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It all starts with one (1) Bad Idea, and a Park Jimin.
Of course it starts with Park Jimin. Park Jimin and Bad Ideas were practically synonymous, Yoongi thinks. Yoongi knows this because in the five years he’s known Jimin, in the five years since the boy had moved into the apartment next to him, Park Jimin has been responsible for each and every one of his Bad Ideas.
“You’re being pessimistic, hyung,” Jimin informs him. “It’s not cute. You should really turn that frown upside down.”
“I’ll turn you upside down,” Yoongi snaps. It has no heat. It’s not even a good comeback, and Jimin’s sympathetic look makes Yoongi feel like he’s lost more than just this argument. Maybe he’s lost his dignity too.
“Hyung,” Jimin continues, a whining edge to his voice now. Jimin’s not used to not getting his way, but maybe that was Yoongi’s fault too. He’d spoiled Jimin too much since they met five years ago. Jimin had been fresh out of university and bright-eyed. He’s still bright-eyed, but now Yoongi knows it’s not the bright spark of innocence. No, it’s the glittering smugness of manipulation. “Hyung, it’s not even that bad of an idea.”
“You want me to give your number to Flower Shop Boy,” Yoongi says, patiently too, so Jimin can listen to his own plan and understand how bad of an idea it is. “Flower Shop Boy,” Yoongi repeats, capitals and everything. Yoongi has never seen Flower Shop Boy except for one blurry picture that Jimin had sent him. It had felt kind of creepy, but then Jimin had also stopped whining about Eyebrows Boy who had ghosted him after three dates. You win some, you lose some, Yoongi supposes. “Why can’t you just give it to him, Jimin?”
“Because,” Jimin stresses, like it should be obvious. “What if he rejects me? I can’t face that, hyung. It would be humiliating.”
“Why would he reject you?” Yoongi asks, mystified. “You’re young, attractive, intelligent. Career-driven too.”
Jimin gapes at him. “Hyung, sometimes I really wonder if we’re only two years apart. You sound like a boomer.”
“I can stop paying for our meals out together if it confuses you that much,” Yoongi deadpans, glancing down at the coffee cups between them. This sets off another round of simpering from Jimin, and Yoongi pretends to be annoyed. Jimin hardly needs to butter himself up to Yoongi this much; Yoongi is too much of a softie, and he’s too weak against the tide of Jimin’s exuberant friendship.
“Okay, okay,” Yoongi waves his hand. “It’s fine, Jiminie. So you want me to go give your number to Flower Shop Boy. What do I do? Just go in and hand it to him?”
“No, hyung, you have to hype me up,” Jimin says, like it should be obvious. “Sell me to him. Tell him about my dance awards. Tell him I make really good coffee-”
“You don’t,” Yoongi cuts in. Jimin carries on, regardless.
“-tell him I can do the splits!”
“I am not telling him that,” Yoongi informs Jimin. “I’ll give him your number, and you can be thirsty all you want after that. I’m not going to be some…some mule in your plan to get laid.”
“Not just laid, hyung!” Jimin says earnestly. “I want to hold his hand too. I want him to tell me how pretty I am. I want to kiss his cute nose.”
“O…kay,” Yoongi says, because that’s enough of that. Jimin liked to overshare, balancing out Yoongi’s tendency to undershare. They work well, like that. Yoongi gets to look out for Jimin, and he also gets to make sure Jimin never worries about him. He’s a considerate hyung, after all.
“Here hyung,” Jimin hands him a folded-up note, and Yoongi slides it into the pocket of his leather jacket. “His name is Namjoon.”
“Mhm,” Yoongi murmurs, pulling on his black beanie too. “I’ll report back to you at home.”
“Thanks hyung,” Jimin says then, genuinely, and Yoongi offers him a smile. Because really, Jimin is one of the best people Yoongi knows, and Jimin deserves to be happy. Scoping out Flower Shop Boy gave Yoongi the chance to see if he was worth it, worth Jimin’s efforts.
The flower shop is closer to Yoongi’s workplace than Jimin’s, so it’s easy to step inside on his way back to the studio. The bell jingles, and Yoongi steps into the warmth of the flower shop made slightly damp by the rows upon rows of leaves, blossoms, and succulents that line the narrow space.
“Just a moment!”
Yoongi steps up to the counter. The shop is empty, which makes him feel relieved. He can hand off Jimin’s phone number and then be on his way without anyone wondering if it was Yoongi doing something so embarrassing.
Next to the register is a little bonsai tree, and Yoongi’s eyes wonder further, over to the potted greenery and the vines that trail down the sides of the shelves. The interior of Moonchild is charming, almost. Messy, but the kind of messy that made Yoongi feel at home.
“How can I help you?”
Yoongi’s eyes are drawn back by the sound of a warm voice; deep, comforting, soft. And then he blinks.
Namjoon is tall, far taller than any of Yoongi’s friends. His hair is dyed a blonde so pale it is almost white. His eyes are dark behind wide-framed glasses, and the width of his shoulders seem like they could engulf Yoongi completely. Namjoon peels off a pair of gardening gloves, and Yoongi’s gaze gets stuck on the pull of muscle, the curve of his biceps in his t-shirt.
And Yoongi feels despair well up inside him, lamenting over the fact that he’s passed by this very flower shop every day for almost a year, and now he’d lost his chance to call dibs.
“Namjoon-ssi?”
The man blinks. The nametag on his shirt says Namu. Yoongi thinks it’s so cute his heart might combust.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Namjoon’s lips pull into a wide smile, and Yoongi’s stomach might actually have real, live butterflies in it. The fluttery feeling is almost sickening. “I’m at a disadvantage; I don’t know your name.”
Yoongi’s lips part. He’s so close to uttering the words Jimin told him, to fishing the note with Jimin’s number out of his pocket. He desperately wishes he didn’t have Jimin’s phone number scribbled down on a piece of paper in his pocket, that he’d thought to stop by this flower shop months ago, that he could walk right back out and lie to Jimin, tell him that Namjoon wasn’t in the shop today, sorry.
Is Yoongi a good friend?
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “A friend mentioned you, and this place. I’m Yoongi.”
Apparently not.
Namjoon’s still smiling. His cheeks dimple, and Yoongi wants to poke them. He wants to kiss them, actually, but that’s not appropriate behaviour in a public setting with someone he barely knows. Neither is poking, now that he thinks about it.
“Yoongi-ssi,” Namjoon says, voice deep and smooth like chocolate. “And what can I do for you, Yoongi-ssi?”
Yoongi considers this. There is a lot Namjoon could do for him, a whole list actually. Most of it, however, Yoongi could not repeat out loud. He glances to the side again, to the rows of plants. “I’m here to buy a plant,” he says. It’s almost a question, but excitement blooms on Namjoon’s face.
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “You’ve come to the right place. Do you know what you’re looking for?”
No, Yoongi thinks. He’s not looking for a plant. He should give Namjoon Jimin’s number and leave. But he can’t will his hand into his pocket, so instead he reaches for the first plant he sees. “Yeah, this one.”
Namjoon raises an eyebrow; he looks impressed, though slightly dubious. “Wow,” he says. Yoongi stands there, the fakest confidence he can muster in his expression, holding a plant he’s never seen before in his life. This is why he should learn how to say no to Jimin. This is why every Bad Idea starts with a Park Jimin.
“You’re really into plants, then, aren’t you,” Namjoon remarks. Yoongi sets the plant down on the counter.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that’s a pretty finnicky house plant,” Namjoon continues. He scans the barcode on the side of the plastic container. “I ended up with a dead Calathea the first time I brought one home.”
“Right,” Yoongi says, for lack of anything better. He doesn’t know what a Calathea is. Presumably it’s the plant he’s picked out, but Yoongi is distracted by Namjoon’s hands as the he rests them on the wooden counter. His hands are big and calloused, stronger than Yoongi’s own.
“If you have any questions about caring for a Calathea,” Namjoon continues. “Don’t hesitate to come back. I always love getting to know other plant lovers like me.” He’s smiling again, dimples out in full effect.
“Right,” Yoongi says again. He feels flustered, and Jimin’s note feels heavy in his jacket pocket. “Then I’ll come by again.”
“Good,” Namjoon murmurs. “Don’t be a stranger.” He hasn’t stopped smiling, something much more playful curling at his lips now, and he winks too. Yoongi nearly drops the plant from his arms as he back peddles out of the shop.
“Bye!” he calls out, voice strangled and nervous. Worst of all, Jimin’s phone number is still securely tucked into his pocket.
Yoongi’s in trouble.
He can’t tell Jimin.
He’s back at home, in his apartment, Calathea plant sitting innocuously on his coffee table, as if it’s staring up at Yoongi asking why am I here? Yoongi glares at it as if the plant is to blame for the situation he’d ended up in.
He’d looked up the Calathea plant online, and it turns out Namjoon’s right. Yoongi’s way out of his depth. He can hear the echo of Jimin’s laughter already.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, rubbing his forehead. Jimin was going to be pissed. Jimin had trusted him, and Yoongi had been a terrible friend. It’s not Jimin’s fault that Yoongi’s weak to tall guys, big, strong guys, men who look like they can lift Yoongi with one hand without breaking a sweat.
And then Namjoon had to be as soft as to own a flower shop. God, but if Yoongi’s heart just gets a love boner at the thought.
“Okay,” he says decisively, straightening up. It’s not a big deal. “I’ll go back tomorrow,” he says, nodding to himself. He’ll go back, and he’ll give Namjoon Jimin’s number, and he’ll wash his hands of it all.
He goes back.
He doesn’t give Namjoon Jimin’s number.
“Back so soon?” Namjoon asks. He’s wearing another white t-shirt today, and it stretches across the muscles of his chest. Yoongi almost whimpers.
“I just moved,” Yoongi lies. “I’m filling up the place.”
Namjoon’s expression settles into another smile. “Lots to buy then?”
“Oh yeah,” Yoongi agrees. “Loads. What, uh, what do you recommend?”
Namjoon looks thoughtful. He stands in the middle of the greenery, hands on his hips, surveying the plants with a crease in his forehead. Namu, Yoongi thinks. He wants to climb his like a tree.
Namjoon says something, and Yoongi blinks.
“Huh?”
“Are you looking for something big or something small?” Namjoon asks. He’s moving over to the left side of his shop. “I think a snake plant is always a safe bet. I have a few varieties.”
Yoongi has no idea what a snake plant is, but he’d agree to anything Namjoon says. He’d buy any plant Namjoon told him to. Yoongi’s a soft-hearted bitch like that.
“That’s a good idea,” he says, as if he knows what he’s talking about. “I love snake plants.”
“Me too,” Namjoon grins, a giddy little smile on his face. “Super easy to take care of too. Very low maintenance, doesn’t ask for a lot. A little more suited to your lifestyle, I’m thinking.”
Yoongi glances up at him, at the amused tilt to Namjoon’s lips. “What do you mean by that?” he asks; demands, maybe.
“Nothing,” Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. Yoongi can’t help but think Namjoon is laughing at him, or maybe…maybe flirting? “I’m just saying, it seems like your type. Chill, laid-back. It’s an easy kind of happiness, you know?”
Was that Yoongi’s type? Was he so see-through? Namjoon was Yoongi’s type, that was obvious.
Yoongi takes too long to answer. “Cat got your tongue?” Namjoon teases. “Was I right?”
Well, he’s not wrong, Yoongi thinks. “Are you this bold with all of your customers?”
“Only with the ones I like,” Namjoon reassures him, and then he turns back to the snake plants, eyeing them critically, leaving Yoongi feeling struck dumb and a voice that sounds a lot like fourteen year old Yoongi demanding like? or like-like? bouncing around his head. “Are we thinking floor plant or desk plant?”
“Um, floor,” Yoongi says faintly. He’s just now noticed the black ink of a tattoo peeking out from beneath Namjoon’s shirt sleeve, on the inside of his bicep. A bad boy, Yoongi thinks. A bad boy who owns a flower shop. Maybe Yoongi should pinch himself and wake up. Sometimes these things were too good to be true.
Namjoon cashes him out, slipping a card with the contact information for Moonchild into Yoongi’s hand. Their fingers brush and Yoongi does not flush, he doesn’t. “Give me a call if you want anything specific,” he says. “Can’t have you cheating on me and going to another flower shop if I don’t have what you need.”
Yoongi needs to own up to his lie. Yoongi needs to hand Jimin’s number over. He does neither.
He can’t make himself stop.
His days seem tied to Namjoon now. He spends hours with the tall florist, learning bits and pieces and keeping them close like a magpie with something brilliant, shiny, gold. Namjoon is a year younger, Namjoon likes chocolate but not vanilla. Namjoon likes to read, and he likes it even more when Yoongi brings in some of his favourites. Namjoon doesn’t even mind that Yoongi’s written notes into the margins of the books he brings.
They start spending more time away from the flower shop; the bar down the street, the coffee shop a few minutes away, the bookstore on the corner. Namjoon’s birthday approaches, and they spend it on the rooftop of the flower shop. Up here, Namjoon’s built up a small patio; a table and chairs, soft lighting, the murmuring of jazz music in the background. Yoongi buys him a cake and sparklers and Namjoon’s face lights up. They set the sparklers off, shoulders pressed together, Namjoon’s knee knocking Yoongi’s.
When Yoongi turns to look up, Namjoon’s smile is big, bright, gorgeous. Yoongi almost kisses him.
Yoongi dreads Jimin bringing Namjoon up, asking how it went, what Namjoon said, if Namjoon would call. He dreads having to fake his way through it, through Jimin’s certain disappointment when Namjoon doesn’t call, all because Yoongi never gave him Jimin’s number.
But Jimin doesn’t ask. Jimin texts him that he’s staying at a friend’s place the afternoon Yoongi first gets home from Moonchild, and then suddenly Jimin’s hectic life schedule seems to distract him from anything remotely associated with Kim Namjoon and his flower shop. It’s a small mercy, Yoongi supposes, but he knows it doesn’t release him from his responsibility to tell Jimin the truth. Or his responsibility to give Namjoon the piece of paper that’s still sitting in his jacket pocket.
But in the weeks that pass, it gets harder and harder for Yoongi to convince himself to tell the truth. His lie becomes too interwoven into his relationship with Namjoon. He’s now the proud owner of eight plants that he’s bought from Moonchild, not to mention the tiny potted plants that sit on the shelf at his studio. Moonchild’s contact information has been exchanged out for Namjoon’s personal number, and when he bumps into Namjoon at the coffee shop one afternoon, he spends an entire three hours with him, long after his coffee has gone cold.
So Yoongi’s dug himself into a pretty ugly grave, at this point. So what does he do? He does the only thing he can think of, the only thing that’s ever kept him sane throughout his relatively short life.
He writes a song.
It’s not one that will ever see the light of day. It’s not a song he’s going to send to his boss, to be handed over to one of the many artists of the label Yoongi works for. Sometimes, Yoongi only writes for him and him alone.
It’s therapeutic. It’s everything he feels, written down on one page, put into words.
Namu, he calls it, scribbling messy lyrics onto a white notepad, crossing out words that don’t feel like enough to encapsulate the fluttery feeling he gets in his stomach when he sees Namjoon, or the warmth that spreads through his chest at Namjoon’s dimpled smile. The music comes easy too; music seems interwoven into his life, and somehow into Namjoon’s too. Namjoon plays music in the backroom of his shop, everything ranging from the Baroque era to old school hip hop to new wave. Namjoon says it’s good for the plants. Yoongi doesn’t believe in soulmates but he wonders if Namjoon’s the closest he’s ever going to get.
He folds up the note, leaving it in his jacket pocket. It’s too personal to leave anywhere else but on him at all times.
Namjoon’s main inflow of cash comes from weddings.
“I guess I have an eye for it,” Namjoon shrugs, working on four different arrangements to present to the bride coming in later in the afternoon. Yoongi’s upgraded to being allowed behind the counter, in the backroom with Namjoon. He sits up on one of the tabletops, swinging his legs, as Liszt’s music flutters and weaves its way out of the speakers and around the room. It was a Romantic era day, Namjoon had said.
Yoongi tries not to make it out to be more than it seems.
“Did you always know that you wanted to own a flower shop?” Yoongi asks, curious. He wonders if Namjoon’s parents had tried to pressure him out of it, he wonders if Namjoon’s friends had mocked his decision. Yoongi’s own parents hadn’t exactly been receptive when he told them he wanted to study music. They’d come around since, though.
“Kind of,” Namjoon says, after a pause. He’s finishing up the last arrangement. “There were a lot of things I wanted to do, when I was a kid. I had so many dreams.” He laughs then, peeling off his gloves and turning to face Yoongi. “For a long time I wanted to be a fireman, actually.”
“Really?” Yoongi asks. He can picture it. He wonders if that’s why Namjoon’s built so strong.
“Really,” Namjoon confirms.
“What changed?”
Namjoon shrugs. “I went to school. I got a degree. Lit,” he adds, at Yoongi’s questioning look. “And I guess…I just wasn’t really that happy. Not to mention studying literature doesn’t open up a whole lot of career opportunities.”
“So how’d you jump from literature to a flower shop?” Yoongi asks.
Namjoon smiles. “It seems random, doesn’t it? But I’ve always loved plants. I used to garden all the time with my grandmother.” He hesitates for a moment, and then goes on. “She used to make bonsai trees, and she taught me. It used to be our thing. She’s too old to do it now, so it…it makes me happy to continue this tradition for her.”
Namjoon looks bashful, and Yoongi feels his heart swell. “I’m sure she’s proud of you.”
Namjoon shoots him a smile. “Anyway, after university, I realized that I had only studied literature because I find it so fascinating how humans use words in so many different ways to mean so many different things. Most of the ways someone says I love you don’t use those words at all. And it’s the same thing with flowers.”
Yoongi doesn’t get it. “How?”
“People use flowers to fill up their life,” Namjoon explains. “Flowers for I love you, flowers for I’m sorry. Flowers for my condolences. Flowers for congratulations. Plants fill the spaces in their homes and in the paths of their busy lives.” He flushes, then, a little embarrassed. “I don’t know, maybe it’s me just romanticizing it. But it means a lot to me.”
“No, I…I get it,” Yoongi murmurs, because he does. Writing songs is the same way. “When I write a song,” he tries to explain. “It’s the same. The music has to…it has to tell a story too. It’s about more than only the words.”
Namjoon smiles. He hands Yoongi another plant, this one a bonsai tree. “It’s yours,” Namjoon says, refusing payment. “I made this one for you.”
Yoongi heads back to work, leaving Namjoon to the excited bride-to-be after she arrives. When he gets home, he places the bonsai tree on the bedside table and feels his heart skip a beat when he thinks about Namjoon.
Out in the living room, his black cat Neko is investigating his newest plant, so Yoongi snaps a picture and sends it to Namjoon. Back when he’d only had two plants in his apartment, he’d come across Neko batting at the leaves of the Calathea and promptly had a heart attack wondering if the plant was even safe to have in his apartment. That had led to tears streaming down Yoongi’s face as he’d left a tearful message on Moonchild’s store phone number, and Yoongi frantically googling the information. Turns out he’d been fine the all along.
You named your cat ‘cat’? Namjoon had asked, the next time Yoongi had gone to see him. It was three days later because Yoongi had been so embarrassed about crying over voicemail. But Namjoon hadn’t said anything about it. That had been the day Namjoon had given Yoongi his cell number.
For emergencies, Namjoon had said to him. The only emergency Yoongi apparently has right now is his loneliness and also his inability to tell the truth. Namjoon might be able to save him from the former but definitely not the latter.
On a rainy Thursday, Yoongi enters Moonchild to an uncomfortable confrontation with someone who is decidedly not Namjoon. Uncomfortable, because Yoongi bursts through the doors to the back room with a take-out coffee cup in each hand, stressed from work and already snapping out, “You will not believe what happened to me today!”
The boy – not Namjoon – stares in shock. Yoongi blinks back.
“You’re not Namjoon,” he says, dumbly, obviously.
“No, I’m not,” the boy says, awkwardly, apprehensively. “You’re not allowed back here.”
“I…sorry,” Yoongi fumbles with both coffee cups. The boy tilts his head cutely. Yoongi is being generous when he says boy; it’s obvious the man is younger than both Yoongi and Namjoon, but old enough to be out of university. He’s tall, strong, handsome; his dark, doe eyes study Yoongi with curiosity.
“You’re Yoongi-hyung!” the boy says suddenly, so suddenly that Yoongi startles and nearly drops one of the cups.
“Yeah, I…how did you know?”
“Namjoon-hyung told me about you,” the boy explains. “I’m Jungkook. He asked me to cover his shop today, cause he’s not feeling well.”
“Oh,” Yoongi murmurs. He still has two coffee cups in hand. “Do you want one?” he offers, still a little thrown off. “It was supposed to be for Namjoon.”
“Sure,” Jungkook says, taking the cup Yoongi offers. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Yoongi studies Jungkook above the rim of his coffee cup. In a moment of weakness, he asks, “He told you about me?”
“Oh yeah,” Jungkook nods. He grins, something small and happy, laughing a little bit. “Hyung talks about you all the time. It’s such a relief, honestly.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” Yoongi asks, still stuck on the way Jungkook stressed ‘all the time’.
“All the other boys Namjoon-hyung’s dated weren’t very nice,” Jungkook tells him.
“Oh,” Yoongi says, startled. “Oh, we’re not…”
“Dating?” Jungkook supplies. “Yeah, I know. Hyung’s super stressed about whether or not you like boys. He doesn’t want to freak you out.”
Yoongi’s mildly offended. He looks down at himself, wonders what about his glittery nail polish, smudge of eyeshadow, ripped skinny jeans, and oversized button-up shirt even remotely approached heterosexual. Or maybe Namjoon really was an idiot.
“I like boys,” Yoongi clarifies, looking back up at Jungkook. “You can tell him that. Please tell him that.”
“I will,” Jungkook confirms. He hesitates, taking another sip of his coffee. “Yoongi-ssi? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Yoongi says. “Call me hyung, kid. I get the feeling we’re going to see each other a lot.”
“I hope so,” Jungkook says, too genuine and it makes Yoongi’s cheeks warm. “Um, I just wanted to know…you do like Namjoon-hyung, right? I mean, like I said, the boys he dated in the past weren’t very nice.”
And here is the moment Yoongi should tell the truth. A third moment, offered to him a silver platter.
“I like him,” Yoongi admits, the truth tinged sour by his lies.
“Good,” Jungkook says. “He likes you too.”
He finally catches up with Jimin, inviting himself into the younger man’s apartment when Jimin gets home from work.
“You look exhausted,” Yoongi remarks. He grabs the two grocery bags from Jimin’s hand, herding him into a chair. “Let me do this. Sit down, Jimin. You look like you’re going to collapse, jesus.”
Jimin sighs, slumping into his seat. “It’s just dance practice, hyung.”
“Are you working yourself too hard again?” Yoongi asks, something severe in his tone. A warning maybe.
Jimin shakes his head. “No,” he says. Yoongi lifts an eyebrow, and Jimin frowns. “I promise hyung. I learned my lesson.”
“Right.”
“Seriously, hyung,” Jimin sighs. “I have someone looking after me.”
“Who, Taehyung?”
“No, someone else,” Jimin fidgets. “So I’m fine, okay?”
“Okay,” Yoongi accepts his answer, turning back to the fridge, putting Jimin’s groceries away. It’s silent for a moment, and then Jimin exhales again.
“Hyung?” His voice is a little smaller now.
“Yeah?”
“My feet hurt,” Jimin says. There’s a pout in his voice, and when Yoongi turns back around the pout pushes at Jimin’s lips. “Will you massage them?”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. Jimin smiles.
“Thanks hyung.”
They end up on the couch, Jimin’s feet in Yoongi’s lap, Spirited Away playing on Jimin’s tv. Yoongi is hardly paying attention, too concerned with the inevitable moment Jimin asks him about Namjoon, mentions that Namjoon had never called. Yoongi would be forced to own up to his lie then.
He wonders how mad Jimin will be. He wonders if Jimin would stop being his friend.
But Jimin doesn’t ask. Jimin falls asleep halfway through the movie, and Yoongi quietly shuts off the movie, covers Jimin with a blanket, and locks Jimin’s apartment door with the spare key Jimin had given him a month into knowing each other.
Why are you giving this to me? Yoongi had asked at the time. We barely know each other.
Jimin had smiled beatifically. Yeah, but we’re going to be great friends, I can tell.
What does one do with a problem like this?
Yoongi doesn’t know, he’s never been in a problem like this. Generally, Yoongi’s problems are either ones Jimin has handed to him or ones that he doesn’t care about. Yoongi is chill, cool as a cucumber; nothing can touch him. Jimin says it’s a defense mechanism, and Yoongi tells him to mind his own business.
But this business with Namjoon? Yoongi cares too much.
Yoongi has let the lie get too far, and now he’s not only going to hurt Jimin, but Namjoon too. And also himself, when he finally comes clean.
Namjoon asks Yoongi to join him on one of his deliveries, because he says Jungkook’s busy and he would love an extra set of hands. Yoongi joins him in the white truck, emblazoned with Moonchild on the side, as Namjoon steers his way through Saturday afternoon traffic towards the wedding venue.
“So you met Jungkook,” Namjoon remarks. They’re stuck in traffic, and Namjoon has one hand on the wheel. The other arm is resting on the ledge of the open window, and wind ruffles through Namjoon’s blond locks.
“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “Good kid. How’d you guys meet?”
“The gym, actually,” Namjoon tells him. He shoots Yoongi a grin. “Remember how I said I wanted to be a fireman?”
“Is that what Jungkook is?”
Namjoon shakes his head. “Nah, he’s a vet. He’s a pretty quiet kid, and he’s always loved animals.”
Yoongi nods. He watches Namjoon as the car crawls forward through the heavy traffic. “Jungkook said your previous boyfriends weren’t very…nice,” he blurts out. And then he blushes pink, feeling stupid.
An involuntary laugh escapes Namjoon’s throat; he looks surprised. “He said that?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi murmurs. He picks at his fingernails. “I just…I was curious.”
Namjoon lifts one shoulder, a little careless. “He’s right, I guess. I haven’t had much luck.”
Yoongi frowns. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
Namjoon laughs again. “But I never seem to end up with the right guy,” he replies. He doesn’t seem bothered, shooting Yoongi another grin. “Maybe my luck is changing though.”
Yoongi swallows heavily. “I’m just me,” he says. What he means is: I don’t think I’m that nice of a person.
Namjoon doesn’t get it. “I know,” he says warmly. “That’s what I like about you.”
He bumps into Jungkook at the convenience store close to his apartment, and the younger is so surprised to see him that he drops his chocolate bar on the floor.
“Careful,” Yoongi says gently, reaching down to pick it up.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I live close by,” Yoongi tells him. “What about you?”
“I’m visiting a friend,” Jungkook replies. He follows Yoongi up to the register, and Yoongi offers to pay for both. “Hyung, no, don’t.”
Yoongi shakes his head. “I want to talk to you.”
So Jungkook follows him outside, and they take a seat at one of the metal tables. “What is it, hyung?”
“I just wanted to ask,” Yoongi says. “Because you said Namjoon had never dated anyone nice. What did you mean by that?”
Jungkook blinks. He looks surprised. “Why don’t you ask Namjoon-hyung?”
“I did,” Yoongi grumbles. “He didn’t elaborate.”
“Oh,” Jungkook replies, nonplussed. “Oh yeah, that sounds like hyung. Hardly sees the bad in anything. He’s in love with love, I think.”
“So these ex-boyfriends…?” Yoongi prompts.
“They were all awful,” Jungkook crinkles his nose. “There was the guy he was dating when Namjoon-hyung decided to open up a flower shop. He didn’t like that; he said all this shit to hyung about how he wouldn’t make any money and that he was throwing his life away. After that he dated another guy for a few months but broke it off when he found out the guy was cheating. There were a few others that didn’t last long. The last guy he dated maybe…five months ago? He stole money from the flower shop and Namjoon-hyung never saw him again.”
Yoongi’s jaw drops. “What the fuck?”
“He didn’t deserve any of it,” Jungkook says.
“Yeah, if I ever get my hands on any one of those fuckers…”
Jungkook chews on his bottom lip. “Hyung’s always wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt. I mean, he’s really smart, but he can kind of be…oblivious too. He doesn’t recognize the red flags for what they are.”
“What, so you find them for him?” Yoongi asks.
Jungkook straightens up. “I try my best,” he says quietly. “I haven’t been wrong yet.”
Yoongi feels his stomach clench. He wonders if Jungkook is more perceptive than Yoongi’s been led to believe, if Jungkook can read Yoongi’s guilt across his face.
Jungkook’s studying him. “I don’t think I’m wrong now either, hyung,” he tells Yoongi. “Namjoon-hyung is kind, but that also means people find him and take advantage of him. It’s the curse of kindness, I think. So you’ll take care of him, right?”
“Right,” Yoongi murmurs, misery hanging heavy over him like a black cloud.
Liar, liar, liar, the devil on his shoulder chants.
He stops by Moonchild after work one day, after a day filled with long meetings and frustrating emails, a day filled with the worst sets of bars Yoongi’s ever put together. He hates every string of notes he hears, and he ends up deleting the entire day’s work. He leaves at six, frustrated, angry, discontent.
So he stops by Moonchild, and feels it all drain away.
“You look exhausted,” Namjoon observes. He’s sweeping the floor of the shop, but he pauses as Yoongi comes in, leaning against the broom handle. “I’m almost done. Let me take you out for a drink. It seems like you need one.”
And Yoongi does. Spending more time with Namjoon will help all of today’s stress drain away any way. Namjoon was calming, like that. Since Yoongi’s met him, since Yoongi’s found himself in this big, huge lie, Namjoon’s the only piece of calm in his life.
So they go for drinks.
The bar is quaint, tiny, almost. One of Namjoon’s friends owns it, another tall man with elegant features and who Yoongi is quite sure must have modeled at some point in his youth.
“Seokjin-hyung always gives me a discount,” Namjoon tells him. “But you’re the first person I’m sharing it with.” He reaches for one of the beers. “So what made your day so exhausting?”
Yoongi exhales, reaches for his own beer. “It’s nothing new,” he says. “Just this one artist I’m working with.”
“Yeah?”
“He doesn’t like me,” Yoongi frowns. “Never has, really. I gave him pointers during a recording, what…two years ago? He’s hated me since.”
Namjoon raises an eyebrow. He looks amused. “A threat to his ego, then.”
Yoongi scoffs. “What’s the point of putting yourself out there if you can’t take criticism?”
Namjoon seems to find this funny. “What, you think criticism should be handed out as easily as compliments?”
“No,” Yoongi shakes his head. “But if you’re putting yourself into a position that requires feedback, then you should be ready for criticism. What, should I have lied and have the artist put out a mediocre track? I’d never compromise my artistic integrity like that. Or my personal integrity.”
“What do you mean?”
“Honesty,” Yoongi explains. “Isn’t it better to be direct?”
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Yoongi frowns, looking away from Namjoon. Perhaps he’d been able to live in his lie at least semi-comfortably before this. Now, aware of his hypocrisy, Yoongi feels his resolve tremble.
“You’re right,” Namjoon says after a moment. “About being direct. Being honest. I think a lot of things might have been different if people had just told me the truth.”
He’s staring at Yoongi, so intently, so deeply; Yoongi thinks Namjoon must be looking into Yoongi’s very heart.
“Oh yeah?” Yoongi asks. His voice is weak; it cracks in the middle. Namjoon smiles.
“Yeah.” He leans back in his chair, legs spread, one big hand wrapped around his beer. Yoongi feels trapped, pinned by his heavy gaze. “Hyung-”
Oh no, Yoongi thinks. Namjoon was going to tell him. Namjoon was going to confess his feelings. Namjoon was going to look Yoongi in the eye, say I like you hyung with his stupid dimpled smile, and he’s going to sit there and look hopeful and Yoongi’s going to have to break his heart.
“I lied,” Yoongi blurts out. It surprises him, and it surprises Namjoon, who stops short, eyebrows drawing together.
“What?”
“I lied,” Yoongi repeats. He feels panic in his belly, the itch of anxiety under his skin. His tongue won’t stop moving; he can’t make himself stop. Once he opens his mouth, it all comes tumbling out. “The first day I came into your shop, I lied.”
Namjoon’s frowning. He looks lost. “Hyung, I don’t understand.”
“I was there to give you my friend’s number,” Yoongi confesses. He reaches into his coat pocket, fumbles for the note, sets it down on the table between them. Namjoon looks down at the crumpled paper, but he doesn’t take it. Yoongi makes a faint noise of distress. “He was the one who wanted to get to know you. I was supposed to give this to you.”
Namjoon isn’t looking at him. He stares down at the note, and then exhales. “So why didn’t you?”
“Huh?”
“Why didn’t you give this to me?” Namjoon asks. He looks up now, catches Yoongi’s desperate gaze. “Why tell me all this now? What does this change?”
His voice gets more upset with each passing word. Yoongi’s heart feels like it might be in his throat. He swallows. “I had to stop lying,” he whispers. “I can’t…I can’t date you, not when my friend was the one who liked you first, who was waiting to see if you’d call, who deserves the world. I can’t do that to him.”
Namjoon looks distraught. He’s trying to hide it, but his voice trembles. “But you can do this to me, huh?” It’s a question, but Yoongi can’t answer it. “Nevermind,” Namjoon scoffs. “So what do you want me to do, hyung? Take this piece of paper?” His fist closes around it, and Yoongi’s heart clenches. “Call your friend? Date him instead of you?”
“Yes,” Yoongi whispers. Apparently one lie has paved the way for a habit to form. “Make him happy.”
“What about me? What about what makes me happy?” Namjoon asks. His eyes are begging Yoongi to stay.
Yoongi stands up. “I’m sorry,” he says. His voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”
Apparently, Yoongi was going to break Namjoon’s heart either way.
It’s raining by the time Yoongi gets back to his apartment. Even worse, the elevator is out of service, which means Yoongi has to trudge up four flights of stairs in rain-soaked shoes, feeling the wet squish with every step he takes. The rain is cold on his face, but his tears stream hot and wet, never-ending.
He pulls open the door to the stairwell, stepping out into the carpeted hallway of his floor. The hallway is empty, except for a couple making out against one of the apartment doors.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, goes to pass, and does a double-take.
“Jimin?” he asks, incredulous.
The couple breaks apart. It is Jimin, and…Jungkook?
“Hi hyung,” Jimin says. He’s not even embarrassed, but Jungkook has the decency to shoot Yoongi an apologetic glance. He doesn’t take his hands off of Jimin’s waist, though.
Yoongi’s mouth works, but no words come out. Jimin frowns.
“Hyung? Are you okay?”
“What the hell?” he demands. Wheezes, more like.
Jimin arches an eyebrow. “Hyung, you can’t answer a question with a question.”
“I’ll kill you, Park Jimin.”
“Jungkook will protect me,” Jimin wraps his arms around Jungkook’s body, and the younger boy blinks. He looks cute. He also looks like he could snap Yoongi in half. That’s probably what Jimin likes about him. And speaking of men Jimin liked…
“What about Namjoon?” Yoongi asks. His chest feels tight, the beginnings of anger taking over his vision. “What about Flower Shop Boy?”
Jimin looks confused. Yoongi clenches his hands into fists. “What about him?”
“I gave him your number.”
Jimin doesn’t look any less confused. “Okay…?”
“I gave him your number,” Yoongi grounds out, through breathless lungs and tears in his eyes. Jimin stares, wide-eyed, and Jungkook draws in a sharp breath.
“Jimin-hyung, I think we should all go inside…”
Had Jimin even liked Namjoon in the first place? Had it all been meaningless? If Yoongi had only held onto the note, walked in on Jimin and Jungkook’s relationship sooner, he wouldn’t be standing here, with a heartbreak of his own making.
Jimin swiftly unlocks his apartment door, ushers Yoongi inside. “Hyung, please explain what’s going on. I want to help.”
Yoongi’s throat releases something halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You told me to give Namjoon your number, Jimin. And I did!”
“Okay,” Jimin agrees, placatingly. Yoongi shakes his head.
“I gave it to him tonight.”
Jimin still doesn’t understand, but Jungkook’s eyes go round. “Jimin-hyung,” he says. “I thought you were going to tell him.”
“Tell me what?”
“Well I was going to say something,” Jimin says, defensively. “But…I thought I didn’t have to. Yoongi-hyung, you never brought up Namjoon-hyung before.”
“What are you talking about? Tell me what?”
“I never wanted to go out with Namjoon-hyung,” Jimin tells him. “I just gave you that note so you would meet him. I thought you’d come home and tell me he was too good for me, or something. Or maybe you’d just throw the note back at me, tell me to do it on my own. Besides, that note didn’t even have my number on it.”
Yoongi opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again. “What?”
“Look, hyung,” Jimin continues. “I was trying to set you up with Namjoon. I thought it didn’t work because you never brought him up again. It wasn’t until Jungkook told me about you and Namjoon that I realized you just weren’t talking to me. And then, I guess I felt kind of pissed off that you wouldn’t tell me about it.”
“I was trying to be a good friend,” Yoongi snaps. “I felt awful for lying to you.”
Jimin has the decency to look ashamed. “I know,” he says. “I should have told you all of this sooner. I really thought that it didn’t work out. And then I thought you didn’t…trust me or something. I’m sorry.”
Yoongi exhales. He looks away, and then back to Jimin. The younger boy looks meek, a little tearful. “Oh, come here.”
Jimin practically crushes him in a hug, tucking himself close. “I’m sorry hyung.”
“I know,” Yoongi murmurs. “Next time, tell me when you get an idea like this.”
“You’re the one who fell for it,” Jimin mutters.
“Do you ever stop being a brat?”
“To you?” Jimin asks, pulling back from their hug, grinning. “Never.”
Yoongi heaves a sigh, glances between Jimin and Jungkook. Jimin, who plans and schemes better than anyone he knows, and Jungkook, who remains to be his only link to Namjoon. “So how do I fix this?”
“You said you gave Namjoon-hyung the note, right?” Jungkook asks. Yoongi nods. “Then I don’t think we’ll have too much of a problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t actually think it was my number that I wrote, did you?” Jimin asks. Yoongi stares, slack-jawed.
“Park Jimin…”
Jimin looks sympathetic but not apologetic. “Hyung,” he says, patronizingly. “You only have yourself to blame. I mean…hyung, do you honestly believe if I wanted to give my number to someone, I’d ask you to do it for me? Me?”
Yoongi’s jaw drops. “You…you manipulated me.”
“Yeah,” Jimin shrugs. “And you fell for it. Anyway, the note doesn’t have my number, it has yours.”
“I’ll look like an idiot,” Yoongi groans. He throws himself down onto Jimin’s couch, wants to die from embarrassment. “I broke things off, right when Namjoon was going to ask me out, and told him to go after you. And then I hand him a note with my number?”
Jimin is quiet. Jungkook muffles a soft giggle.
“Well,” Jungkook says, to the glare Yoongi shoots him. “At least Namjoon-hyung will be more confused than angry?”
Yoongi spends three days working from home.
He doesn’t want to pass by Moonchild, he doesn’t want to make awkward eye contact with Namjoon, only to have him turn away. He doesn’t want to go back to the way things were before he met Namjoon; if he stays at home, in the space that never changes, then maybe his relationship with Namjoon won’t fade either.
His apartment is bursting with plant life. Yoongi’s apparently had a green thumb he never knew about. Neko likes the plants too; she noses around each potted plant, batting at the leaves with her paws.
It’s on the third day that Yoongi deems it safe enough to pull the note out of his pocket, the one he’d written weeks before.
Namu. The song he’d written for a boy who carries flowers in his hands and in his heart.
He fishes it out of his jacket pocket, smoothing the piece of paper open on his keyboard. And then he stares down at what is decidedly not his set of lyrics.
My name is Yoongi
I might tell you my friend is interested in you
But I’m just kind of shy
Call me?
The note is embarrassing. The note makes Yoongi out to be a literal juvenile who can’t speak up for himself. The note is wrong.
Because if he has Jimin’s note, then that means Namjoon has-
“Namu,” Yoongi breathes, horrified.
He careens so quickly into Moonchild that he knocks over the potted plant by the door, catching it at the last second in both hands.
Namjoon is not in the front of the shop, but Yoongi can hear the faint notes and dulcet tones of Romantic era piano music filtering from the back room. The song is a sad one. Yoongi can recognize Chopin when he hears it, and the music is so dramatic that Yoongi wonders if he’s going to leave here more heartbroken than when he arrived.
He pushes open the door to the back room.
Namjoon is standing with his back to the door, big and broad, too immersed in the music to notice Yoongi behind him.
“Joon…”
Namjoon yelps, drops the tiny clay pot in his hand, and it’s only Yoongi’s quick reflexes that save it.
He stares down at Yoongi, as the music crescendos. “…Hyung?”
He looks tired, Yoongi observes. His hair is lying flat, his eyes are dull. Yoongi sets the clay pot aside. “Can we talk?”
Namjoon nods. He reaches over to shut off the music, plunging the room into silence. Yoongi fidgets, and Namjoon doesn’t look away.
“You wanted to talk?” Namjoon prompts, when Yoongi takes too long to respond.
“Uh, yeah,” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck. “Did you, uh, did you read the note?”
Namjoon doesn’t answer for a moment. Yoongi doesn’t know what answer he’s hoping for. He doesn’t know if he wants Namjoon to say no, because that would mean that even when Yoongi left, Namjoon had no intention of calling Jimin. He doesn’t know if he wants Namjoon to say yes, because that would mean Namjoon would finally know how Yoongi feels about him.
“Could’ve been one lonely night,” Namjoon says, unexpectedly, and Yoongi’s eyes grow large. Those are his words, his lyrics, the ones he wrote after Namjoon’s birthday on the rooftop with the sparklers lighting up Namjoon’s eyes. Namjoon’s saying them; he’s reciting Namu. “Just like the others. But you lit up my life. This is what it’s like to be lovers.”
Yoongi bites his bottom lip. “You read it.”
Namjoon tilts his head. “Sing it to me.”
Fear grips at Yoongi’s chest. “I can’t.”
Namjoon’s expression doesn’t change. “You can. Go on, you know it. You and me-”
“-need never be, lonely again,” Yoongi whispers. “Spin with me, endlessly, or at least until the end.” He hiccups a breath. “Please never fall in love again.”
God, Yoongi had been an idiot. But with everything in ruins, the only thing left to do is to tell the truth.
“Why are you here?” Namjoon asks. “What did it mean, when you broke things off with me, and then handed me that…that love note. Because that’s what it is, hyung. You’re begging me to be yours.”
“I know,” Yoongi tells him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
“What, my feelings?”
“No,” Yoongi shakes his head. “I should have told you the truth a while ago, or maybe I should have told Jimin the truth. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Namjoon runs one hand through his hair. He seems frustrated. “Then what do you want? Because from where I’m standing, I don’t get it.”
“I really like you,” Yoongi blurts out. Namjoon’s gaze snaps back to meet his, and Yoongi flushes. “Like, a lot. When I first came into your shop, I was supposed to give you my friend’s number, but I just…I couldn’t do it. I saw you and…yeah.”
Namjoon stares, and then a laugh bubbles up, escapes his chest. “Hyung, love at first sight?”
Yoongi flushes a deeper red. “Shut up.”
Namjoon’s grinning. “Nah, cause it was the same for me. You walked through the door, and I just hoped you would keep coming back. I was happy you did.”
“Me too,” Yoongi says. He smiles, tiny, tentatively, hopeful now that Namjoon seems brighter. “That’s why I had to keep lying. The whole time, I felt awful about it.”
Namjoon’s smile settles into something more rueful. “Your friend.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi sticks his hand into his pocket, pulls out the real note. “Here.”
Namjoon takes it, but he seems reluctant to open it. “Why do you want me to have this?”
“So that you can understand,” Yoongi tells him. Namjoon hesitates, but finally slides the note open. He stares, and stares, and then he looks up.
“This is your number.”
“I know,” Yoongi shakes his head. “That’s my friend’s work. Apparently he was trying to set us up the whole time.”
“But how would he even know me?” Namjoon asks, and then before Yoongi can explain he groans. “Jungkook.”
“Bingo.”
Namjoon laughs again, folding the note and setting it aside. “They literally could have just introduced us. Why do something so dramatic?”
“Jimin loves drama,” Yoongi says. “And Jungkook loves Jimin, so.”
“Those two…” Namjoon murmurs, but he seems happy. “So what now, hyung?”
“Now,” Yoongi says. “Now we get to finish our date from the other night, and this time I get to be honest.” He takes a few steps closer, until he’s close enough to spot the flush of pink high on Namjoon’s cheekbones. “I like you, Namjoon-ah.” He blushes as he says it, but happiness is tucked into the corner of Namjoon’s smile.
They go on their date. And then they go on another, and another, and another, until Yoongi stops counting them because Namjoon becomes a constant in his life. Namjoon meets Neko and adores her, and Yoongi’s apartment bursts with plant life, big and small. Jimin calls Namjoon Yoongi’s plant daddy, and Yoongi shows Jungkook the most embarrassing video he has of Jimin saved on his phone, the one he uses for blackmail.
(It doesn’t work. Jungkook thinks drunk Jimin singing slightly off-key in a karaoke bar is adorable.)
He finishes the song he wrote for Namjoon, gives the usb key to him and no one else, because this song is only meant for one person. Yoongi’s love is only meant for one person.
Every Bad Idea starts with Park Jimin. But maybe some good ideas started with him too.