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Hoseok tapped a message to his sister on his phone, eyes occupied with the screen, feet bouncing happily down the hallway in the bubbly gait he usually carried himself with. Muscle memory for the layout of their new apartment in Gangnam has luckily just set in, so he had the pleasure of navigating to the kitchen without running into anything. He passed the living room and heard the tap of a computer keyboard and low volume of a phone game. When he reached the kitchen, he finally locked his phone and set it on the bar counter.
“What does everyone want for dinner?” he asked, opening the panty with his heart set on instant ramen. Honestly, he was only asking to see who was around. He wasn’t a great cook, and he didn’t feel like trying to cook for everyone after the extra practice he crammed in today.
Perfect, he thought, there was one package of ramen left. He snagged it and turned around just in time to see Taehyung and Yoongi emerge from the living room.
“I’m craving ramen,” Yoongi said, eyes locked onto the package in Hoseok’s hand.
Taehyung was still working on his phone game, but hummed beside Yoongi in agreeance. They got to the bar and took a seat. Yoongi glanced over at Taehyung and snatched his hand from his phone, lacing his fingers between. “Hold my hand, kid,” Yoongi gumbled.
Taehyung, game now lost, frustratedly tossed his phone on the bar, “Aaah, hyung! I was so close to beating that level!”
Hoseok laughed, bright and bubbly, making his shoulders scrunch, “Hyung’s got cold hands, Taehyungie, he needs you to hold them.”
“Since when did this even become something you liked?” he lifted their hands, “you hate human contact and acknowledgement.”
Yoongi remained silent, staring at the ramen, acting like he didn’t hear that accusation.
Jin and Jungkook came bickering in next, swiping at each other’s necks while Jin ranted in his familiar exaggerated tone and Jungkook mocked him back in it.
“I’m older than you, I’m eating the last ramen!”
“I have more muscles than you, I need the extra calories to keep them!”
“Yah! Jeon Jeongguk, I have a six pack too, feel it.” Jin stuck his belly out and Jungkook took the opportunity to slap it, making Jin yell louder. “I’m eating that ramen!”
Jimin, carried on Namjoon’s back entered after them. Namjoon, the noodle man he was, looked more than winded. Jimin, the prince he was, looked more than thrilled to be carried. He slid off once they stood behind Yoongi and Taehyung and all 7 crowded the kitchen space like they had to huddle for warmth in the winter. The seven of them traded teases to Jin and Jungkook, found out about Yoongi’s hand holding need and teased him for that as well and then turned on Jimin and teased him for being high maintenance (“Like all you assholes don’t want to be carried on someone's back!”). Eventually the conversation turned full circle and the oldest and youngest were bickering about ramen again.
Jin saw Hoseok holding the Shin ramen pack and shoved Jungkook’s face away from him and held out his hand. “Thank you, Hoseokie, I’ll take that.”
Jungkook whined petulantly behind him and started trying to shove past Jin to snatch the package. Jin held him off with his hand twisted in Jungkook’s shirt collar.
Namjoon, head resting on Taehyung’s hair, mumbled, “Ramen sounds so good right now.”
Jimin, elbows on the counter, peered over at Taehyung and pouted his pillow lips, “Taehyungie, feed me ramen?”
Taehyung, with his un-Yoongi-occupied hand reached out and stroked the side of Jimin’s face, “Of course my love.” Jimin giggled and slapped his tickling fingers away.
“So who’s gonna make the ramen, since we all want it?” Jimin asked.
Suddenly, six pairs of eyes were on Hoseok and the lone package clutched to his chest.
Hoseok’s eyes widened, Oh no.
“What are we gonna do? There’s only one package left,” Taehyung said, eyes sliding to Yoongi’s grip. It had tightened. Just slightly.
“Is that the only food we have in the house? I wanna eat, come on, I skipped lunch so I could work out,” Jungkook said, still waving his arms, trying to bat at Jin like a petulant kitten.
“Obviously, I get it,” Jin said, using his leg to block the youngest too. “I’ll share, though. Everyone gets one whole noodle.”
“Awww, what? One?”
“I said whole! They’re very long!”
Hoseok, pulled the ramen away defensively, “I got here first, it’s mine by default.”
“Seok-a,” Yoongi spoke, “let me have it.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m your favorite.”
“HEY!” Namjoon shouted, picking his head off of his Taehyung-perch. “That’s blasphemy.”
“I can only tell the truth, Joon-ah. I know it hurts.”
“WE’Ve livED togeTHer for eIGHT years, hyung,” Namjoon groused sarcastically, swiping under his eyes.
“Listen, that’s a sweet thought, Yoongi-hyung, but we all know, I’m everyone’s favorite because I’m the cutest.” Jimin held out his hand expectantly, a smug smirk on his face, “Give it here Hoseokie hyung, and I’ll give you a leg massage tonight.”
“Back off, heathens, that ramen’s MINE.”
“Please, quiet down you morons, I deserve this.”
*
Narrator voice: Chaos ensues
*
“Wait,” Nmjoon says, shirt hanging onto his shoulders by the barest thread, slashed into tatters by Jimin’s knives. Taehyung, holding onto Yeontan, pulls the dog away from where he had been chewing on Hoseok’s Balenciagas and looks up. Jimin, knife nearly severing the handful of Taehyung’s hair he had in his grip, looks too. Yoongi, legs wrapped around Jin’s neck in a wrestlers hold, and Jin, hand on Yoongi’s crotch in a man-hood severing grip, glance up. Hoseok, who clutches the packet of ramen in his hands with a grip as strong as the superglued table they used to eat off of in their first dorm, lets his foot fall off of Jungkook’s chest, while the youngest feels his arms return to his control, freed from where Namjoon had been pulling them backwards.
“I know how we can settle this.”
The other six stand up and gather around Namjoon and listen to their wise leader.
“We must use democracy to see who gets the ramen. We’ll have to rock, paper, scissors, best two out of three to decide. Then the ramen can be eaten.”
Grumbles go up around the circle, but ultimately, they put their fists in the middle. On Namjoon’s own count, they begin.
First Yoongi is out, then Jimin, then Namjoon, then Taehyung, then Jin. It’s left to Jungkook and Hoseok.
The one who found it originally and the one no one could resist.
Sweat beads on Jungkook’s brow line, a single drop rolls down his temple. Hoseok looks at him through his bangs, which have fallen partially into his eyes after running from Jimin earlier. Jungkook flexes his hand, trying to intimidate his competitor. Hoseok frowns, eyes narrowing.
“I won’t make fun of you if you give up now, Jungkook. Come on, I’m going to win.”
“Never. I want that ramen.”
“I found it first, destiny is giving it to me.”
“Fuck destiny, I’ll pry it out of your hands.”
“Now, now, gentlemen,” Namjoon cuts in. “Hands at the ready.”
They hold them up, rock form. On Namjoon’s count they both throw rock. Again. This time, scissors. Again, this time rock. Hoseok glares at the youngest, mentally cursing him for copying him. Jungkook frowns as well, confused with the prolonged tie. They throw paper, scissors, paper, rock, rock, scissors.
By this time, the other four have picked sides, Jin and Yoongi behind Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin behind Hoseok. Jin aggressively massages Jungkook’s shoulders while Yoongi galres at Hoseok, still betrayed. Jimin ruffles Hoseok’s hair, sending drops of sweat onto the floor, while Taehyung dabs at his brow with a hand towel.
“Gentleman, this is the last round,” Namjoon says, drawing their attention. “If it’s a tie, then we will move to sudden death.”
Taehyung gasps. Jimin lays a hand on his shoulder. Yoongi’s eyes widen. Jin squeezes Jungkook’s shoulders a little too harshly.
“Sudden death?” Jungkook asks.
Namjoon nods gravely. “Let God have mercy on your souls,” he says and then starts the count.
Hoseok throws scissors.
Jungkook throws rock.
Yelling fills the kitchen, both congratulatory and protesting. Jungkook beats his chest like King Kong, and Jin joins by slapping his abs. Yoongi has a satisfied smirk on, arms crossed and chin up. Namjoon, head back, eyes on the ceiling quietly thanks the God of entertainment. Taehyung is holding Jimin back from chucking a slipper across the room, while Hoseok stands, hollow, empty, confused.
Jungkook finally retrieves his prize, the shiny red and black packaging crinkling in his grasp. He takes out a pot and licks his lips. Tearing open the bag, a shower of smashed noodle crumbs litter the counter and floor. The seasoning packets fall limply on top. Jungkook’s knees give out, and he plummets to the earth among the mangled remains of his dinner.
The other 6 gather around him, surveying the scene. Six hands lay on Jungkook’s shoulders, offering comfort.
From behind Yoongi, Taehyung sniffles, “Now we’re all going to starve.”
“Oh cruel fate,” Yoongi whispers, reaching his hand back to secure it around Taehyung’s, “capitalism will be the death of us all.”
Jin pats Jungkook’s hair, murmuring, “We’re sorry for your loss.”
Hoseok, shell shocked, lets Jimin hold him close. Though he cannot feel the warmth, he knows Jimin intends it.
Jungkook, bows his head, feeling fat tears roll down his cheeks. “Why me,” he moans, “I’m perfect at everything, I don’t deserve this.”
Namjoon wipes the tears from his own eyes and squares his shoulders. “Listen up, everyone! We can’t let this break our morale! We’re Bangtan, we’ve been through hardship before. If we must go tonight without a meal, then we will persist. We must. We must go on.”
“But hyung, I can feel myself fading,” Taehyung whimpers. He falls forward onto Yoongi’s back, big limbs swamping him.
“Namjoon!” Yoongi shouts, “look at him! He’s dying! You can’t expect us to go on like this.”
“It’s not fair,” Hoseok groans. Jimin rubs his thumb over his shoulder.
“Hyung’s right, we need to eat.”
“What if we knock on our neighbor’s door and beg?” Seokjin suggests.
“We could sing!” Taehyung says, perked up.
“You could play the guitar, hyung,” Jungkook says, a handful of ramen dust in each hand.
Yoongi nods, “I’d do anything at this point.”
Namjoon, thoughtful hand on his chin, puzzles over the logistics and potential for failure, weighing the options, the energy expenditure. “Alright,” he decides, “let’s do it.”
“Let’s get it!” Jungkook shouts, now up off the ground. The ramen packaging flutters, forgotten, to the ground.
“What should we ask for?” Jin wonders out loud.
“I was going to ask for a whole chicken, or maybe see if they have 7 packets of ramen.”
“A whole chicken- Namjoon, you can’t just do that.”
“We have to feed everyone, Hoseok!”
“Everyone shut up, we’re here and I’m ringing the doorbell.”
The pack quiets down so Jimin can ring the doorbell. They fall into formation and the door swings open, revealing an old woman.
“Hello, ahjuma, we have a gift for you.”
They sing Answer: Love Myself a capella. Hoseok beatboxes and they nearly cry at the power of their performance. When it’s over, they’re panting. Their neighbor claps with the sweetest elderly smile stretched over her dentures.
“Ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind, we’ve run out of food and were wondering if we could borrow some.”
“Aren’t you dears?” she says. “You remind me of my grandson, and how he used to ask me for food when he was little. Of course you can have some. I’ll be right back.”
They all high five each other, a collective wave of relief nearly knocking them onto their knees to give thanks to a god none of them believe in.
Their neighbor returns with a plastic bag, stuffed full enough to tell there’s something big enough to split inside.
The seven of them take turns hugging and kissing her cheek before returning to their apartment.
Jungkook sets the bag on the counter, lets the handles fall and reveal the contents.
Taehyung clutches onto Jin’s shirt, and Jin onto Jimin. Jungkook freezes, Yoongi’s eyes darken, Hoseok feels his jaw drop. Namjoon, hand shaking, reaches forward and tugs the food out of the bag.
One bag of prunes. One can of plain oatmeal. One box of whole grain cereal. One tube of gochujang.
The seven of them are silent as laryngitis. The prunes fall over. So does Jnugkook. He frantically sweeps at the floor, trying to gather what he can from the murder scene.
“I can’t live like this,” Jin says and walks away.
“We can use the seasoning!” Taehyung offers. “Oats are just like rice, right? Let’s just add seasoning.” He looks around for confirmation, but no one meets his eyes. He jostles Jimin, “right, Chim? That would taste good.”
Jimin looks up at Taehyung with pity and sorrow in his eyes, “Oh, Taehyung. You’re so innocent.”
Namjon can’t handle it. He walks away, stepping through the sliding door onto their private balcony. He takes a deep breath, pretending he picked up smoking and that he just took a deep drag from a cigarette. Listlessly, he stares into the black night, at the buildings in the distance, listens to the cars on the highway not far away.
If this was their existence, he would accept it. This is what the fates unavoidably decided for him and his brothers. How long before they went crazy? How long until someone turned to cannibalism? Yoongi would probably be the first eaten. Only time would tell.
The longer it became, the more the seven of them lost their grip on reality.
Namjoon breathed in deep again, desperately wishing for a solution.
“You’ll never believe it, but I just saved your sorry asses and ordered 14 large pizzas, fuckers.”
“What?”
“Are you fucking insane?”
“Guys, listen to this. We’re fucking rich and I could’ve bought more .”
“Holy shit, he’s right.”