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Seokjin doesn’t expect to be awoken to the sounds of Drake rapping about motto’s and YOLO’s.
But then again, living with a certain Kim Taehyung is unpredictable as it is equal parts exasperating and alarming – Seokjin still shudders thinking of the time he’d come home to Taehyung sitting on their shared couch, both his eyebrows singed off, a guilty smile on his face as he uttered the words that Seokjin will never forget for as long as he lives: “hyung…I accidently broke your King Mario Figurine” (Seokjin cried for two hours, said the word fuck no less than four times, and had to draw on Taehyung’s eyebrows for him every day for two months until they grew back. Seokjin still doesn’t know why they were burnt off in the first place).
He lies in bed for a few moments, mumbling to himself incomprehensibly, before fumbling for his phone. Pausing to let out a few of his choicest swear words when he drops his pink flip phone on his face (Seokjin feels like a ‘crap’ will suffice) Seokjin lets out the mother of all sighs –cringing at his lovely morning breath – because darn you to heck Kim Taehyung it’s only 5.29am. All he had wanted was to sleep until 7am. 7am.
Seokjin considers himself to be a pretty good human being. He recycles his glass bottles, smiles at all his customers – even the rude ones– andhe’s only illegally downloaded music twice in his entire life (three times if you count the video Seokjin accidently downloaded of Jason Derulo singing his own name on a loop for 10 hours).
So he can’t really be blamed when he wonders to himself what awful, horrendous thing he must’ve done in one of his past lives to be stuck living with what seemed to be the strangest human being to ever grace Seokjin’s presence. Making his way over to the kitchen, he readies himself to chew out Taehyung and give him a good smack over the head.
Seokjin likes to think of himself as level headed. Strong. Reliable. Quick to react. In choosing to live with Taehyung, Seokjin doesn’t really have a choice but to be all these things. He’s also mastered the art of not questioning things when it comes to a certain drama student, and also how to conceal his surprise with an ability that surprises even Seokjin (sometimes he thinks he should be the drama student). So it’s really saying something when Seokjin stands in the kitchen, his jaw hanging open, at an absolute loss for words.
Taehyung lies on the kitchen floor, clad only in a tiny, hot pink g-string (Seokjin absolutely refuses to wonder where they came from). The chocolate cake that Seokjin had baked for his café The Bean Hit is not on the counter where Seokjin had left it last night, but smeared all over Taehyung’s face, chest, and hair. Taehyung seems to be writhing on the floor in complete agony, whisper-rapping along to Drake with a precision that impresses Seokjin (Taehyung’s English consists mainly of “why so serious” and “turn up”, so Seokjin is actually quite impressed).
Completely unamused, Seokjin crosses his arms over his chest, tapping his foot against the tiles quietly, waiting for Taehyung to notice him. Seokjin knows that this is a bit of a risky move – once Taehyung is in character, there’s a very big possibility of him staying in character for god knows how long. But luck seems to be on Seokjin’s side today (well, as lucky as he can get) because after about ten minutes, Taehyung opens his eyes, and catches Seokjin standing in the doorway. His eyes light up and he scrambles up, smearing more chocolate onto the tile, and pauses his music. Seokjin winces inwardly – he knows he’ll be the one cleaning that up.
“Hyung! What are you doing up so late? What did you think? I’m practicing for an audition I have tomorrow!”
(Seokjin knows all about this audition – it’s all Taehyung’s been talking about for the past two weeks. According to Taehyung, this could be his “time to shine brighter than all the stars in the galaxies combined!”)
“Late? Don’t you mean early? Taehyung, what the heck are you doing up at 5.30 in the morning? Have you slept at all?” Taehyung is either extremely fatigued or way too excitable to notice Seokjin’s agitation.
“Hyung, my muse is a flighty and mysterious presence and its best not to question when she might or mightn’t appear. I haven’t slept in…a solid 37 hours!” Yep, Taehyung is definitely fatigued. Now that Seokjin is standing closer to Taehyung (but far away enough so that he doesn’t reach out and shake Taehyung until he’s seeing more than just the stars in the galaxies) he can see the red network of cobwebs decorating the white’s of Taehyung’s eyes (Seokjin really hopes that’s just from exhaustion), and the bags under them that are darker than Seokjin’s charcoal face-masks.
“And why on earth is my chocolate cake all over you?!”It’s way too early for Seokjin’s blood pressure to be this high.
Suddenly, Taehyung’s boxy smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced with a guilty look that Seokjin knows all too well.
“Oh…Well…I don’t really have a reason for doing that. I was eating it and I got a bit carried away. Sorry, Jin hyung,” Taehyung smiles sheepishly at Seokjin, peering up him from under his chocolate matted bangs.
“Get your butt into the shower, clean yourself up, and then go to sleep. You hear me?” Seokjin fixes Taehyung with what he hopes is his sternest expression. (He knows it’s not that stern. He has the most incredible soft spot for Taehyung. But he can’t really be blamed, because everyone that meets Kim Taehyung has a soft spot for him.)
Taehyung nods guiltily before bolting out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of chocolate footprints behind. Seokjin rolls his eyes upwards and prays for strength.
It’s going to be a long day.
-
As Seokjin lets himself into The Bean Hit, he feels a sense of calm wash over him. There’s just something about his café that never ceases to calm his frazzled state. The warm sunlight filters in through the windows as Seokjin steps into the small, cosy café, casting a soft glow over the wooden tables and mis-matched armchairs scattered throughout the café. He retrieves the broom from the storeroom behind the counter, and begins sweeping the floor methodically and with a precision that comes with practice and years of doing the same thing over and over again.
Seokjin allows his mind to wander, and he finds himself thinking back to a few days ago, when sweet Jimin had set him on a blind date with someone who seemed more interested in stuffing his head with facts about kangaroos (honestly, Seokjin knows that Jimin is just a ball of good intentions stuffed into a freakishly muscular and tiny body, but oh my god Seokjin will have Taehyung break his entire Mario collection again before he lets Jimin set him up on another blind date). Seokjin sighs inwardly, and wonders how many more failed dates it’ll take for him to meet someone who is genuinely interested in him, and not with pumping him with animal facts he really didn’t need to know. Seokjin is so immersed in wallowing in a bit of self-pity, he all but jumps ten feet into the air when his broom brushes over something foreign.
He peers under the table, and for the second time in three hours, Seokjin is once again surprised.
A boy, maybe a year or so younger than Seokjin himself, lies curled up in a foetal position under one of the tables. His bleached, silvery-purple hair is arranged messily around his head like some artful halo, and Seokjin swears that this boy isn’t far off from being possibly one of the sexiest boys he’s ever seen (including himself, Kim SM-scouted Seokjin). But Seokjin’s not really focused on the rather pleasing aesthetics of this boy’s face – he’s pretty freaked out over the fact that oh my god there is a boy lying in my café sleeping and how the holy heck did he get here?
Seokjin wants to cry. He also thinks it’s completely justifiable; no matter what Jimin says (“Hyung. I know you’re my boss and I’m meant to be respectful, I think I am obliged to tell you that grown men don’t cry, no matter how burnt their chocolate cake is. It’s just not manly, you know?” – Seokjin doesn’t bring up the ocean of tears Jimin cries every time he watches Cinderella), and thinks to himself that today might possibly make it onto his ‘Seokjin’s Top Ten Most Stressful Days’ list – the Mario Figurine Incident is a close second to the ‘Worst Day of Seokjin’s Life’ (Seokjin refuses to think about this unspeakable day, but there may or may not have been thirty two rats, an extremely naked and drunk Taehyung and three blowtorches involved).
Unsure of what to do, Seokjin hesitantly taps the sleeping boy with the end of his broom lightly. Instead of waking up like Seokjin hopes, the boy turns his head towards Seokjin, letting rip the loudest snore ever to grace his ears. He startles, letting out a small yelp as he stumbles back, his heart thumping in his chest. Seokjin decides there and then that out of the goodness of his heart (no, it is most definitely not because he is unsure of what to do) he will let the boy sleep. Casting the sleeping boy one last glance, he resumes his sweeping.
Except, Seokjin can’t focus. He continuously shoots the sleeping boy little glances over his shoulder, whipping his head back quickly, as if he’s scared of getting caught watching him. What the heck, Seokjin, he thinks murderously to himself. This is your café.
He’s also painfully aware of his heart performing aerobics in his chest, because seriously, what gives? Who sleeps in someone else’s café? Seokjin thinks to himself, sniffing. Yet he can’t bring himself to wake the boy up. It could be the fact that the boy looks so peaceful (well, as peaceful as you can get sleeping on the floor, snoring loud enough to wake up the entire campus), and Seokjin’s heartstrings tug at the sight of the boy almost pathetically curled up on the floor. It’s not Seokjin’s fault that he’s finely in tune with his emotional side.
Seokjin’s so immersed in his own thoughts, so wrapped up in his little mental rant about his sensitivity, he doesn’t see it happening. He does, however, feel the pain that shoots up his hip as he bumps into the corner of a table, and he does, however, hear the whooshing of the glass vase as it tumbles to its demise. It shatters brilliantly with a loud crashing noise, and Seokjin only has time to glare at the shattered glass for a second, before a decidedly loud and disgruntled voice shatters the blissful silence once again.
“Honestly, what the fuck, it’s…eight in the fucking morning, can’t a man sleep?!”
Seokjin jumps about three feet into the air, letting out a small squeak of terror, as his hand flies automatically to his chest.
“Sorry!” He automatically gasps.
Seokjin frowns. Wait, why is he apologising, when it’s his café? Seokjin can feel himself bristling up and he bustles over to the groaning boy angrily, crouching down so that he’s eye-level with the boy lying on the floor.
“Hold up a second. This is my café!” Seokjin says indignantly. The boy cracks open an eye, looking at Seokjin with so much confusion that Seokjin’s annoyance deflates.
“What the…Yoongi hyung? What’s happening? Yoongi hyung, come take me home, seriously, I feel like someone’s drilling my head,” The boy whimpers pitifully. Seokjin’s heart swells at the piteous snivelling, and he resists the urge to pat the boy’s head.
“Yoongi hyung…isn’t here,” Seokjin says slowly. “Are you okay?”
“Okay? Okay? Do I look okay to you? Honestly, I feel like shit,” The boy says, and Seokjin’s sympathy shrivels up as fast as it appeared. The boy doesn’t seem to notice Seokjin’s darkening expression. “Seriously. Yoongi hyung was supposed to stay sober, and he was supposed to take care of Hoseok and me. I remember – I said specifically ‘hyung, don’t drink American liquor. It’s liquefied death’, but he just fixed me with a look and said ‘Namjoon, does it look like I give a shit?’ and since he’s older I couldn’t say anything, you know?”
Seokjin tries to interrupt, to tell him ‘hey, can we take this extremely interesting and stimulating conversation…sitting down? At one of the lovely tables in my café?’ but the boy – Namjoon – continues his rant without any signs of stopping.
“And honestly, Hoseok seems like the type to get wasted off one shot, but boy was I fucking wrong. He downed six shots – six shots – and was only tipsy. And then he was giving me shit for not being able to handle American liquor, and so I said ‘fuck it. Hoseok, pass me the Jack Daniels’ and that’s the last thing I remember. And now, instead of being in my bed like I should be, I’m on the floor of god knows where, under a table while I’m being interrogated by someone who looks like a gift sent by the gods themselves. So to answer your question, no, I am not okay.”
Seokjin’s equal parts flattered, annoyed, and alarmed. He’s still annoyed at the fact that Namjoon is being extremely rude to him (but he partially forgives him, because he sounds super hungover), but he’s flattered at the compliment that’s thrown at him amongst all the swearing and anger. However, he’s mildly alarmed at the tears sliding down the boy’s face as he rants on and on about the allusive Yoongi hyung and Hoseok, the two people who seem to be the butt of the boy’s anger.
“Are you crying?”
“Me? Crying?” The incredulous tone Namjoon takes on is almost insulting. “Actually, I happen to be allergic to capitalist jerks like you that don’t let me sleep under tables, and it just so happens that I shed water from my eyes when they come near me, so if you don’t mind…”
To Seokjin’s utter disbelief, Namjoon curls up on the floor again, his eyes fluttering shut. Seokjin stands up, unsure of what to do, before hesitantly tapping him once more with his broom.
“You can’t sleep here,” Seokjin says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. Namjoon makes an irritated noise, and Seokjin is not amused in the slightest.
“Why can’t I sleep here? The concept of a home is a social construct made by capitalism to make us feel like we need a house to feel secure, and I’m not buying into that and becoming a slave to the economy.”
“…Are you homeless?”
“God, no,” Namjoon scoffs and Seokjin represses the urge to whack him over the head with his broom. “I never said I wasn’t a slave to social constructs, did I? As much as I’d like to believe that I don’t, the best thing I do that goes against the social constructs is spit out sick rhymes that could put you in hospital for the rest of your life.”
“But…But you just said that you weren’t buying into th– ”
Namjoon cuts him off with a groan. He sits up, stretching massively. He manages to claw himself into a standing position (using a flustered Seokjin), and he manages to heave himself into a chair with another tremendous groan. Namjoon appraises the café around him, before his eyes land on Seokjin. He squints in Seokjin’s general direction.
“Coffee?”
“C-coffee?” Seokjin’s head is reeling from the topic change.
“Yeah. This is a café, isn’t it?” Namjoon waves his hand around the café.
“I – yeah, I mean, I guess?” Seokjin inwardly smacks himself. He guesses this is a café? He tries to fix up his mistake. “Sure, what can I get for you?”
“Could I have an Americano? Thanks, Seokjin-ssi.”
“I-what? How do you know my name?” Seokjin warily asks him, bringing the broom up protectively near his chest, as if to ward off the hungover boy in case he tries to attack Seokjin and tarnish his virtue.
Namjoon smirks and Seokjin has to physically restrain himself from swooning, ‘cause oh dear Lord if that isn’t the sexiest smirk he’s seen in his life then Seokjin’s probably kidding himself. Namjoon nods at his chest and Seokjin looks down at his chest, where his nametag glints dully.
“Oh.”
Oh yes, Seokjin. So eloquent. (He can almost hear Jimin snickering in the background). He looks up at Namjoon, grinning sheepishly. Seokjin’s rewarded with the most intense stare ever, Namjoon’s eyes boring holes into Seokjin’s eyes in a way that’s equal parts sexy and intimidating. He gulps audibly, before breaking the eye-contact and mumbling something about making his coffee. He all but runs to the counter, hiding behind the coffee machine. As Seokjin starts assembling the ingredients for his coffee, he scolds himself for being so flustered. Kim SM-Scouted Seokjin. Kim SM-Scouted Seokjin. He chants to himself.
“Ugh.”
Seokjin peeks over the coffee machine. Namjoon’s slumped in a chair, massaging his head slowly.
“My mouth taste like ass. I feel like dying.”
“Your Americano’s nearly done, hang in there,” Seokjin encourages, before mentally patting himself on the back at the steadiness of his voice.
“Does it even matter? We’re just fucking born to die, aren’t we? Besides, what is death? Release from eternal suffering? Or even more suffering? Death is just a concept, isn’t it? People try to label death, but it’s essentially impossible for humans to label death and come up with a concrete definition. “
“I-I…guess?” Seokjin is pretty sure that he can safely say that he’s never been so flustered by such a cute a-hole before. Seokjin takes a deep breath, before walking over to Korean Drake and handing him his Americano. He sits down on the chair opposite to him.
“How much do I owe you?” Namjoon asks, sighing with satisfaction as he sips his coffee.
Seokjin shrugs, a small smile gracing his features. “On the house.”
Namjoon frowns and opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Jimin swinging into the café, laughing gleefully into the phone. Seokjin’s not really sure whether he’s grateful or annoyed at the interruption. Jimin, so wrapped up in his phone call doesn’t seem to notice Seokjin or Namjoon.
“That is absolutely brilliant. Your professor made you yodel in front of your entire lecture class? God, Jeongguk, that is fucking gold. I think I might to have send your professor some flowers,” Jimin manages to wheeze out between laughs. “Seriously, I would pay to see that. Too-cool-for-anything Jeon Jeongguk fucking yodelling. Poor Jeonggukkie, no one is going to want you anymo—”
“OI ASSHOLE. I GET THAT WE’RE ALL BORN TO DIE BUT JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ON A POGO STICK, WILL YOU FUCKING KEEP IT DOWN; I FEEL LIKE MY HEAD IS ABOUT TO SPLIT OPEN.”
Jimin jumps about twelve feet into the air, whipping around with a high-pitched scream that rivals the sound of a dog-whistle. Jimin catches sight of an apologetic Seokjin and a not-so-apologetic Namjoon, his eyes darting between the two of them.
“Sorry!” Jimin squeaks, before high-tailing it into the kitchen, leaping over the shattered glass with the grace of a baby gazelle.
Seokjin sighs and turns to Namjoon, giving him what Taehyung calls the look. (It mostly consists of Seokjin cocking his head to the side slightly while looking disappointed). Namjoon has the grace to look abashed, shrugging sheepishly, the promise of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Sorry. I’m sort of an asshole when I’m hungover.” Namjoon starts laughing. It’s a nice look, Seokjin thinks. “But did you see the look on the boy’s face? You’ll have to tell him I’m sorry, he looked like he shat himself.”
Seokjin tries to suppress the laugh threatening to bubble over, but he thinks of Jimin’s puppy-face contorted into a terrified expression and he can’t help the burst of laughter that tumbles past his lips.
“Oh my god, the poor kid. I’m going to have to give him a salary raise, honestly.”
Seokjin makes the mistake of looking down at his watch, and nearly falls out of his chair in shock. “Oh my god, the café’s meant to open in ten minutes! I-I-I—”
Seokjin thinks he might faint from all the blood rushing to his head as he leaps up (it definitely isn’t the amused grin Namjoon is sporting. Seokjin is a man with dignity).
“I should probably go. Yoongi-hyung’s probably wondering where I am. Actually, probably not, but I should still get going. It was nice meeting you, Seokjin-ssi.”
“Hyung. Call me hyung.”
Namjoon looks surprised for a minute, before his face breaks out into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Okay. See you around, hyung.”
Seokjin watches Namjoon as he traipses out of the café, before scrambling to look at the napkin that Namjoon was doodling on before, and nearly squeals at the messy scrawl of numbers on the napkin. He squints to make out the nearly illegible handwriting below.
Thanks for letting me sleep under your table. I might’ve said I was allergic to capitalist jerks, but if they’re as cute as you are, I’m willing to suffer the consequences ;)
Seokjin makes a strange noise that’s somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, turning to a curious – albeit terrified – Jimin.
“What a smooth motherfucker.”
-
(“Jimin, seriously, my aesthetic.”
“Jimin-hyung, you absolute brat. And who cares? It’s not like you were the only person who had to do it. Heaps of other people had to do it.”
“Yeah, but I was the only relevant person who had to do it. Like seriously, I don’t expect you to understand because your aesthetic is being small and cute, but I have an aesthetic to uphold! There were people who were laughing at me! Laughing! At me! Like, do they not know who I am? I’m Jeon Jeongguk!”
“Oh my god, you’re literally such an asshole.”
“Jiiiiimmmmiiin. I’m known for being hot, that’s what my aesthetic is! I’m hot, aren’t I hyung? Tell me I’m hot. Yodelling makes me feel significantly less hot. Can you do that thing where you make an acrostic poem out of my name, labelling all the hot things about me?”
“Jimin? Hello? Are you fucking kidding me Park Jimin?! Did you seriously hang up on me, you little shit? Just wait until I get home, you’re fucking dead. No one hangs up on the Jeon Jeongguk.”)