Chapter Text
“Seokjin.”
Silence.
“Seokjin.”
Still nothing.
Yoongi kicked the nearest unopened box with his socked foot. “Kim Seokjin.”
From inside the kitchen, a very calm voice replied, “If you say my name one more time, Min Yoongi, I swear I will place you inside one of these cupboards and label you ‘seasoning.’”
“I am spicy,” Yoongi deadpanned, dragging another flattened bubble wrap across the floor. “Why do we even own so many pots? We don’t even boil things.”
“You don’t boil things. I cook,” Seokjin snapped, wrist flicking expertly as he arranged their mismatched collection of mugs by size, color, and emotional significance. “You eat like a cat burglar—quietly, suspiciously, and only under extreme duress.”
“I can’t believe I moved in with you again,” Yoongi muttered, squinting against the morning light pouring into the living room. “And there’s too much sunlight in this godforsaken place. I can feel my soul evaporating.”
“It’s called ‘natural lighting,’ Yoongi. Some people pay for this.”
“I pay to avoid it.”
Seokjin stepped out of the kitchen holding a wooden spoon like a weapon. “Okay, Dracula. Go close the curtains if you hate the sun so much.”
Yoongi, already shuffling toward the blinds, grumbled, “They don’t close. You bought the aesthetic kind.”
“Because they’re linen. And they’re pretty.”
“They’re useless, Seokjin.”
Before Seokjin could launch into a monologue about form versus function, there was a loud knock on the door. Or rather, a rhythm: knock knock-knock knock knock-knock! Like someone beatboxing with their fist.
Yoongi froze. “That’s either someone delivering judgment or a very enthusiastic Jehovah’s Witness.”
“Don’t be rude,” Seokjin said, smoothing his shirt and heading for the door.
He opened it.
And got blinded by sunshine and pastel colors.
“HELLOOOOOOO!” said two voices at once.
Standing in front of them were two men: one with honey-brown hair and a grin so wide it looked like it might dislocate his jaw, the other a few inches shorter, wearing a peach cardigan and the brightest eyes known to mankind.
“We’re your neighbors from 402!” the taller one beamed. “I’m Hoseok and this is my boyfriend, Jimin!”
“Hi hi hi!” Jimin waved, then leaned into Hoseok. “Oh my god, they are cute.”
“I told you! Look at them! One’s grumpy and the other is gorgeous. I’m crying.”
Yoongi blinked.
Seokjin blinked slowly, holding the door open, wondering what exactly was happening.
“We brought a moving-in gift!” Hoseok said cheerfully. “It’s ramen, fruit snacks, a candle, and one (1) tea bag I really liked. It’s symbolic.”
“Also,” Jimin leaned in with a stage-whisper, “we didn’t know what you liked so we panic-bought.”
“Thank you…?” Seokjin replied, still processing.
Yoongi appeared behind him, arms crossed. “Do you usually ambush your neighbors this early?”
“Absolutely!” Hoseok nodded. “We’re very emotionally available. It’s upsetting to some.”
“Like our landlord,” Jimin added brightly.
Seokjin couldn’t help a smile. “You two are… a lot.”
“We get that a lot.” Hoseok clapped. “Isn’t it amazing? We run a dance school! So we’re basically fueled by caffeine and delusion!”
“I’m mostly just delusional,” Jimin added brightly.
Seokjin cracked a smile. “You two are… loud.”
“Thank you!” they both chorused.
Yoongi slowly turned to Seokjin. “I don’t think this building is soundproof.”
“I hope it’s earthquake-proof because they’re going to knock this entire floor down.”
Seokjin cleared his throat politely. “We’re actually still unpacking—”
“PERFECT,” Hoseok handed the basket over, "Dinner at ours tonight. We already set four plates, so no excuses. Again, we’re from 402. Come hungry.”
“We’ll cook,” Jimin promised, then added, “unless you’re allergic to spice, shellfish, soy, or commitment.”
Yoongi nodded slowly. “Only to small talk.”
“Oh! You’ll love us then,” Hoseok grinned. “We don’t do small talk. We do dramatic reenactments and gossip.”
“See you tonight!” Jimin chirped as they waved and backed into the hallway.
Once the door shut, Seokjin turned to Yoongi. “I’m scared.”
Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temple. “They’re going to talk too much and we’re going to end up caring about them, aren’t we?”
“Probably.”
“I already hate it.”
Back in 402...
Hoseok dropped on their sofa, “OH. MY. GOD.”
Jimin was already vibrating. “They’re totally a couple, right?”
“Absolutely. You saw the way he stepped behind him like a human wall when you leaned in too close?”
“Yoongi gives off ‘touch my man and I’ll destroy you’ vibes,” Jimin gasped.
“And Seokjin looks like he alphabetizes the spice rack but also calls Yoongi ‘baby’ when no one’s looking.”
“Why does that sound accurate?!”
Hoseok dramatically flopped onto the couch. “We can finally have couple friends. Gay couple friends.”
“We can have double dates, Hobi. Do you realize what this means?”
“Matching costumes. Anniversary karaoke. Soft launch photos on Instagram where we can even pretend that we just randomly met up.’”
“Brunches with mimosas and silent eyerolls over each other’s drama.”
Hoseok squealed. “I’ve never felt more powerful in my life.”
Jimin’s eyes sparkled. “We cannot mess this up. We are going to be the best couple friends ever.”
Hoseok nodded firmly. “For the gays. For the culture.”
Later That Evening...
“You wore a turtleneck to dinner?” Seokjin said, eyeing Yoongi’s outfit.
“I want them to know I’m emotionally unavailable,” Yoongi replied.
Seokjin shrugged. “Too late. They’ve already branded us as soft.”
When they walked into 402, the scent of garlic bread and chili oil filled the room. The place was color-coded, organized chaos. There were LED lights under the counter, a couch full of mismatched throw pillows, and several pride flags poking out of a plant vase.
“WELCOME!” Jimin yelled, appearing in the hallway wearing a kitchen apron with a rainbow dinosaur.
“We made spaghetti,” Hoseok said proudly, waving his oven mitts like boxing gloves.
The food was surprisingly good. The conversation, even better.
Hoseok talked about how they’d been together for four years and had started their dance school after quitting their corporate jobs.
Jimin told stories about students falling during pirouettes and how he once performed with a dislocated shoulder. “Pain is temporary. Dance is forever.”
Seokjin and Yoongi mostly listened. They sat close, trading bites from each other’s plates. Yoongi rolled his eyes every time Seokjin said something dramatic, and Seokjin rolled his eyes every time Yoongi mumbled something sarcastic. But their hands stayed close, their knees touching under the table.
By the end of the night, Seokjin was helping Jimin wash the dishes, and Yoongi was squinting at Hoseok’s vinyl collection.
“Okay, not bad,” Yoongi admitted, pulling out a record. “You have taste.”
“I know,” Hoseok said, winking. “That’s why we adopted you guys.”
“We’re older than you.”
“And yet you give such dad vibes. It’s adorable.”
From the kitchen, Jimin shouted, “We’re totally doing matching Christmas sweaters this year!”
“Don’t threaten me,” Yoongi called back.
Seokjin laughed; head tilted toward the ceiling. “God, what have we gotten ourselves into?”
Yoongi looked at him fondly, chin propped on his hand.
“Possibly, a very loud second family,” he said.