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Sundays are cleaning days.
It's the golden, unspoken rule of human society. Nobody told Hoseok that this is the way it has to be, there are no laws that make it so. Yet in his 22 years of life, he’s never met a person to argue with him on this fact. It's just the natural order of things. He wouldn't be surprised to find it carved into stone somewhere.
The stench of bleach wafts through his apartment. All his windows are left wide open so fresh air can flow through the rooms and take the smell on its way out. Alongside the fading chemicals is a more natural scent, something to soothe the impending headache. A hint of tea tree oil rising from freshly mopped floors. Lavender lingering on the surface of his countertops. He likes to think his sister would be proud of him for finally putting to use the essential oils she gifted him last Christmas, though this probably isn’t what she meant by aromatherapy. It works well enough for him.
Hoseok tiptoes through his humble abode, a small apartment he’s filled with too many house plants and cheap refurbished furniture. A place to call home for the last stretch of his college journey, walls that’ll hold all his bittersweet feelings once he packs his boxes and says goodbye.
He takes a moment to appreciate the home he’s built. The eggshell walls, hardwood floors, and olive green couch he absolutely adores despite his friends critiques. The big blooming peace lily amongst the smaller evergreens and aloes and english ivy, curtains that are too thin to actually block out any light but flow with the breeze so beautifully.
He loves the ethereal environment, especially on a pleasant, mild autumn day like this one. With the heat wave a forgotten memory of the past, a welcomed chill hangs in the air, offset by the warm rays of sun that fill the room.
He feels good.
Basking in the strange limbo space of Sunday afternoons is Hoseok’s favorite hobby. The weight of the past six days lingers on his mind, a lifting pressure off his shoulders, lightened by the promise the week will soon come to a close. Ahead of him is a chance to start new. A fresh beginning.
Maybe Sundays are for cleaning precisely because of the way they wash the dirt and grime away from the past week, welcoming in a new one with something fresh. A clean slate. Another chance to pull his mess of a mind together and organize it into something he can work with.
As he stands at his kitchen sink, hands covered in soap suds while he scrubs at his dishes, Hoseok can already tell this week will be a good one. His face basks in the warmth of the afternoon sun, filling his apartment with a soft, comforting glow.
And then he hears it.
It always starts as a low thrumming through the walls, something hardly discernible if Hoseok weren't so accustomed to listening for it. Within seconds the quiet bass that rumbles through his neighbors apartment becomes loud enough for Hoseok to hear without straining to listen.
Low, sultry beats filter through the walls, a unique squeaky voice rapping along to it, someone Hoseok hasn't heard before. It’s unfamiliar, as is most of the music that carries through the walls.
The genre changes frequently, not always the chill late night rap that he plays today. Sometimes it's angsty emo boys crying over guitar riffs, sometimes it's soothing angelic voices, lulling Hoseok into afternoon naps.
His neighbor has a diverse taste in music, and more than once Hoseok finds himself looking up the songs to add to his own music library.
Normally, he might complain about how loud it gets. But Jungkook, the boy next door, always manages to play his music in the moments where Hoseok doesn't mind it. Moments where he would probably be blasting his own music through a speaker if he weren't so cheap or too lazy to go out and purchase one.
Songs usually carry through the walls while he's cooking himself an early dinner, or getting ready for his long journey to campus and hours of lectures; and, without fail, every Sunday, in the middle of Hoseok's cleaning sessions. He wonders if the brunette is on the other side of that wall, tending to his own chores, maybe sweeping his floors or cleaning out his fridge while the music drowns out any outside noise.
Hoseok smiles at the thought. He's seen his neighbor in passing before and has a handful of pieces to build a picture of what kind of person he may be.
He's the type to wake up late most days of the week; Hoseok's heard the slamming of his apartment door followed by heavy footsteps running down the hallway too many times to count. He's the type to carry way too many groceries at once, the type to leave Hoseok's misplaced mail on his door mat instead of sliding it into his mailbox. The type to blast his music on cleaning days.
He has all these random pieces, and for reasons he cannot name, finds himself wanting more.
This can be used as an opportunity to get to know his neighbor a bit more. Hoseok should thank Jungkook for allowing him to listen to each perfectly curated playlist, it could be the start of a beautiful friendship.
It's a silly thought, but one he can't shake as soon as it comes to mind.
So Hoseok finishes his dishes, listening along as one song melts into the next, subconsciously nodding his head to the beat. This particular playlist reminds him of late night drives, the smell of grape swishers and salty ocean water carried through the wind, the taste of stale weed and cherry chapstick. It's nostalgia of high school days with an odd absence of familiarity.
Hoseok dries his hands as he walks through the short hallway, stopping at the desk in the corner of his room. Sorting through the cluttered top drawer reminds him how badly he needs to organize everything, but that can wait.
He pulls out a stack of post-it notes, pops open the cap of a pen, and scrawls down a note before he can decide against it.
"You have beautiful taste in music! Thank you for always sharing your lovely playlists with me♡ I thought I should return the favor and give you a song rec! (Notice Me // ROLE MODEL)
- the boy next door, Hoseokie"
♪ · ♬ · ♩
Jungkook wakes up early on Fridays.
Jungkook never used to wake up early on Fridays. He has no reason to. His first lecture starts at 1pm, and although campus may seem far, it's not far enough to warrant his alarm blaring at 8am. Any other college student would indulge themselves in some much needed rest, and normally he would welcome the extra hours of sleep with open arms. After all, he is your typical student who stays up far later than deemed healthy and relies on the effects of caffeine to carry him through the week.
Jungkook used to sleep in on Friday mornings, but then Hoseok happened.
Hoseok, his pretty neighbor he’s only ever admired from afar. After he found that note stuck to his door on a Sunday evening three weeks ago, Jungkook blushed the deepest shade of rosebud red and obsessively read over it for at least an hour to make sure it was real. He's gotten into the habit of playing his music just a tad louder than usual ever since then.
They have a system. Every Sunday, when Hoseok leaves his apartment to venture to the coin operated washing machines down the hall, he leaves Jungkook a simple note and a song recommendation. Jungkook takes it upon himself to blast it through his speakers the following Monday. He pictures what Hoseok looks like on the other side of the wall, if he sings along to the songs he knows, if he jumps around to the fast paced beats or sways along with the slower ones.
And Fridays, well, Fridays are his favorite.
Jungkook became much more aware of the volume of his music after realizing it could possibly disturb his neighbor, which is why he was surprised to find a note on his door Friday morning. He had spent the night before playing one of his softer playlists through his speakers, not as loud as he would during the day, but apparently loud enough for Hoseok to hear it. Their bedrooms were only separated by a wall, after all, so it shouldn't have been that surprising Hoseok could hear it. It just made him eerily aware of how thin the barriers between their apartments are.
The notes Hoseok leaves on Fridays are different from his Sunday ones. There's no song requests, no comments of "It’s a beautiful day outside" or "I saw a puppy on my walk home." All he leaves is a simple quote from one of the many songs Jungkook plays.
On Thursday nights, hoseok is an active listener. Probably pressed against his bedroom wall, eyes closed as he takes the music in, and Jungkook feels connected to the mysterious boy in a way he can't quite express. It’s as if they’re sitting side by side, immersed in a little world of their own.
In the course of three weeks Jungkook has, unsurprisingly, managed to fall in love with Hoseok, regardless of the fact that they’ve never actually spoken a word to each other. He should be a rational human being and speak to Hoseok face to face, maybe ask him out for coffee, but instead he wakes up early and scurries his way to his front door like an excited child on Christmas morning.
They’re just simple notes, but Jungkook clings to them like they’re his lifeline.
He's busy rubbing the crust from his eyes when he pulls his door open, just barely conscious enough to feel the whirl of anticipation in his stomach, a blanket of sleep still wrapped snugly around him. He's not at all prepared for what he sees through blurry vision, blinking once, twice, just to make sure he's not imagining things.
An excited child on Christmas morning, but instead of running into the room and finding a stack of presents with his name on it, he also catches Santa Claus himself standing in front of the fireplace.
Except to compare Hoseok to an old oversized man who breaks into children's homes for a living isn't fair. Hoseok is ten times more magical than that, and has the kind of beauty he could never put into words.
He's elegant and dainty and pretty. SO pretty, with his fluffy brown hair tucked away under a pink snapback, body swimming in a cozy baby blue hoodie. He's a cotton candy daydream. A textbook example of pretty. Jungkook thinks it should be required by law to replace the definition of pretty in every dictionary with a picture of Hoseok instead.
Oh god, he can't stop staring at the cute little mole on his upper lip, even when it starts moving as he speaks.
"Good morning Jungkookie!" Hoseok greets brightly, the first blinding rays of morning sun. Jungkook is suddenly reminded of his half conscious state, definitely still shirtless and wearing his favorite fuzzy pajama pants. It is far too early to be having this interaction.
"Um, morning," he croaks, voice thick with sleep. The gears in his mind are struggling to function properly, slowly building speed, not nearly as fast as he would like.
"I didn't expect you to be up this early, I was just leaving this here for you," Hoseok says, unbothered by Jungkook's delay in reaction time. He holds up a yellow post-it note, held gently between long fingers, and oh god even his hands are pretty.
This isn't fair. This is an attack when Jungkook is at his most vulnerable, and Hoseok just keeps sending arrows straight through his heart. All he can do is stare back at his neighbor and hope for the best.
"Yeah..." he says slowly, too aware of the awkwardness of the situation. He's not the best at first meetings, and this is not at all how he expected this to go. Not like he thought about it or anything. Not like he's spent the moments right before falling asleep imagining what their first real conversation would be like. Not like he’s foolishly in love with the boy in front of him and thinks about him way too much in general, yet still can’t manage to say more than two words.
Hoseok doesn't seem bothered by Jungkook's clipped responses though, not in the slightest. He carries on like this is a normal, every day occurrence between them. Jungkook doesn't know if he should feel relieved or that much more terrified.
"Well, I gotta get to class. Have a good day jk!" Hoseok says cheerfully, and just when Jungkook thinks he might make it through this interaction without being fatally wounded, Hoseok sticks the post-it note he's holding directly onto Jungkook's bare chest. As if it's the most reasonable course of action. As if he didn't have to think twice about it.
He offers one last sweet smile, then turns on his heel and makes his way down the hallway. Jungkook stands there for a full minute, blinking into the empty space where Hoseok once stood, and realizes this boy might very well be the death of him.
♪ · ♬ · ♩
"I really shouldn't be doing this," Jungkook whispers to himself. The gold "203" painted on Hoseok's door is daunting. Jungkook never thought he would be so intimidated by numbers, he feels kind of pathetic.
The breath he holds deep inside his lungs stutters on the exhale out, anxiousness ticking away under his skin. He just needs to ease his nerves, just has to continue chanting the same mantra to himself.
"It's just another playlist. It's just another playlist. It's just another playlist."
It's not just another playlist.
It's a playlist he spent hours making, hunched over his laptop with the kind of posture his mother would scold him for. One of the few playlists he refuses to blast through his expensive speakers. A playlist that deserves an intimate listen, the peace and solitude of a bedroom in the early morning, seeping through earphones as you watch the sunset over the city.
Jungkook crafted it to perfection with a certain brunette in mind.
He pictures Hoseok sitting in the evening sun, honeyed skin greedily soaking up vitamin D, glowing in orange hues as the songs float through the air. He pictures him smiling, writing down lyrics on post-it notes. Humming along as he folds his laundry. Adding songs to his own playlist labeled "Sunday Afternoons."
It's not just another playlist, it’s carefully selected songs, capable of expressing his every thought and emotion.
It's not just a playlist. It's Jungkook’s feelings, stripped bare for Hoseok to see.
The envelope feels rough in his soft hands, feels almost like a mistake. Inside contains his heart in the form of a flash drive, a childish crush told in the empty silence between songs, and he's fully prepared to drop it at Hoseok's door and be done with it. To move on and pretend this grade school crush never existed.
He wonders how many notes would accumulate on his apartment door if he locked himself away for months, wonders if Hoseok will leave him any notes at all.
Just as he decides that this is the worst idea he’s ever imagined, the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking echoes through the hall. There’s a moment where he seriously contemplates running out of there as fast as possible. If only his legs worked as fast as his mind.
"Oh, hi kook!" Hoseok greets, looking as thrown off as Jungkook feels. He quickly replaces his initial surprise with something warm and inviting. His signature look. The Hoseok Special, bright and brilliant, soft in all the right places.
"Hi,” Jungkook chokes out, frazzled by the situation. He’s so nervous that he’s shaking like a chihuahua, and he’s pretty sure Hoseok can feel the warmth from how hot his skin is burning. This is far worse than their first interaction, and Jungkook didn’t think that was even possible. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting you...." he poorly explains, trailing off at the end. Jungkook’s not sure how to finish that thought.
“I wasn’t expecting you to catch me red handed, leaving a playlist that describes my fondness for you.”
“I wasn’t expecting myself to have the courage to go through with this.”
“I wasn’t expecting to fall this hard for you.”
Most likely, if he opens his mouth again, the only thing that would come out would be “I wasn’t expecting you to look this beautiful.”
Hoseok’s dressed to impress. It’s a Saturday night, after all. Jungkook failed to consider that, unlike himself, Hoseok probably has a healthy social life. Not everyone hermits themselves in their apartment all weekend. Definitely not most college students who are itching all week for a night out, an excuse to get wasted and make poor life decisions.
He’s dressed in tight black jeans, ripped up to his thighs, a silky flowy shirt draped over his lithe body. With how breathtaking he looks right now, Jungkook thinks Hoseok could fuck his whole life up and break his heart, and he’d still thank him for it.
"What, wasn't expecting me to leave my apartment?" Hoseok asks through a laugh, carefree and teasing and oh so soft. Screw a playlist, Jungkook could spend the rest of his life listening to the sound of Hoseok's voice and be content.
"I'm just on my way to meet up with some friends for drinks,” he explains, blinding smile in full effect. He must know how beautiful it makes him look, he’s using it to his advantage. “Did you need something?" Hoseok asks, and oh god, of fuck, now he’s pouting . He’s weaponizing his cuteness and Jungkook doesn't know how many more arrows to the heart he can take.
"No, sorry, I'll just-" he starts, looking at his apartment door, hoping it'll magically open itself and drag him inside.
"Oh, what's that?" Hoseok asks, perking up at the sight of the envelope in his hands. The universe is not on Jungkook’s side today. "Did you get my mail by accident again? I swear the mailman has a personal vendetta against me, I haven't gotten anything in weeks."
He reaches for the envelope in Jungkook’s hands, Hoseok’s name written across it in big, fancy cursive letters, because Jungkook is ridiculous and has no self control. Everything had to be perfect, to the very last detail. Now he’s regretting everything.
Before Hoseok has the chance to say anything Jungkook decides he should remove himself from the situation. He’s not equipped to deal with this. He’s going to have a meltdown any moment now and it’s not going to be pretty, Hoseok shouldn’t have to witness him in that state.
Hiding in his apartment until his lease ends sounds like the best option right now, so Jungkook takes a step back, desperate to get some much needed distance between them once he realizes how close they really are. Hoseok’s looking at him with intrigued eyes, yet clearly confused, and Jungkook honestly just wants to disappear to avoid further embarrassment.
"Ok well have a good night!!" he says way louder than necessary, physically cringing at himself. He can’t manage to look Hoseok in the eyes anymore, gaze glued to the floor as he quickly scurries to the safety of his apartment.
With the door creating a barrier between him and the shit show he just started, Jungkook allows himself to melt into a puddle of self pity on the floor.
♪ · ♬ · ♩
Hoseok's legs tingle, pins and needles all the way up to his knees.
He’s been laid out on his couch for.....awhile. An hour, at least. Probably more. He wiggles his foot and immediately feels the prickling sensation travel up the length of his body. Yeah, it’s definitely been longer than an hour.
This is Hoseok’s go to position, back pressed into the couch cushions and legs thrown over the armrest, partially because being gay makes him incapable of sitting properly for more than a minute, also because he enjoys watching the patterns the shadows make on his ceiling. It helps to fully immerse himself in the music.
This is his third time listening through Jungkook's playlist. Three times, so he can form a proper opinion on it.
His mind supplies him with the image of blushing cheeks, cherry lips, doe eyes complete with thick lashes. He thinks of nervous hellos and stuttered goodbyes, warm bodies, foolish smiles that grow with every song. Post-it notes and messy doodles and song requests that paint a vivid picture.
He thinks of Jungkook, the sweet boy next door, and his stupid heart does the thing. You know, the thing where it swells up twice its size despite being confined by boney ribs, thumping heavily against the barrier as if it’s trying to break them down or jump through. The thing where it acts like a prisoner in your own body.
The thing where Hoseok’s heart decides it no longer belongs in his custody, because Jungkook’s hands sound much more enticing.
The last track comes to an end, music cutting out to the subtle rustle of wind through the trees, song birds chirping in the distance, Hoseok’s labored breathing.
He can’t believe this.
Hoseok kicks his feet in an attempt to bring them back to life, numbness replaced by that surge of tingles. He's impatient, a fire freshly lit beneath him, something deep inside him that screams at him to get up and on his feet as soon as possible.
He almost falls three times in the short journey from his door to Jungkook's. The shoes he slips on don’t match, his apartment door is left wide open, and his legs could quite possibly be made of jello. He couldn’t care. All of it just fuels his loud and rapid knocking on Jungkook's front door.
The lock clicks. Jungkook appears in the doorway, looking every bit precious as he expected. Hoseok doesn't even give him the chance to speak.
"Jeon Jungkook!" He booms, watching the younger wince. It’s slightly adorable, he makes a mental note to appreciate it later, along with the way Jungkook’s eyes grow that much bigger. Hoseok can’t comprehend how that’s even possible.
"How do you know my last name..." he asks, voice quiet yet steady. It’s the most composed Jungkook has sounded around him, he was probably expecting some sort of confrontation like this. Maybe not so loud though.
"I get all your Sephora junk mail. I told you, mailman, personal vendetta. Also, I can’t believe you have a rewards card with them, that’s so cute." Hoseok coos, sidetracked. It’s hard to focus on this tantrum when everything reminds him of how endearing Jungkook’s existence is. He wonders what Jungkook looks like with makeup on, if he’s practicing when he has his music blasting, if he coats his long lashes in dark mascare, or plump lips in shimmery lip gloss.
Snap out of it Hoseok.
"Anyways, that's not the point!" He yells, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, having completely forgotten that his feet hardly work. He nearly loses his balance as another surge of prickling sensations shoot up his leg. He wishes his body would get the memo and start working properly.
"Are you ok? Is there something wrong with your legs?" Jungkook asks, concerned with the way Hoseok has to support himself on the wall so he doesn’t fall face first into concrete. His hand hovers between them, reaching out, ready and oh so willing to steady Hoseok at any given moment.
"They've gone without blood circulation for too long because I'm gay,” Hoseok explains, skipping over some parts. Whatever, it makes sense in his mind.
Clearly the same can’t be said for Jungkook, with his expression slowly morphing from one of concern to confusion. "Huh?”
"But again, that’s not the point!!" Hoseok yells, voice returning to its initial volume. Jungkook winces a second time. Cute.
"Ok," Jungkook breathes, voice all air. The soft pink that dusts his cheeks doesn’t compare to the red flush from yesterday night, but Hoseok finds beauty in the difference. Jungkook is more embarrassed than nervous. Hoseok wants to show him he has nothing to feel shy about.
"Jeon Jungkook,” Hoseok starts, in love with the feeling of his name rolling off his tongue. Just another thing to explore more later, as soon as he’s done with his scolding.
“You cannot just hand me an envelope with your pretty cursive handwriting and your infuriatingly cute blushing cheeks and then run off like a child handing their first crush a love letter, and not expect me to come to your door having a fit! I've spent weeks trying to communicate my interest in you through song requests, and you have the audacity to beat me at my own game! This is the most beautifully crafted playlist of love songs I’ve ever heard! This is foul play!!” Hoseok cries, angry pout painted on his features.
He might as well stomp his feet and cross his arms over his chest while he’s at it, just to amp up the dramatics. He feels childish, also feels a little light headed from not breathing enough during that firestorm of a confession.
People have told Hoseok that he’s not the best at handling his feelings, specifically when it comes to romantic ones. They say he’s too much, too explosive with every passing emotion.
Well he thinks he’s doing pretty well, thank you very much.
“So….you like the playlist?” Jungkook asks, breaking the momentary silence between them. They’re nearly the same height, but the way Jungkook looks at him through blinking lashes and thick strands of hair makes him look so tiny in his doorway.
Hoseok wants to scream. Or coo. Jungkook makes him feel too much all at once.
“Yes, Jungkook. I like it,” Hoseok sighs, voice slightly scratchy from his outburst. “I also like you , and we have all the time in the world to talk about music, but right now I would love it if you stopped staring at my lips and just kissed me already.”
Jungkook’s doe eyes finally flicker up, catching his gaze and holding on tight, scared of what would happen if he lets go, as if the moment would be lost forever. The nervousness returns, and Hoseok envies the teeth gnawing on Jungkook’s bottom lip, wishing his mouth were there instead.
“Please?” He asks gently, prompting any kind of response out of the younger.
Thankfully it elicits the reaction he’s been waiting for. Jungkook finally moves, taking a step forward, hands reaching out to softly cradle Hoseok’s face. His palms are warm to the touch, just like everything else about him.
Jungkook’s eyes move quickly across his features, wide and full of awe, looking into Hoseok as if he can’t believe this is real. Perhaps this is a strange course of events that brought them together, and maybe kissing your neighbor who you don’t know all that well isn’t very common for a reason, but that’s what makes it so exciting.
Hoseok is a straightforward person, and he knows it can be a lot sometimes, so he lets the younger take his time. His hands rest gently on Jungkook’s arms, soaking up all the warmth from his skin, and Hoseok feels more fond of the boy in front of him than he’s ever felt before. He wonders what it would be like to hold Jungkook in his arms, how it would feel to wrap around him while they sleep or intertwine their fingers as they lay on the couch. Hoseok suddenly wants to be saturated in the feeling, desperately wants to feel wanted.
The distance between them slowly shrinks away. The first kiss is breathy, barely a press of lips. It’s hesitant but sweet as honey, and Hoseok’s sweet tooth is hardly satisfied.
He remains malleable in Jungkook’s hands, lets him set the pace, gives him the chance to work through the nerves. He can be patient. He can be anything Jungkook needs him to be.
In this small, open hallway, with the cool autumn wind flowing through his hair, it feels as though they have all the time in the world. They can spend their nights speaking through touch instead of music, learning every little thing there is to learn. Hoseok’s giddy with anticipation, ready to soak up all the information like a sponge.
This time when he gets pulled in, it feels more certain, a solid press against his mouth. Jungkook slots his spit slicked lips between Hoseok’s, and he can help but melt into the soft, wet sensation.
It’s intimate. Soft and warm in all the best ways. There's the thrill of discovering something new, indulging themselves in exploration, with just a hint of familiarity. Jungkook smells of laundry detergent and tastes of spearmint, feels like a sensation without a name.
A love song, hummed softly into a warm Sunday afternoon.