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Jungkook doesn’t even know why he agreed to this, or why he’s putting on foundation when his date can’t even see him. It’s the joke of the century. He’s going on a blind date, a blind blind date.
They call it dark dining, dinner without the hindrance of sight. Supposedly, it's meant to make the food taste better. Personally, Jungkook’s always thought that food is supposed to be a feast for the eyes as well.
Heart drumming in his chest, nearly turning back twice, he takes a cab to the location, lit up in red neon, ‘INK’. It’s true to its word, blackout curtains on all the windows, staff members in dark suits, wearing mysterious smiles.
“Jeon, reservation for two,” Jungkook sputters, taking in the ambiance of the lobby, rich wood, red velvet, and a thick curtain separating the waiting area and those dining.
“Yes, I have you down for six o’clock,” the woman hums. “Do you want to wait for your friend or—”
Jungkook’s jumpy, maybe it’d be better to see the guy first, or would it be more interesting to not know how he looks like at all. “I-uh- it’s fine. I’ll just go in first.”
The woman smiles. “Please surrender your phone and any communication devices into one of the service lockers.”
It seems like such a big deal, and Jungkook’s worried, but he’s also already here. He puts his cell into one of the cubbies and turns the lock, pocketing the key. “All set.”
“You’ll have to put this on, sir,” a hostess orders, pulling out a silky, lace blindfold. “Someone will guide you to your seat.”
Jungkook wouldn’t consider himself a control freak. Okay, yes he would. He’s particular. It takes him a tremendous amount of effort to surrender control. With a sigh, he ties the blindfold into place, the silk smooth and flush against his skin.
And then he’s blind, all visual information succumbing to utter darkness.
“Sir, I’m going to take your arm,” a voice comes in somewhere from the left, closer than he expected, causing him to jump.
Jungkook’s pulse is racing, stomach in knots. “S-Sure.”
A gentle but firm pressure slips under his arm, guiding him forward. Jungkook stumbles, unable to trust the person who’s leading him as if any second he’ll slam into a wall.
They come to a sudden stop after brushing past the curtains. “Your chair is in front of you.”
Jungkook reaches forward, fingers on air before he meets the smooth back of a wooden seat, cool to the touch. He navigates around, a hand on his elbow, and manages to sit down.
“Would you like something to drink while you wait, sir?” the man asks.
Jungkook nods, absolutely parched. “Water, please.”
Every sound is suddenly clearer, cold water being poured, the clink of glass somewhere in front of him against the table. Jungkook carefully reaches forward, the feeling cold and covered in light condensation.
“Thank you.”
A chair slides against the floor, grating on the ears and the sound of footsteps, the groan of wood under pressure.
“Hello,” Jungkook calls out, hands shaking. His date is here, isn’t he?
“Hi, you must be Jungkook,” a voice answers, low and dark, a drawl he can’t quite place, but so pleasing to the ears.
“Yes, me— that’s me,” Jungkook gushes, his skin buzzing as if he can feel the air on every hair follicle.
There’s laughter, a sultry chuckle that feels like honey on the tongue. “I’m Yoongi. Taehyung told me you were cute.”
Jungkook flushes, and he’s thankful that the two of them are blind so that his date won’t notice his utter embarrassment. “I guess you’ll find out after when we can take these things off.”
“After?” Yoongi repeats. “I don’t need to see you to know, Jungkook. You’re already plenty cute.”
A jolt of electricity shoots down Jungkook spine as he exhales shakily. “I—”
Before they can continue, someone clears their throat to the right of them. “Gentleman, we’ll be starting with the first course, if you feel in front of you, your fork and knife, and a napkin you can unfold on your laps.”
Jungkook searches the table cloth, the lines in the linen, and then—
Another hand.
“Ah, sorry,” Jungkook squeaks. “That was me.”
Yoongi laughs. “You’re sitting closer than I thought. It’s okay. I’ll hold your hand later.”
The younger makes a noise, internally yelling at Taehyung for convincing him to do this, but also excited cause, duh, handholding.
Jungkook manages to find his napkin, smoothing it over his lap. Then he locates his fork and knife, quickly figuring out which are the sharp ends.
“First the appetizers, start at the 6 o’clock position and move counterclockwise from there,” the man continues.
Jungkook gets his first whiff of food, a plethora of different smells, citruses sweet and sour.
“If you need any help, just raise your right hand, and someone will come and assist you.”
“Thank you,” Jungkook answers nervously.
He hears footsteps receding, and has the acute sense that they’re alone now. He’s afraid, firstly of knocking things over, and secondly of how intimidatingly charming his date is already.
“Shall we?” the man hums, voice deep and sultry.
“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, sounding way breathier than intended. The boy reaches out with his fork, figuring it to be the safest choice, lest he stab Yoongi’s hand with a knife. It clinks against a plate, or something ceramic. Jungkook forgoes the fork, feeling with his hands.
There are four bowls in front of him.
“This is—” Jungkook can’t find the word for it.
Inside, there’s something soft and yielding. Okay, it’s the first course, and Jungkook’s managed to spear one of the pieces. He brings it to his mouth, the scent familiar, and when he bites in, the sweetness bursts over his tastebuds.
“Apple?” Jungkook chews.
“I think I got a strawberry with mine,” Yoongi answers.
It’s some sort of fruit salad. Jungkook, not trusting himself, pulls the bowl closer, shoveling the dish into his mouth. There are savory notes in it, but not overwhelming at all. There’s also the crisp bite of lettuce.
Yoongi clears his throat. “So, tell me a little about yourself.”
Jungkook knows a lot about himself. Of course, he does. He is himself. Unfortunately, at the moment, he can’t even remember his own name, and thus he scrambles for any fact about his life that he can share.
“I like boxing,” he manages, “and cats.”
He hears laughter and sputtering. “Damn, I-” there’s a cough. “I almost choked.”
“Ah, should I call for help?” Jungkook offers, cheeks flushed.
“No, I’m fine, I just-” Yoongi laughs again. “You like boxing cats.”
Heat crawls up Jungkook’s cheeks. “No, I like boxing and I like cats. They’re two separate interests.”
Yoongi hums agreeably. “Okay, Jeon Jungkook, boxer and lover of cats. I got it.”
“I’m starting to think you like teasing me,” Jungkook answers, painfully alert about everything, where his hands are, his glass is, the whole orientation of the table, and the man sitting in front of him.
“What a coincidence,” Yoongi answers. “I’m starting to think that too.”
Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he decides to try the next dish, setting down his bowl and picking up a new one. This one’s heavier, and the smell is really mild. He tries it timidly. It’s smooth, and there’s something salty on top, that tastes like the sea—
“Caviar?” Jungkook hums to himself.
“And scrambled eggs,” Yoongi adds. “It’s good.”
Jungkook wants to get out of his headspace, but he’s intimidated. He didn’t expect to like someone this much, someone he can’t even see. He focuses on the dish, savoring each bite.
“Did I scare you off already?” Yoongi asks, tone softer now. “I’m sorry.”
“N-No,” Jungkook stammers. “This is just really different. I’m not sure what to say.”
He switches to the next dish, a meat he can't identify as other than poultry. It’s paired with something sweet and tangy, cranberries, or raisins.
“Say whatever’s on your mind,” Yoongi offers.
“How about you?” Jungkook asks. “Tell me something about yourself.”
The man clears his throat. “I study music—” and from the tone, Jungkook can tell the man is passionate about it.
“I want to be a producer one day and make songs that everyone loves. I’m in my third year now.”
“You sound like you love it,” Jungkook offers.
Yoongi laughs, the deep sound vibrating in Jungkook’s chest. “It’s a love-hate relationship. I don’t get a lot of sleep most weeks.”
Jungkook switches to the last appetizer, something sweet, like a date or a plum, and something immediately savory atop it. The boy actually moans-
“Jungkook?” Yoongi whispers.
“The last dish, it’s foie gras,” Jungkook explains.
“Ohh, fancy,” the junior offers, followed by the sound of clinking, and a barely-there whine that has Jungkook’s arm hairs standing. “Oh, this is delicious.”
“Right?” Jungkook exclaims, happily but carefully finishing his dish.
The waiter returns, footsteps heavy as if to especially not startle them. “Shall I start you on the main course?”
Jungkook nods, before offering a, “please.”
He hears the sounds of dinnerware being swapped, and a whole new group of smells hit his nose, savory and salty, that makes his mouth water. “Alright, all set, just like before, there are four dishes. If you need any help just call.”
“Thank you,” Yoongi hums, waiting for a moment until their alone again.
Jungkook’s eager to try the first dish, which he immediately recognizes as steak, on the raw side which just melts in his mouth. The fat coats his tongue so he reaches for his glass, overshooting, and feeling a hand underneath his fingertips. “Ah, sorry.”
But Yoongi doesn’t draw away, instead, he turns his hand over, nails sliding over Jungkook’s palm, before securing around and weaving through. They’re holding hands, and the point they’re connected is like a buzzing fire on the nerve endings.
“Oh,” Jungkook manages.
“No?” Yoongi asks, a soft lilt in his voice, both provocative and polite in the same breath.
And fuck, Jungkook is a demon for affection, turning to liquid at the touch.
“Yes,” Jungkook hums, sounding way too breathless again. “It’s fine. Y-You can hold my hand.”
There’s a chuckle, followed by the clink of silverware. Jungkook follows suit and keeps eating, which is decidedly more difficult now, though he couldn’t care less.
“This is good steak,” Yoongi comments. “I dunno what this side is though, potatoes? Yams?”
Jungkook forks around until he manages to get a piece, chewing and swallowing. He understands what Yoongi means. It’s a starch but it’s not anything he’s eaten before, a nutty after taste. “I don’t know. I like it though.”
Yoongi’s starts rubbing soothing circles into the back of Jungkook’s hand. The younger’s breathing hitches, and he hopes Yoongi doesn’t notice. Although Jungkook can hear everything all of a sudden, and the rest of his senses are so much sharper.
Yoongi clears his throat, drawing Jungkook out of his thoughts. “So what do you study?”
“Forensic Chemistry,” Jungkook says sullenly, an almost practiced response.
“You don’t like it?” Yoongi guesses.
Jungkook shrugs, brain focused on Yoongi’s hand. “It’s alright, I guess. I dunno.”
“If you could change it?” Yoongi asks.
Jungkook’s heart lights up. “If my family would let me, I’d want to go into videography, ooh, or singing, get a degree in vocal music.”
“I could produce something and you could be the singer,” Yoongi suggests playfully. “Why don’t you sing something for me?”
A wave of performance anxiety hits Jungkook like a brick. Only his shower head’s ever had the pleasure of hearing him sing. “Ha, I don’t know if I’m good enough to sing professionally.”
“Pretty, please,” Yoongi asks; every word he speaks is candy to the ears. The older withdraws his hand, fingers sliding away slowly, dragging along Jungkook’s skin. “For me?”
Jungkook inhales deeply, shoulders straight. He begins singing a popular song, ‘Euphoria,’ just a few bars, warming up his voice, trying to hit the high note. Then properly ready, he sings with more gusto, trying his best to channel the feelings of the song. When he’s done, he hears absolute silence, pin drop silence.
Then, applause, not just from Yoongi, but from the other patrons as well, reminding him that they’re not alone. “Splendid,” someone shouts.
Jungkook mutters a quick thanks before stuffing his mouth with the next dish, salty, fatty pork belly, and something crunchy and fried underneath.
“So?” Jungkook finally mumbles, strangely nervous for approval. “Whatcha think?”
“Besides the fact that you just got an ovation from the entire restaurant?” Yoongi replies.
“You don’t know that,” Jungkook sputters. “It could’ve only been half the restaurant. We can’t see the number—”
“You sang beautifully,” Yoongi cuts in “Y-You could definitely make it professionally.”
There’s a nervousness in his voice that wasn’t there before, Jungkook takes note. Suddenly, his chest feels all fuzzy, a wave of warmth washing over him. “I— thank you.” He’s at a loss for words, instead, diving into his next dish, which is something along the lines of poached fish. Discretely, he pushes the bowl away, not a big fan of cooked seafood, save for lobster.
He moves onto the last dish of the main course, which is gamey and chewy, and delicious. It’s venison, over a bed of poached pears or maybe apples. It’s his favorite so far, bursting with complementary flavors.
“Maybe I can record you some time,” Yoongi asks, before collecting himself. “I mean singing, your voice. I could record your voice.”
Jungkook laughs, his cheeks on fire. “Maybe.”
The waiter comes back and switches out the dishes one final time. “I have your dessert for you, gentlemen. Please, enjoy”
Honestly, Yoongi is dessert enough, though Jungkook doesn’t express that verbally. The younger is already plenty full, but the sweet, almost pungent smells, stir his appetite.
“Shall we?” Yoongi hums.
“S-Sure,” Jungkook replies, using what he assumes to be a spoon to dig in. He timidly takes a bite. It’s sour and cold, but with a very sweet aftertaste, some type of sorbet. Underneath, something that pushes back against his spoon, and when he tries it, grapefruit.
“Hmm,’ Yoongi says agreeably. “I like this. Is it ice cream? Ah no, maybe gelato?”
“I could eat a whole tub of this,” Jungkook admits. “In front of my computer, watching Netflix.”
Yoongi laughs. “That’s literally my perfect date, movies, and cuddles, and junk food.”
Jungkook’s secretly elated, and he’s planning to thank Taehyung on his hands and knees. Yoongi’s easy going, and that’s such a relief. Also, he’s a cuddler, and that’s a bonus.
“We can do that next time,” Jungkook suggests.
“Doing that well, am I?” Yoongi laughs. “Already earned that second date.”
“Well,” Jungkook replies playfully. “We’ll see.”
At this point, Jungkook doesn’t care at all what Yoongi looks like. He wants to make this man breakfast.
They switch to the next dessert, which is warm, and sweet, like cake but with the distinct flavor of a blow torch. “Ohh, that’s different.”
There are hints of cinnamon and other spices, melding into something decadent.
“The second one?” Yoongi asks.
Jungkook nods, glad they’re on the same page. In fact, they’ve been in sync the whole night. “Yeah.”
“It’s sweet, and warm, and gooey,” Yoongi comments, “like you.”
There’s a protest mounted on Jungkook’s tongue, if only the other wasn’t painfully on point.
“D-Don’t call me out like that,” the younger manages, which earns the most sultry, “cute,” he’s ever heard.
It causes Jungkook to spaz out, knocking over one of his bowls. “Ah, I just spilled something. Help!”
He hears approaching footsteps. “Sir,”
“Sorry, I think I knocked over one of my dishes,” Jungkook rushes.
“Ah, I see, we can get you a new one but it’ll take a while,” the man answers, clearing the table.
“I’m really sorry,” Jungkook says hurriedly before Yoongi cuts in.
“It’s alright, we can just share.”
Share?
Why does Jungkook’s heart spike at that, an electric shock ghosting over his skin?
“Alright,” he agrees.
The waiter excuses himself once he’s done clearing up.
“Sorry,” Jungkook whispers before he feels something tugging at his sleeve.
“Relax,” Yoongi hums. “That’s me. Take my hand, Kookie.”
That pet name has Jungkook tingling all over. He latches on to Yoongi’s wrists, and other guides him forward. It takes him a few seconds to figure out what Yoongi’s is doing.
They’re both blindfolded, and it takes tremendous coordination, but it also feels so effortless at the same time. Jungkook trusts the other implicitly.
“You got it?” Yoongi asks, that teasing tone reappearing in his voice.
“Y-Yes,” Jungkook replies.
Yoongi moves slowly, dipping his spoon into dessert number three before Jungkook guides it to his mouth. He takes a bite, tasting the cherry, the velvety, dark chocolate, and the undertones of rum. He groans. “That’s delicious.”
Yoongi pulls his arm back, and Jungkook follows. The junior tastes from the same spoon, a wet noise that sounds like he’s licking his lips. “Fuck, it is good.”
Like that, they work together, sharing the dessert, until Jungkook feels completely aware, it's as if his third eye’s opened. When they’re done, Jungkook leans back, body strangely light, head swirling. “That was delicious.”
Jungkook can’t fit anymore into his stomach, leaving the final dessert a mystery.
“You’re not eating anymore?” Yoongi notes, “Do you want me to feed you the last one too?”
Jungkook’s pulse races, adrenaline shooting through his blood. “N-No, I’m just full.”
Yoongi laughs. “Me too. I think we should get the check.”
The waiter appears. “Are you gentlemen finished? The hostess will handle your bill. I’ll lead you out.”
“Sure,” Yoongi answers.
There’s a hand at his shoulder, helping him up, and Jungkook can tell it’s the waiter’s, already accustomed to Yoongi’s touch. Then there’s another hand, softly lingering at his elbow. This one is his hyung’s.
“Kookie,” Yoongi whispers. “Hold on to me.”
Jungkook searches timidly, palm on something hard and cool, a watch maybe. He weaves his fingers through Yoongi’s. “I got it.”
Yoongi leads him out, probably guided by the waiter. They head through the curtains carefully and come to a pause.
“I hope you two have enjoyed your experience at Ink,” the man says. “You can take off your blindfolds now.”
The man walks off, the sounds of his footsteps distinct.
“So? Ready?” Yoongi asks.
“I guess.”
Jungkook’s nervous. He’s about to see Yoongi for the first time. He’s not sure what to expect, as he goes for his mask, only someone beats him to it. Yoongi’s hands slide up his chest carefully.
“May I?” the man asks, fingers dancing up the sides of Jungkook’s cheeks. The younger’s lightheaded, about to faint.
“Okay,” Jungkook exhales, at the same time, finding Yoongi’s blindfold, realizing the man is a tad shorter than him. In his head, he thought Yoongi was seven feet tall, someone large and imposing.
Yoongi pulls off the lace from Jungkook’s eyes, flooding his senses with light, clear and beautiful. He does the same for Yoongi.
Jungkook focuses, remembering color, and shape. After spending so much time in darkness, there’s a real moment of clarity. Then he notices the person standing in front of him.
“Oh,” Jungkook sighs.
Wow.
Yoongi’s stunning, devastatingly beautiful. Jungkook takes in his soft, flawless skin, pale and tinged pink. His eyes are sharp and distinctly feline, and the jut of his mouth, curved gracefully downward. His hair’s a light shade of blonde, which only serves to highlight the ethereal quality of his cheekbones—
“Kookie,” that same voice comes out, the one that he’d been drunk on all night, dark and silky. “You’re staring. So, what’d ya think? Disappointed?”
Jungkook can’t disagree fast enough, not that he cares what Yoongi looks like. But damn
“N-No,” Jungkook huffs. “Y-You’re gorgeous.” and sexy, and like surprisingly delicate, but also fucking intimidating.
Yoongi flushes, cheeks turning bright red, long eyelashes fluttering. “Ha, thanks. You too. You’re like really handsome too.”
“So,” Jungkook huffs, quickly retrieving his cellphone from the lockers behind him. “What now?”
Yoongi stares up at him, dark eyes so telling of the pleasure he’s ready to offer. He takes a step forward, reaching around Jungkook and getting his phone as well.
“It’s up to you, really.”
Jungkook’s breathing hitches again, chest rising and falling. The night’s not over yet; it’s just begun. He boldly takes Yoongi’s hand.
“Shall we?” the younger hums.
Yoongi gives him a secretive smile, leading him out of the lobby.
“We shall.”