“Wait, so what you guys are saying,” you felt Yoongi’s arm wiggling it’s way towards you, burrowing underneath Hoseok’s body until his fingers found your own. “You think me and Y/N…aren’t already dating?”
What.
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
“What?” Yoongi finished, looking around confusedly. “Am I missing something?”
“A few screws loose, yeah! What the fuck, hyung!”
“And that was the Christmas your father basically admitted he’s got less than two functioning brain cells and why you should never listen to a word your father says,” you concluded, closing your diary as you watched the confusion on your daughter’s face begin to multiply.
“So? Daddy thought—“
“That we were already dating? Yeah.”
“And he just? Said?”
“Yeah.”
“Mommy,” your daughter said with as much sincerity as a six-year old could muster. “I think Daddy is an idiot.”
“Yeah, he is. But I guess he’s our idiot, isn’t he? Now go to sleep, I think your Daddy is trying to wear the Santa costume again and get stuck to the chimney.”
“Alright. Good night, Mommy.”