Work Text:
i.
"The problem with this one,“ Yoongi begins, "is that the colour doesn't go with Seokjin-hyung's carpet.”
They've been staring at the same BESTÅ BURS TV Unit for thirteen minutes straight now, if Jungkook remembers correctly – ten minutes too long in his opinion.
"I think they'd go well together, to be honest," he offers carefully, syllables drawled out as Yoongi turns his head to shoot him an incredulous look. "Hyung, they're both yellow."
The look worsens. "Seriously?" Jungkook isn't very sure what he's supposed to be serious about, so he just shrugs. "This is high-gloss yellow, that carpet is beige," Yoongi says insistently, one hand pointing to his right as if the carpet was there, floating mid-air next to his head. "Are you colour blind?"
Jungkook shrugs again. "No, I don't think so." There's this thing Yoongi does well, called being intimidating and making the person he's conversing with feel unsure of their own words. "I couldn't tell navy blue apart from black one time in elementary school, though." And then there's this thing Jungkook does not do very well, namely shutting up. "They were all just dark to me."
Yoongi snickers. His arms are now crossed and his head is tilted slightly to the right, a gesture Jungkook registers under both pensive and positively bored. For this particular occasion, he suspects it’s the former.
“Look, I guess–” Yes, definitely the former. “–you’re not completely wrong. Some people do see beige as a shade of yellow, although I prefer categorising it under the brown family, but the point is, Jungkookie,” Yoongi clasps his hands together, “this is too bright of a yellow, and I don’t want it in my room,” he says sternly, feet already walking away from the TV unit. “Let’s go find something to keep you warm at night.”
Jungkook is busy deciding which bedcover design he should go with (help: intricate mosaic or London Underground map, he texts Taehyung, pictures attached) when he hears Yoongi ask, "Did you actually think they were all just dark?"
ii.
Apparently, Yoongi’s personal agenda involves trying to infuse his taste that is now deeply ingrained within the four walls of their dorm into the company’s studio.
Studio interior first, world domination next.
“You know what, I'm just gonna use my own money, even.” It’s his umpteenth time complaining about the worktable. “It freaking wobbles,” he half-whines, pushing at the foot of the table rather extravagantly as if to prove a point. Taehyung makes a sympathetic face.
It leaves an impression on Jungkook, however, when Yoongi escalates the issue to Bang PD himself, remembering to mention that unlike Namjoon who prefers to write sporadically during car rides, or Hoseok who writes best on his bed, Jungkook—a budding producer in the making (Love is Not Over was a good start – better than Yoongi's start, if he had to admit)—prefers the studio. Hence the importance of an impeccable worktable.
Although if Jungkook had to explain why, it’s definitely not because he supports Yoongi’s penchant for falling asleep in the studio, aka workplace. (Their beds are still a much more comfortable option, thank you very much.) He prefers to slave away at the studio because it separates sleep from work, and that’s how he likes to measure his time.
"You never want to do the honour of waking me up, that’s why," he grumbled when Yoongi once tried to hold him back past 3am. “Unless you do, then by all means–" Yoongi thrust him out of the door before he could finish.
And that’s how they end up at the workspace section. Surprisingly this time, Yoongi lets Jungkook do most of the deliberation while he chooses to lean on one of the nearby kitchen sets, fingers drumming along the countertop – it’s a nice cabinet; very Scandinavian.
When Jungkook asks why he’s not questioning the younger’s decision, he simply clicks his tongue and says, "I don’t want you working at less-than-maximum capacity just because you would’ve felt more productive sitting at a different, redder table.”
Yoongi is still the one with a credit card, though. At the cashier, he specifically requests for the offensively red corner desk to be delivered that very day – Jungkook’s got a song to work on.
iii.
Jungkook comes home after his solo dance practice to an empty stomach and a disgruntled Yoongi, much to his annoyance.
“Where the hell were you?” Yoongi asks, stomping out of his bedroom to stand at the doorway where he victoriously blocks Jungkook from taking off his shoes. Jungkook can’t decide which one’s weirder: finding Yoongi inside the dorm at dusk or failing to muster up enough strength to kick away the elder’s chicken legs. “Don’t– stop– come eat with me,” Yoongi continues as he attempts to simultaneously put on his own shoes while shoving Jungkook out into the hallway with his hips. “Go, go.”
Jungkook opens his mouth to beg otherwise but Yoongi shushes him before he could get a word out, so he opts for being dragged by the arm down the corridor, into the elevator, and into the car.
They don’t talk during the ride – aside from Yoongi telling him, “You, grab seats; me, get food,” to which Jungkook responds with a thumbs up and half-lidded eyes. When they arrive at the all-too-familiar building, Jungkook can’t help but laugh quietly to himself because of course, how did he even forget, it’s Yoongi’s bimonthly Swedish meatballs cravings.
Naturally, Jungkook heads to the nearest table by the windows and proceeds to flop himself down with a loud thud, the chair shifting under him. He sets his forehead down on the edge of the table as he waits for his portion of fish and chips, except he doesn’t remember if he’s ever stated his menu preference aloud.
Yoongi’s guessing game to play, it is.
“I have come, bearing your fish and fries—I mean, chips,” Yoongi sing-songs not long after, nudging Jungkook on the sides and reminding him once again that Min Yoongi, indeed, does not disappoint.
He makes sure to say it out loud this time. “Min Yoongi, indeed, does not disappoint.”
“As he should,” Yoongi replies as he takes his first bite.
(“I’ve been fantasising about this the whole day, damn it,” Yoongi later mumbles through a mouthful of meatballs and mashed potatoes.
And if Jungkook wonders why he didn't choose to go earlier with Taehyung or Hoseok who’d spent the entire afternoon idling around the dorm watching reruns of weekend dramas, he doesn't ask.)
iv.
The thing about living with 6 other guys who, for some weird reason, find enjoyment in huddling up on the sofa together on their days off, is that no piece of furniture lasts longer than a few months, especially when a particular Kim Namjoon is added into the equation.
Which could only mean one thing: other than drunken confessions, ice cream and coffee and seven other kinds of sweetened beverages are also likely to be spilt all over what once was a $250 purchase.
“This sofa reeks of high-level exhaustion and anxiety, bound together by sticky patches of dried tears,” Hoseok once said, feet propped up on one of the arms. “I’m the clean freak around here but I can’t say I hate it.”
And that was Yoongi’s cue.
So here he is, staring at display sofa #7, hips cocked to one side as he bites on his nails. Jungkook is still sitting on sofa #5 with a lint roller in his hand before Yoongi motions him to come over.
“What do you think of this one?” Yoongi asks, nails still in between his teeth. Jungkook pulls at his arm so he’d stop.
“Your nails are hideous enough as they are,” Jungkook explains, in a tone he’d like to describe as full of care. “And, uh, this one’s good. As are the previous six.” Truth be told, sofa-hunting is by far the most taxing. “I’m serious,” he persists when Yoongi starts scratching the back of his head, disagreement evident in the way he scrunches up his nose.
“Why must all the ones I like be white,” Yoongi mutters softly while Jungkook saunters to sofa #8, studying it for a good second before taking a seat, lint roller sliding off his hand as a result of the movement. He bends down to retrieve it from the floor and straightens up just in time as Yoongi sinks into the empty space next to him, knocking the lint roller off his hand once again.
He uses his feet this time. He’s sure Jimin wouldn’t mind.
“Hyung?”
“What.”
“We could’ve done this tomorrow, you know,” Jungkook suggests. “Eh—no, we’re flying out tomorrow,” he corrects himself. “Next week– month, even– actually, what’s the rush anyway?” He settles on a question, because a part of him roots for his habit of vexing the hyungs—Yoongi in particular—with his constant state of incomprehension. The Maknae Code, Article 14b, probably.
“The fact that we’re flying out tomorrow is exactly why,” Yoongi says, eyes focused on the lining of the leather material. “And it’s a packed schedule for the next three or so weeks,” he continues. “Do you even read it? Our schedule?”
Jungkook just nods, somewhat thrown off when Yoongi carries on, “And besides, I can’t stand that sticky, foul-smelling piece of shit any longer,” he finally finishes, resting his head on Jungkook’s shoulder as he yawns. Jungkook shudders at the contact.
(On second thought, all this questioning he does is, in fact, what fuels their relationship.)
They stay there for a while – earning looks from uninvited spectators for the way their bodies are pressed against each other. Jungkook would never admit it to anyone’s face but honestly, as strange as it sounds, he doesn’t mind.