Work Text:
It doesn't take Yoongi long to figure out that today just isn't his day. Also, that it's fucking bullshit .
It's Tuesday, for one thing, which is quite frankly unacceptable. Tuesday. Who the hell let it be Tuesday? Not Min Yoongi, who has come to pride himself on his fair decision making skills and forward thinking, and who in no universe would have ever made it a goddamn Tuesday . It's kind of insulting, really, that such a concept exists in the first place.
For another thing, his coffee machine is broken. His coffee machine. Is broken . Never has man suffered an equal trial as this. For the sake of not overcomplicating things in these trying times, he blames whatever asshole made it a fucking Tuesday. (It doesn't matter if he is probably responsible for this one. Shut up.)
For a third thing, Yoongi is running late. The coffee thing is definitely to blame, but whether it's because Yoongi doesn't function as quickly without coffee or because he spent several minutes trying to fix the coffee machine, purely metaphorical tears in his eyes, he's not sure. He does know that when he finally hits the road he just misses a light, and then another, and shit , he doesn't have enough time or energy for this today.
Not today of all days, when, for a fourth thing, there's a godforsaken staff meeting. An infamous 9 am Tuesday staff meeting, to be exact, the obnoxious kind with obnoxious people who close and lock the door after five goddamn minutes and don't even consider opening it unless the entire damn building catches fire. It’s also the kind of 9 am Tuesday staff meeting where he actually gets to bring everything he's been working so hard on to the table, the kind that he really, really can't miss if he has any hope at all of becoming more than a junior sales analyst by the end of this year.
(He does have this hope, by the way. Or he did, at least. Fuck you, Mr. Tuesday.)
So when he finally does get to work at 9:02 am on this abhorrent Tuesday morning, he really just wants to get some coffee and bury himself so deeply in this meeting and then in his work that he can no longer remember his own name until he gets home. That's not a ton to ask, right? That's reasonable. As he runs up the stairs instead of taking the elevator like a normal person, he figures life should give him something for his effort and just let him do his job.
Yoongi checks his watch. 9:04. He can do this, he can totally get into the conference room in the next sixty seconds so he can drop this stupidly heavy work bag and get Seokjin's assistant to get him a cup of coffee and he can wake up emotionally in eight hours and try to break his writer's block and tomorrow will be Wednesday which is halfway to the weekend, at least, so things will be better. He's looking like a dumbass running down the condescendingly professional hallways of his building but who gives a shit, because tomorrow, things will be better.
At least, things can't possibly get any worse.
He rounds a corner, passes the security desk. He can see the conference room door, still open a crack, and he's so close, so close he can practically taste it--
"Min Yoongi." But of course, today of all days, of all days, security has to try and stop him.
"Sorry, Namjoon-ah," he says, walking backward and trying his absolute hardest to communicate the incredible urgency of the situation. He wants his coffee, damn it. "Running really late, can't talk-"
"Yoongi-hyung, this can't wait."
"It's gonna have to, Namjoon-"
"Min Yoongi, I have a warrant for your arrest."
Yoongi stops just for a second as the words try and miserably fail to register in his mind. His hand is a centimeter from the doorknob, but it's too late; it clicks shut and locks.
Fuck.
"Namjoon-ah, if you arrest me," he starts, eyes downcast as he tries desperately to work up some will to continue living, "can I at least get a cup of coffee?"
Yoongi hasn't been down to the police station in... Long enough to be proud of, really, considering that no junior sales analyst has ever stepped into a police station for a good reason in the history of junior sales analysis. Not much has really changed, though. It's still a big ugly building that smells vaguely of drugs and cleaning supplies and desperation, his own included.
Stupid useless Namjoon. What exactly is the purpose of being friends with security if they won't even give you coffee when they arrest you for doing nothing? He must have killed someone in a previous life to deserve this.
Not that it would explain why he's here, now, today, in this life, sitting in a holding room after questioning. Stealing spray paint and junk food. Does he look 17? What grown man with a car and a job and an apartment and a stupid useless security guard for a friend steals 150,000 won worth of spray paint and junk food? And then tags a wall?
He's only a suspect, they say. If he has an alibi, it would go a long way, they say. Especially considering his fucking fingerprints are on the cans that the dumbass left in the alley, so that narrows it down pretty certainly to either him or-
Or that guy. Or that kid, rather, in the adjacent room, standing with his back toward the clear glass wall of the holding room. That kid who Yoongi has never seen before but who, for reasons he can't quite identify, has Yoongi about 120% sure he's watching his soulmate.
Watching him get arrested , because the asshole shoplifted and tagged a wall and ruined Yoongi's day. His first thought on the matter after the initial shock wears off is simply you little shit.
And that's exactly what he is, a little shit, a fucking teenager , and suddenly it makes sense that he tagged a wall. He's still a stupid teenager doing stupid teenager shit. And, okay, a big part of Yoongi can't blame him for that- maybe for the magnitude, because 150,000 won? Really?- but that doesn't take away from the fact that Yoongi is a) divinely bound to a teenager like some sort of cosmically sanctioned predator, b) stuck with this little shit for a soulmate who has somehow managed to ruin a day that was already at rock bottom, c) somehow unable to be totally angry at this stupid teenager even though he is, in general, d) really, really pissed.
His soulmate. Shit.
Why this morning? Had he asked for this? No. No, he had not. He had been perfectly fine living his life as a junior sales analyst and assuming coffee has the same thinly swirling fingerprints as him. He's an adult and he's busy and responsible and really, really cranky at the moment and in general really disinterested in the idea of meeting his supposed divine match in the middle of a police station. There's a reason he hasn't looked into one of those sappy fingerprint matching services already, and it's because he doesn't want this. Not this, not now, not ever, no thank you.
But today isn't his day, so it doesn't matter what he wants. What matters is that he's here, now, watching his ridiculous teenage soulmate be taken in by the police even though he's just a kid making some stupid choices.
Apparently Yoongi's pretty deep in his thoughts, because he doesn't hear that the door open or the cop step in or sit down or really exist at all until she says, "Looks like it's your first time."
"What?" Yoongi says, not sounding nearly as biting as he'd really like to.
She looks patient and kind of sad. He grimaces under her obvious pity, but lets her speak. "He shares your fingerprints. It's a shame you have to meet under these circumstances, but it happens pretty often around here."
"He hasn't confessed, has he?" Yoongi asks, an attempt to change the conversation and satiate his own curiosity. This already feels sappy and gross and he didn't ask for this, damn it.
The officer shakes her head. "It's a shame. If he confesses, he'll probably get a lighter sentence."
Jesus Christ, it was shoplifting, not a hostage situation. "I didn't realize this was this serious an offense," he says, staring off at the back of the kid's head.
"It's multiple offenses," the officer says. "Shoplifting, trespassing, vandalism. And they all took place after midnight. They wouldn't be the first mark on his record, but they would be his first as an adult." Yoongi hadn't realized he's a full adult. The number 19 is vaguely, vaguely comforting to him, until he realizes the legal implications. "If he confesses right now, he'd probably only get thirty days and a fine."
God damn this kid, daring, daring to show up on this of all days. Daring to have this asinine law-breaking streak that Yoongi somehow can’t manage to blame him for. Daring to have some godforsaken biological connection Yoongi always denied believing in until now (though he really, really believes it now, much to his own resentment).
God damn this stupid fucking soulmate kid , daring to make Yoongi care, just a little, about his wellbeing. Daring to make Yoongi want to make this all disappear as quickly and painlessly as possible. Daring to make Yoongi consider being almost as stupid as him.
"And if I confess right now?"
The officer is saying something, but Yoongi doesn't hear because his little shit of a soulmate dares to stand up and turn around and show his face, and Yoongi stops considering.
It's already pretty far into the afternoon by the time Yoongi gets out of police custody. Really, he should consider himself lucky the convenient store owner was so reasonable. He just has to pay for the paint and the food and cover up the graffiti and, in her words, "be more careful in the future." (Yoongi has a feeling she picked up on the whole responsible soul with rebellious soulmate dynamic and gave him a break out of pity or romanticism or something. It's kind of disgusting, but he learned long ago not to look gift freedom in its dumb condescending mouth.)
It's already pretty late afternoon by the time Yoongi gets out of police custody, but that kid is still here, leaning in angst against a wall in the station lobby.
And Yoongi really isn’t prepared for this. Maybe it's because he just spent six hours in police custody, or because he didn't make it to a painfully important meeting by a fraction of a second, or because, generally, he's having the worst day of his life. Whatever the reason, he's basically just entirely not ready for this day to get any weirder or longer or more complicated or more difficult. And for the record, he still hasn't gotten a cup of coffee. Still, after all this time. Unbelievable.
But the kid is here, the very concept of him ready to confront Yoongi (or, more likely, to hit him with the full force of an oncoming train) regardless of his own readiness.
Yoongi ponders his options. He could... Just kinda stand here, at least until the kid says something. He's been waiting for Yoongi, so he must have something to say, right? But, God, does he even want to hear it at this point? It, anything, anything at all from this stupid kid? Then again, he could always just walk away and pretend he didn't even see the kid or know that any of this happened. He could just go on with his life. He should just go on with his life.
He should just go on with his life, but this kid has been waiting for him and okay, they're soulmates and that means something he doesn't understand and doesn't like but definitely cannot ignore. He can feel what he has to do, somewhere in the back of his head or maybe in his gut or very possibly in his stupid fingertips which he plans to cut off as soon as he makes it home, if he ever makes it home.
Today is not his day, and he realizes that not only does he have very little choice as to what actually comes next, but whatever choice he does make will, inevitably, fuck him over. He might as well take the option that gives him the most control so he can almost kinda maybe steer this in a not-terrible direction.
Yoongi strolls over, grabs the kid by the arm, and says, "Let's go."
Yeah, okay, he probably could have come off less predatory. But this kid's a dumbass ( his dumbass, disgustingly enough) anyway, so what does it matter?
The kid starts to tear himself away, grunting some resistance, until he catches a look at Yoongi's face. Yoongi actually feels his muscles relax as he goes still. His eyes stay hostile, though, which is not at all unexpected considering this kid is a ball of hormonal angst. The kid starts, "Oh. You're-"
"Min Yoongi, the guy who just saved your ass. Come on."
The kid goes solid, too stable to be pulled. "Good. We need to set a couple things straight-”
"Stop," Yoongi says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Just stop. I’ve just spent six hours in this damn police station, I’m not hanging around to talk to you. C’mon.”
The kid frowns, but lets Yoongi drag him out into the parking lot. “Where are we going?” he asks, but for the most part, he’s actually almost cooperating. God is real, and for once he’s not even laughing at Yoongi’s expense.
All Yoongi says is, “Coffee,” before he pulls out his phone to call a cab.
When one is undergoing hypothermia, their extremities begin to shut off so that the body can “focus its attention” on more necessary core processes: keeping blood flowing, keeping lungs pumping, keeping neurons firing. In a similar fashion, Yoongi doesn’t bother to try to talk or work things out or even really think at all over the next few minutes, as he is in a time of need and all of his attention is dedicated to dealing with the most pressing matters of survival.
When his metaphorical limbs regain feeling and his mind works well enough to process the present moment, it’s because he finally, finally has a cup of coffee in his hand. It’s a damn near religious experience.
“What’s wrong with you?" The kid asks, sounding kind of disgusted.
When Yoongi reopens his eyes (apparently having closed them in ecstasy? He’d really, really, really needed this), there are two coffees still on the table and some of those shitty coffee shop pastries on paper plates. And the kid's grumbling at him. Great.
“What?” Yoongi ask, but it feels dumb to use his mouth for anything other than drinking coffee so he leaves the question at that and goes back to the single most gratifying experience of his life.
“You look like you’re jizzing your pants. Over coffee,” he says, nose wrinkling in obvious disdain. Which is kinda funny, because they have the same fingerprint and statistics show that 96% of couples with the same fingerprint end up having sex at least once in their lifetime, and because Yoongi once again has energy enough to understand the concept of irony. Hah.
"I really needed some coffee, kid,” Yoongi says, feeling slightly more alive and slightly more comfortable with every sip. It’s magical, really.
The kid grunts, “Don’t call me kid,” and looks down at his coffee. Which is actually labeled ‘cocoa’, now that Yoongi looks at it. He had the good sense not to give the little brat caffeine. Min Yoongi, a genius even while dying of withdrawal.
“Alright, then tell me your name, and we can have a conversation like adults.”
He visibly tenses, like Yoongi’s threatened him, and mutters, “Jungkook,” to the table. And he has the nerve to ask Yoongi what’s wrong with him.
Jungkook. He’s pretty cute, actually. Yoongi hadn’t really noticed until now but he’s definitely cute in a boyish kinda way. He’d probably be even cuter if he weren’t glaring and hissing and being difficult.
Yoongi finishes his cup of coffee and moves onto another, contemplating how much he loves his decision making skills and forward thinking. Even with half a mind he knew to buy himself two cups. He’s dolphin among jellyfish. (Or something.) (Give him a second, the caffeine hasn’t fully kicked in yet.) (Also, shut up. Don’t question his genius.)
Yoongi doesn’t pay much attention to the little pastries he bought, but Jungkook does. In fact, Jungkook seems more interested in them than in the cocoa, though he’s very clearly and unsuccessfully trying to appear disinterested. He only takes full sized bites when Yoongi raises his cup to his lips and makes like he’s going to close his eyes. Huh.
Yoongi’s glad he’s eating them, however weirdly, because he looks like a pretty small kid. Well, not small, really. He’s notably taller than Yoongi and he’s got a little musculature here and there, but he’s kinda… sickly looking, or something. He’s really pale, and his eyes are kind of sunken in and he’s weirdly skinny. Kinda like his body is fighting a war between being thin and frail, and fit with lean muscle. At first glance, he’s pretty damn good looking, but at second glance-
“Would you stop staring at me, ahjussi?” Jungkook asks, cheeks tinted the tiniest bit pink again as he takes a small sip of his cocoa and fiddles with the paper of a mini croissant.
“Christ, I’m 22, Jungkook-ah. Call me hyung.”
“Are you almost done having a loving reunion with your coffee?” he says, his voice lacking bite. He looks really tired, Yoongi realizes. God, he hasn't looked like this all day without Yoongi noticing, has he? Not this bad, at least? No, no, because he looks like he used up all of his energy and now he needs rest before he can raise his guards again. It’s not surprising, really; adrenaline doesn’t last forever, and if Yoongi felt anything like Jungkook looks, he might fall over dead right then and there.
“Yeah, fine. There was something you wanted to talk about?” Yoongi asks, because he really does want to get somewhere with this kid. He’s not sure where- hell, he’s not sure where they are to begin with, this whole situation is so damn weird - but this isn’t something he should ignore.
Maybe it’s not something he wants to ignore.
Well, some of him does. There’s still that part that regrets stepping in already and just wants to get up and leave and forget any of this ever happened and returned to his life, his regular normal life full of patterns he understands, even if he doesn’t like them. This kid’s just some punk who’s ruined his day long enough and he should just cut his losses and end this.
But a bigger part of him than he could have expected knows that this is something important, something unique. Something he should try his damnedest to make right (whatever that means, stupid poetic-y soul-y bullshit), for his own sake and for Jungkook’s. It’s weird and uncomfortable and he doesn’t feel like himself, but this kid is his soulmate and maybe that’s something bigger than him, so fuck it, he’s just going to go with it.
He’s had his caffeine and taken a deep breath and he’s ready to work out a bit of a future with this Jungkook.
Yoongi’s soulmate stops and starts several times, stuttering out clips of, “We-” and “I don’t think-” before he finally says, “I want to forget any of this ever happened.”
Well, shit.
“What?”
“I don’t know why you took the blame at that police station. I’m not your responsibility,” Jungkook says, words tumbling out of his mouth hard and fast. “We don’t really have anything to do with each other, and I think it would be best for things to stay that way.”
Yoongi’s voice is low and bitter as he says to the little shit who ruined his day, “I saved your ass, and you thank me by telling me you don’t want anything to do with me?”
Jungkook bites his lip, avoids eye contact. The punk can’t own up to what he’s saying, even as he bites out, “I didn’t ask you to save my ass. I didn’t ask anything of you. I didn’t want anything from you. So just, please, just…”
“Just what?”
“Just butt out of my life.” This mother fucking- “I’m not ready, okay? I didn’t ask for you to show up and I’m sorry that I made you, I didn’t mean to, and I’m just not ready.”
Jungkook’s red in the face, speaking quickly and quietly down into his hands and looking much younger than he has all day and-
Oh .
Well that’s something very different from being a little shit, then, isn’t it.
Yoongi takes a deep breath. Counts to ten. Sips his coffee. Jungkook’s not ready.
“Not ready for what? I didn’t ask anything of you, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says, voice slow and as calm as he can make it. Which isn’t very, but he tries.
“I don’t know. Anything. I just want to go home.”
That’s… it sucks. It sucks a lot, but it’s considerably less infuriating than butt out of my life . It’s just like Yoongi’d thought. He’s a stupid teenager doing (and saying) stupid teenager things. He’s just a kid who wants to go home.
Yoongi can’t blame him for that. He doesn’t even try. He tosses aside the part of him that’s screaming at him to- to do what? To take this stranger’s (his soulmate’s) hand and make everything alright? Like his mediocre life is going to somehow help this delinquent kid?
Whatever. He’ll just do like he planned originally: cut his losses and mind his own business.
“Alright,” he says, grabbing some trash from around the table and standing up. “Sorry to upset you. I’ll take you home.”
And that should be the end of it. That should be the conclusion to the epically stupid tale of Min Yoongi and Yoongi-Never-Asked-His-Surname Jungkook, starcrossed soulmates and perpetual victims of their own stupidity.
But today is not Min Yoongi’s day, so of course it’s fucking not .
Jungkook looks nothing but tired when he drags himself out of the cab and waits for Yoongi to pay the fare. When Yoongi unlocks his car in the parking lot of his office building, Jungkook doesn’t say a word. He just gets in and sits and waits, as if telling Yoongi that this was over before it started took the last bit of energy left within him.
Which is fine. It makes sense. If this is the last they’re going to see of each other, there’s not much point in making conversation. Yoongi drives just as silently but a lot more conscious of everything.
He’s conscious enough, in fact, to notice when Jungkook falls asleep. It doesn’t take long. And that makes sense, too, because the kid had a long night and a long day and now he has a full stomach and Yoongi’d refused to give him caffeine. He’s next to his soulmate with no battles left to fight, so if he had any guard left after all that’s happened, it drops with his eyelids.
Yoongi just turns down the volume on his GPS and drives.
He’s not surprised when he finds himself navigating into the worse side of town. Jungkook looks like a kid from a rough life, all ripped jeans and old hoodie and wide eyes. He has a record of petty crimes and he downed those pastries like he was hiding the fact that he hadn’t eaten in a while and when he stole, he also stole fattening foods. Yoongi’d figured out that the kid didn’t come from wealth.
He’s a little surprised when he finds out just how bad this side of town is, though. It’s industrial, not cheap residential like he was expecting, with what he can only assume are gang signs sprayed onto walls and generally too much police tape and call him a rich snob, but a shiver runs up Yoongi’s back.
And then he sees it, and knows exactly what it is. Blending in with a sea of other tags on the side of an old warehouse, an alley away from a convenient store, Yoongi sees Boy Meets What in bright red spray paint and Yoongi knows with absolute certainty that the words are Jungkook’s.
Boy Meets What . Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?
Yoongi turns back to the road before him, drives a little further. His phone chimes at him that he’s reached his destination, but it’s still quiet so Jungkook doesn’t wake to realize that they’re here, stopped in front of an old train depot.
Jungkook’s still asleep after asking to be brought to an old train depot, and he looks sick and acts hungry and he left spray paint cans with his prints on them in alley where he wrote Boy Meets What. Maybe Yoongi knows exactly what it means, after all.
When they reach Yoongi’s apartment, Jungkook’s doesn’t wake up. After several moments of Yoongi staring at him, Jungkook still doesn’t wake up. And, after several minutes more of Yoongi reprimanding himself for staring at him (he was thinking , okay, about how to wake him), Jungkook still, still doesn’t wake up.
In fact, it takes Yoongi stepping quickly out of his seat into the evening air and cursing loudly when he hits his head on the door frame (which isn’t because he’s freaking out, it's because he’s… tall?) for Jungkook to wake up. His eyes flutter open, confusion blowing them huge, and he speaks quickly and in panic, “What’s going on? Where am I?”
“It’s alright, Jungkook-ah. We’re at my place,” Yoongi says, keeping his voice low and slow and as calming as he can manage.
Jungkook reels. His words come off more scared than angry or threatening, and something tightens painfully deep in Yoongi’s chest. “You were supposed to take me home.”
“You don’t have a home.”
Jungkook- he flinches, for one thing, grits his teeth and jerks a little, like the words physically sting. When he speaks again, he sounds almost resigned, despite the meaning of his words. “I told you, I don’t think we should have anything to do with each other.”
The pain in Yoongi’s chest worsens a little. “That was before I found out you have no place to go,” Yoongi says, and he briefly considers getting back in the car to sit beside Jungkook, but thinks better of it. “I’m going to make you some dinner, and then you can sleep on my couch.”
“I don’t want to-” Jungkook squeaks.
Yoongi cuts him off to say, “I don’t care what you want,” but Jungkook looks vaguely like he’s been shot, so Yoongi grimaces and sighs and backtracks. “I mean- I know it’s not what you want. But it’s better than sleeping on the street.”
“I wasn’t going to sleep on the street.”
“It’s better than getting arrested, too.” Jungkook freezes, avoids eye contact. “That’s what you were trying to do, right? Get arrested so you’d have food and shelter, because you’re adult now and have to fend for yourself?”
Either Jungkook is silent for a moment, or Yoongi’s imagination hits new levels of dramatic. “You don't understand.”
“I don't care. I don’t have to understand to invite you in. Now are you coming or do I have to bring your food down here to the car?”
Yoongi thinks he may have gone too far when Jungkook bites his lip wordlessly, but after a few unsteady breaths he opens his door and climbs out of his seat.
In all fairness, Yoongi had zero idea he was going to have company today. And his apartment isn’t that messy. It’s just kind of, in disarray. A little. A little in disarray. “Sorry for the mess,” slips out of his mouth anyway. Jungkook doesn’t say anything as Yoongi flits around his suddenly claustrophobic apartment, snatching up plates and coffee mugs and magazines and tossing throw blankets and… whatever these gray pillows are (besides a useless housewarming gift from Seokjin) back onto the couch. “Make yourself comfortable,” he mutters, words feeling foreign and unnatural in his mouth. “I’m not really good with company.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m going to make dinner.”
“Okay.”
After that really deep and heartwarming exchange, Yoongi doesn’t bother keeping an eye on Jungkook. He has nothing worth hiding from a stranger (from his soulmate) and nothing valuable that isn’t too big to steal and locked in his studio, so he just sets to work cooking some rice and digs through his fridge for something more presentable than takeout leftovers. He doesn’t actually find anything, so but the kimchi is pretty fresh and Jungkook doesn’t see him throw out the containers, and that’s really close enough.
Yoongi fiddles around a little, waiting for the rice to finish. Gets a glass of water. Wipes down the counter. Glares at the ever-so-tauntingly busted coffee machine. Of course, that’s when Jungkook decides to wander in, when he’s giving technology the stink eye, but he doesn’t appear too phased. Just curious. “What’s wrong?”
“My coffee machine is broken,” Yoongi says simply, rubbing at the back of his neck. God, had his kitchen always been this small? It was a one bedroom apartment but, Jesus, he’s practically stepping on the kid’s toes.
“Can I take a look at it?” Jungkook says, quiet and unreadable.
“You want to try and fix my coffee machine?”
“Sure. Whatever, not if you don’t want me to.”
Yoongi shakes his head, incredulous. “Be my guest. Already doesn’t work, it’s not like you’ll break it worse.”
The rice cooker dings, and Yoongi prepares the plates as best he can, trying desperately to remember the last time Namjoon had dragged him to dinner someplace nice. It’s been months since then, and he hadn’t paid as much attention to the presentation of the food so much as to the food itself, but, damn it, he’s trying his best.
Just as he sets the plates down on the shitty table in the corner and turns back to get chopsticks, he hears a familiar chime, click, and whir.
Jungkook looks over at him, eyes wide (again? still?), as Yoongi freezes and says breathlessly, “Did you just fix my coffee machine?”
“I think so. Why are you looking at me like that?”
Suddenly this whole soulmate thing makes a lot of sense, after all.
Dinner is quiet. And a little awkward, maybe. Jungkook eats his food quickly and keeps his eyes on it, like it might be taken from him at any time. Yoongi watches him like he might disappear.
When someone finally does speak, it’s Jungkook, with a full mouth and a vague motion to a door across the room. “What’s in there?”
“That’s my studio,” Yoongi says without hesitation, because these are some of his last moments with his soulmate, so what does he have to lose? Maybe the kid will learn something. Let him see what he’ll be missing in the adult life Yoongi’s built for himself. What he could still maybe have someday, if he ever changes his mind.
“What kind of studio?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide as they finally flick up from his plate. Actually, they might just always look like that, like a deer perpetually caught in Yoongi’s headlights.
“I write, record, and produce music. Hip hop, mostly.”
“I thought you worked in that big office building.”
“It’s called a day job, Jungkook-ah. Why do you think I drink so much coffee? I can only work on it at night.”
“Then why do you do it?”
Would it be too corny and preachy and all other things unacceptable to teenagers to look Jungkook in the eye and just say passion ? “It’s what I love. My job pays the bills, but music is what I do.”
“Are you not good?”
Yoongi nearly impales himself with his chopsticks. “ What ?”
By now, Jungkook’s staring back down at his food, so Yoongi can’t really see his expression. “You haven’t made it as a professional. Is your stuff any good?”
He definitely doesn’t need to know how long it’s been since Yoongi created something he was really happy with, really proud of, something worth putting into the world. “It’s alright,” he says, even though he knows it’s a hell of a lot better than alright when it’s at its peak. “I haven’t had much time to work on it recently. I was hoping to get a promotion that would hold my pay but cut back my hours so I can do more.” So much for that.
When Jungkook just nods down towards his food, Yoongi bites out without thinking, “You do know that adults can be passionate, right? Growing up doesn’t mean not being alive.”
Jungkook takes his last bite and swallows before saying, “I guess so. I don’t think it’s the same, though.”
He sits there, underfed and dirty and tired, with fire and fight in his eyes and more going on behind them than Yoongi cares to guess. Young as he is, Yoongi suddenly feels disconnected, as though he hasn’t been a kid in a very long time. “Maybe not,” he hums, “but it’s all we have, too.”
It’s not very late, but it’s been a long day, and Jungkook still looks exhausted, so Yoongi figures they should wrap the evening up before anything has the chance to get any worse. (No, not worse, really. Just… any more ). He offers his shower like a good host, and Jungkook looks for a moment like he’s been given mercy by a malevolent god. Yoongi doesn’t ask how long it’s been since he’s showered. He just offers him clothes which Jungkook refuses (which is good, they’d be too small and it would be embarrassing for both of them) and watches him scuttle into the bathroom.
Yoongi's not new to music by any stretch of the imagination. It's always been there for him, and he's always been there trying to give it right back unto the world. From his mother singing him lullabies before he was even born to the nursery songs of his childhood to the classical he'd learned to play on piano and listened to as he studied in middle school to the bitter, dirty hip hop he heard and spat in alleyways in high school, he’s always been involved with music. Always. He's heard thousands of singers in those years of music, from pop idols to choir members to strangers humming faintly on the street.
But, damn it, he's never heard a voice quite like Still-Waiting-On-That-Surname Jungkook’s as it echoes richly in the shower and through the bathroom walls.
Stupid fucking soulmate, being all cute and fixing his coffee machine and having the most beautiful singing voice and wanting nothing to do with him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The more time they spend together, the more slighted Yoongi feels.
But Jungkook acted as if he hadn't showered in weeks, and now he’s showering and feeling good enough to sing quietly to himself so maybe this is enough, right? Maybe this is worth it to do that for someone who desperately needed it.
Yoongi’s not entirely convinced, but apparently he’s the adult here (and when the hell did that happen, anyway?), so he stops questioning and leans a little closer into his bedroom wall adjacent the bathroom and just listens.
He’s singing some song in English that Yoongi doesn’t recognize, something sweet and kinda sad. It’s too quiet, to the point that Yoongi can’t really hear it at all under the pour of the tap when Jungkook gets too breathy, but it’s still beautiful and captivating and very quickly all he can think about as his apartment and this dirty town and the world fades away around him.
The tap shuts off, and all too quickly, that singing ends. The Earth starts turning again, and Yoongi stands, feeling different, to rifle through his closet for extra blankets. It’s the right thing to do; Jungkook looks better showered, but still a little sick and tired and miserable.
“Just get some rest,” Yoongi says as Jungkook sits nervously on the couch, a shitty old comforter folded in his lap. “We can fix everything in the morning. If you need something help yourself, or you can knock on my door, okay?”
Jungkook nods, looking ready to pass out right there whether Yoongi keeps talking or not, so he murmurs, “We’ll fix everything in the morning. Goodnight,” and disappears into his room.
He spends a solid two hours staring at a notebook in his hand, occasionally jotting something down and scribbling it away, before surrendering to the end of this day, this day which hates him, this day which has plagued him for far too long already. He trusts his own words, that he can fix everything in the morning, and allows sleep to overtake him.
In the morning, Jungkook is gone.
Yoongi should have known, really. Should have seen it coming. He should have, he should have, he’s smarter than this and he definitely, definitely shouldn’t be upset. He isn’t! He isn’t upset because the kid made his intentions clear as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to stay. He didn’t want anything other than to be left alone. And Yoongi’s fine with that, he’s reasonable, he’s an adult.
That doesn’t make it hurt any less.
He just- he wouldn’t have even known what to do with Jungkook, anyway. He wasn’t lonely. Wasn’t horny. He’d felt the bond when he first saw Jungkook’s face, but it wasn’t love at first sight or anything. He just… wanted to take care of him. The kid had no place to go and no one to turn to and he had a home and could be a person and he could be everything this kid needed, or at least fake it for a little while, long enough for Jungkook to piece himself back together and make something of himself. This damn kid was his soulmate, and even if that didn’t really mean anything at all, it’d brought them together and there was no reason they shouldn’t have just taken advantage of that togetherness, at least for a little while.
But none of that matters, and it’s cold comfort, and he really shouldn’t care at all anymore, because Jungkook is gone without even a fucking note on the fridge. Or on the counter, or on the side table or on his nightstand or anywhere, he tears his whole damn apartment apart looking for a piece of paper that isn’t there, throwing open drawers and going into the studio that was locked the entire night because with no note and no nothing it’s like Jungkook was never there in the first place.
He collapses, shaking and panting, in his studio chair, and looks around at the meaningless clutter. At all the lyrics that aren’t working, at all the machinery that hasn’t gotten him anywhere in too long to speak of, at all the wrappers and dishes and shirts tossed aside during countless long nights wasted away.
Fine. Whatever. It’s fine. He’s fine. He’ll just go back to what he was doing. He’ll just keep working during the day and working at night and he’ll work and work and work until he gets somewhere or until he can’t feel anything at all. He just has to keep pushing through, keep going, even if he isn’t getting anywhere.
He grabs a pen and some of the paper scattered across his studio floor and keeps going.
Yoongi gets to work five minutes early, with a coffee cup in one hand and his phone in the other.
He’s numb, walking on air, a thin grin light on his lips. Namjoon greets him with, “Hyung! You’re here. Everything okay?” looking hesitant and strange.
Yoongi nods at him. Holds up his phone, loaded up with pictures of paper, cocks his head slightly.
Namjoon looks more confused, taking a little step forward to squint at the screen. “What did you- hyung, are these lyrics?”
“These are the lyrics, the ones that are going to make my career," he says, the song playing over and over in his head, breathless and passionate and pumping.
In response, Namjoon just stares at him like he’s losing his mind. “Did you get arrested before or after writing those lyrics?” God, he just doesn’t understand.
He just doesn’t understand, just like Jungkook had said sitting in Yoongi’s car. Something in the back of Yoongi’s mind freezes up, and his smile drops just a little, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice. He looks too uncomfortable to notice something so small and meaningless. Yoongi just takes a sip of his coffee and claps Namjoon on the shoulder and continues on down the hall, feeling alive and ready and almost, almost complete.
He doesn’t do much. Maybe it’s that he’s too excited about the lyrics (which he just needs to get home and record because, damn it, he’d only had so much time to scribble down lyrics before he had to get ready to waste another day of his life), or maybe it’s because he missed earning his promotion yesterday (which would have given him more time to scribble down lyrics instead of wasting another day of his life) so he has nothing dire to lose at the moment. Whatever the case, he sits at his desk, phone hidden in his lap, and reads his lyrics, over-
At least I can smile when I see you.
-and over-
All I know is how to love you.
-and over.
[You have a visitor.]
When Namjoon messages him with four words, Yoongi’s been sitting at his desk for two hours. It feels good to stretch his legs and walk out to the security desk. It feels good to be on his feet, going somewhere. For a couple moments in the hall, he secretly pretends he’s leaving already, heading home to get back to what really matters.
He’s so busy dreaming about his apartment and the way the lyrics will sound as he mixes them into the track, he doesn’t bother to stop and question who might be here to visit him. He doesn’t prepare himself for what he might find. Once again, Maybe-Today-He’ll-Get-A-Surname Jungkook catches him by surprise without even trying.
Namjoon speaks first, sounding distant and unimportant as Yoongi locks eyes with Jungkook (still doe-eyed, but looking slightly better rested). “Hyung, this kid just showed up and won’t stop asking for you. I don’t know what to do with him.”
“His name is Jungkook,” Yoongi says, feeling strangely protective and a little high, at the same moment Jungkook says, “Hyung.”
Jungkook continues, words seeming to fall out of their own accord. “I’m sorry, hyung, I probably should have just waited for you to get home--”
“It’s okay, Jungkook-ah.”
Namjoon says, “It’s not okay,” but Yoongi waves him off and Jungkook seems to be a little too hyper-focused to notice his presence at all.
He straightens himself. Takes a deep breath. Says, “I’m still not ready to be an adult.”
“I know,” Yoongi says, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself. It’s stupid, he’s stupid- but he’s just happy to see Jungkook again. He just wants to see where this goes.
“I left in the middle of the night because I got scared. I’m really not ready to be in a relationship with you.”
“That’s fine.”
“But I just… I really need a place to stay.”
“Okay.”
“I wouldn’t be your boyfriend, just your roommate.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be quiet, and I’ll clean. I can learn how to cook, too, if you want, and I’ll go shopping-” he says, in one great rambling breath that sounds an awful lot like being an adult to Yoongi, but he doesn’t comment on it.
Instead, he just says, “ Jungkook-ah ,” before Jungkook has a chance to pass out.
“I- yes?”
“You can stay with me on your terms for as long as you like. I only have one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’re going to sing something for me.”
Yoongi leaves. Namjoon calls after him that Seokjin will be mad, that he’s already on thin ice from yesterday, that he’ll get fired, but Yoongi leaves. He hums through the song line by line, letting Jungkook get a feel for the notes, the rhythm, the tone.
Jungkook echoes the melody, reading the lyrics off of Yoongi’s phone. “I’m alright, even if I can’t have you,” he sings, voice unsteady but beautiful all the same. “Pitiful destiny, point your finger at me.”