Work Text:
The thing is–
Yoongi doesn’t really like Halloween all that much.
Sure, it can be fun–getting dressed up, scaring or being scared, decorating–but it’s also exhausting. And seeing how Yoongi is living in a constant state of exhaustion these days, he wants to avoid more of that. So he forgoes the decorations, his apartment bare; he turns his cheek at the Halloween candy in the store; he purposefully deletes his text conversations with his acquaintances, asking if he’s coming to their costume parties or movie marathons.
It’s October 31st, Halloween night, Yoongi having picked up a late shift at work. It’s a bit frustrating, all the people that do last-minute holiday shopping. Of course, winter holidays are far, far worse–but Halloween…everyone comes in, angry about how they didn’t get their candy for the kids, and ‘why doesn’t the store have more candy isn’t that something you’re supposed to have’ like the managers haven’t already started putting up the Christmas and Seollal stuff.
Yoongi glances at the clock, face contorting in pain–it’s barely six, and he’s stuck there until eight. Sighing, he plasters a fake smile on his face, a woman with two children coming to his register. He rings them out, voice dull as he asks if she would like to sign up for a store card. It’s monotonous and boring and dull–he glances at the clock again, lips thin as he sees only twenty minutes have passed.
“Excuse me.”
Turning around, Yoongi grimaces, bowing his head in apology. The woman raises an eyebrow at him, arms crossed and huffing already. Great. Awesome. Another asshole customer. He suffers through the exchange, biting his tongue as the woman criticizes and complains. He can see one of his coworkers moving towards the time clock, a wave of envy running through him. The woman leaves after a few moments, Yoongi sagging a little when she does.
“Yoongi-ssi, got any plans for tonight?”
Yoongi’s manager waltzes over, a dumb grin on his face. Yoongi actually likes his manager–not that he’d every admit it out loud. The noisy bastard would never let it go.
“Not really,” Yoongi mutters, “just don’t want to be here.”
His manager laughs, something loud and squeaky. Yoongi lets a small smile cross his lips, his first genuine one of the night. His manager pats him on the shoulder, shaking his head.
“Wow, say how you really feel.”
“What about you–you doing anything?” Yoongi asks, surprising himself.
His manager nods happily, starting to tell this story about an annual costume party he and his boyfriend go to. It’s kind of nice to listen to, though Yoongi finds himself zoning the longer the manager describes his boyfriend’s smile.
“–got this little dimple on the right side–”
Yoongi snorts, crossing his arms as the customers die down. The manager stays near his register, talking with him some more as they wait; after a while, the manager gets called to assist someone else, the older man offering Yoongi a wink.
“Enjoy yourself, Yoongi-ssi. Even if you’re just spending the night in.”
Yoongi nods, another small smile on his face. He glances at the clock once more, perking up when he sees there’s only fifteen minutes left in his shift. He starts cleaning up, wiping the touch screens down and checking the till. He turns his light off, removing the till before logging out of the terminal. He hands the drawer to his manager, the man giving him another wink; rolling his eyes, Yoongi quickly moves towards the exit, his jacket and bag slung over one shoulder.
He steps outside, taking a deep breath–the air is cool and refreshing. He lets his eyes slip shut, humming. He can hear a few kids run past, giggling to each other. Eyes opening slowly, Yoongi looks around before heading home, whistling to himself. He gets home ten minutes later, his apartment only a few streets away. He hurries in, toeing his shoes off and making a bee-line for his couch.
He collapses with a sigh, stretching his legs out; flinging his head back, he twists a hand in the air, a bottle of soju flying out of the kitchen. He catches it, twisting the top off and taking a long, satisfying drink. He blinks up at the ceiling, groaning as his joints pop. A soft ‘meow’ makes Yoongi lift his head, a small smile on his face as he spots his familiar.
“Hi, Honey,” Yoongi says quietly, watching the cat stretch languidly, “have fun without me?”
The cat rolls her eyes, jumping up to settle in his lap. Chuckling, Yoongi rubs a hand through her fur, the hand wrapped around his soju flicking towards the television. It springs to life, some generic Halloween playing; Yoongi sighs, thumbing one of Honey’s ears.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he complains, putting his feet up on the coffee table.
“Oh, stop. You’re only 125 years-old.”
Yoongi frowns at Honey, “Yeah, and? That’s a hundred years too many.”
Honey lets out a small grumble, paws kneading Yoongi’s lap, “You are the most annoying witch I’ve ever met.”
“I’m the only witch you’ve ever met.”
Honey bats at his face, her paw soft against his chin.
“Shut up and watch the movie, witch-boy.”