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it had been raining. a great big downpour where the sky had simply said ‘fuck it’ and unleashed the clouds that had once been brewing on the horizon straight down on the dreary little town yoongi lived in. the water tipping and falling as if from a huge bucket.
the cracks of thunder and lightning only further emphasised the shit storm of a downpour the town was struggling through. the only thing to top it all off, is the fact that yoongi had been caught out in it.
the world is a dark grey by the time yoongi stumbles through the front entrance of his dorms, a conglomeration of being absolutely soaked through to the bone even beneath his flimsy raincoat, an umbrella turned inside out from the wind and pooling with water, and absolutely dripping with icy cold water that squelches in his shoes and puddles on the linoleum beneath his feet, is what makes up min yoongi.
he wants to whine a little, maybe throw a minor tantrum at the fact that he can’t feel his fingers and that his head feels like its been frozen in a block of ice. it really hadn’t been convenient that he’d forgotten his fucking wallet and card all in one go. he’d had to stumble his way back through the usually five minute bus journey from the city, in the form of a half an hour walk from hell.
he’s in the mood where he’s ready to kick a wall, or maybe namjoon.
“fuckin’ sky, fuckin’ shoes, fuckin’-“ he grumbles his way up to the fifth floor, water squelching between his toes with every step, bemoaning his troubles to the cold walls of the stairwell and any neglectful gods that might be listening in. his troubles only bounce back at him from the echo of the stairs.
the elevator had stopped working in their dorms late last year and despite the new development of yoongi’s killer thigh muscles from heaven (still scrawny but at least he’s trying), he’s still close to tearing his hair out at the neglect of the school board and the maintenance team. how hard can it really be to fix an elevator?
and so yoongi finds himself – after an encounter with namjoon in which he’d jabbed the pointy end of his umbrella in namjoon’s general direction, all because of his never ending ability to always have his phone turned off or in a ditch somewhere whenever yoongi desperately needs his help – trudging off to the showers in nothing but a soaked pair of jeans, flip flops that slap against the ground and his bundle of toiletries and a towel clutched to his bare chest.
his teeth still chatter as he finally pushes the door open to the showers, welcoming the steamy air that warms his skin.
someone’s already using one of the shower cubicles at this time, odd because it’s only four o’clock but who is he to judge, he’s also taking a shower at this time as well. maybe they got caught out in the storm as well.
it’s only when he actually steps into the shower area, just past the row of sinks and mirrors, does he realise that the other person has got their music on full blast, the last few notes of an unfamiliar song echoing over the spray of the shower.
yoongi lets out a huff, something stuck in-between resigned and angry as he’s hit with the croon of taeyang’s voice flooding the air as the next song begins, and then whoever is in the shower cubicle as he belts out something akin to the first verse of eyes, nose, lips. yoongi has got to admit that he’s fucking good, a music student perhaps as it flows into the first chorus and the other is singing with all the passion of taeyang’s lost love.
he’s impressed, however this doesn’t extend so far as wanting another impromptu concert, yoongi’s got his own water proof shower speaker and they can’t both listen to their music.
he glares at the door that covers the other, vaguely wanting a fight, but not particularly wanting to deal with the confrontation, carefully treading his way across the gross tiles of the shower room to his own shower cubicle.
it’s not actually his shower cubicle per say, he’d just claimed this particular one whenever he needs a shower as it’s the one with the least drain hair and best water pressure.
the other hasn’t realised yoongi’s here yet, too busy belting out lyrics to hear yoongi puttering around.
it’s only once yoongi pettily turns on his own speaker does the other realise he’s here as he tries to drown out taeyang with epik high. he’s trying his absolute hardest.
the other boy’s high note towards the end of taeyang’s song snaps to a close, only leaving the song and the sound of running water, and now the added bass notes of yoongi’s music to flood the room.
there’s a few moments pause, and yoongi even thinks the other is going to shut of his music, when suddenly a yell fills the air.
“yah come on!”
taeyang is drowned out by tablo spitting out his verse and yoongi grins to himself even as he peels off his sopping wet jeans, soon quickly adjusting the spray of water so it didn’t melt his skin off.
“you know how close i was to hitting that note!”
“we can’t both play music in the shower at the same time,” yoongi calls back, even turning up his music just a touch to be Extra Petty.
“asshole.”
the insult, which yoongi doesn’t find particularly insulting, is followed by the other’s shower clunking off, the pipes groaning as the flow of water stops.
even taeyang gets paused.
yoongi feels a tiny bit threatened, what if he’d started shit with someone twice his size, he envisions some huge football player type trying to kill him in the shower room all because he interrupted their taeyang shower time.
he’d find it comical if he wasn’t a scrawny scrap of a person, butt naked and weak from his earlier battle with the outside weather.
no football player type comes through to humiliate yoongi’s naked self however, instead he just hears a huff, barely audible over the music and shower, and then the patter of angry footsteps some time later after he’d presumably gotten dressed, stomping his way out of the shower area. this only widens yoongi’s grin.
a jumble of rap echoes through the shower room as yoongi lathers shampoo through his already soaked hair, relishing in the warmth and his own music.
-
the second time yoongi wages war with the boy who insists on taeyang, is when yoongi’s already in the shower, scrubbing off the dirt and grime of the day while blasting t.o.p. maybe they both have a penchant for big bang’s members as taeyang floods the air yet again, even rivalling yoongi’s speaker that’s dialled to the very high volume of 9.
he’s tired, constantly supressing a yawn after the events of the day, and yet he’s still ready to fucking fight, mystery boy had chosen the shower cubicle right next to his and all he can focus on is the warble of taeyang and the boy.
he reaches out from the warmth of the shower, fat droplets of water falling on his pile of clothes as he clicks the volume up a couple.
subsequently, taeyang is turned up even louder. apparently this time the other isn’t backing down.
he stamps his feet a little, huffing and scowling at the fact that his shower time is interrupted.
t.o.p gets turned up.
taeyang gets turned up.
it’s an endless battle and yoongi’s ready to rip the other’s stupid speaker apart, that is until someone else enters the shower area and almost kicks down both their doors.
“would you two shut the fuck up this isn’t a rave.”
it’s seokjin, ra of their dorm, and yoongi knows the high-pitched-angry-mother-tone well and he freezes, breath caught in his throat before he practically flings himself at this speaker, scrambling to shut it off before seokjin actually kicks his door down.
he hears a faint thump and scatter of feet to the side of him and he knows the other is hurrying to do the exact same thing.
t.o.p and taeyang are shut off at the same time, the sudden silence only punctuated by the still running showers and seokjin fuming about noise disruption.
he’s thankful seokjin doesn’t actually kick his door down, he doesn’t particularly fancy being drop kicked out of the earths atmosphere, naked and so late at night.
“i don’t know who either of you are,” seokjin’s detached voice echoes from behind the walls of the shower cubicle. at least yoongi’s safe from his wrath for now. “but if either of you decide you need to out battle each other again, at least take it somewhere else. preferably far away from anyone.”
yoongi doesn’t say anything, seokjin knows his guilty voice well and honestly he can’t out himself like that. the other doesn’t either and yoongi’s at least glad he had the common sense to.
seokjin storms out, temper portrayed through the angry stomp of his feet and slam of the door as he stalks off. yoongi lets out a long sigh of relief.
“holy shit i thought he was gonna have my head on a stick,” yoongi says, faintly clutching his chest.
“that was so scary,” the other whines, voice shaky yet sweet, and yoongi nods stupidly before realising it can’t be seen.
it takes him a few moments to regain his bearings, before finally finishing of his shower.
yoongi’s long gone before the other even steps out the shower.
-
it’s frustrating having to listen to someone else’s music over his own, and not even being able to escalate it, the events of the other night still fresh in both of their minds. yoongi still cowers whenever seokjin passes, even if seokjin doesn’t know it was him specifically.
somehow this mystery boy always manages to shower around the same time yoongi does, they either have similar schedules or he’s just really determined to piss yoongi off.
one of taeyang’s numerous songs echo before yoongi even pushes the door to the showers open and he simply turns on his heel and decides fuck this he’s taking one in the morning.
-
as it turns out, morning showers are the worst in which everyone is scrambling about the bathroom in various stages of undress, blearily brushing their teeth and someone’s got their own fucking shower speaker. honestly he can’t escape.
yoongi decides he’d take taeyang’s music over the hell hole of dealing with trying to take a shower in the morning.
-
some god must really have it out for him when yoongi specifically tries to avoid taking a shower whenever taeyang is playing, and yet most of the time, he ends up stuck with battling for who gets to play their music the loudest.
“can you just not, for like, one day,” he grumbles, he wants to practice his rap and yet all he gets is the other singing his heart out. he hits the shower wall a little and all he gets is that sweet, mocking laugh in return.
-
“why does taeyang’s voice exist,” he whines to taehyung, his roommate, who peeks up from the edge of his bunk.
“huh?”
“why does that boys voice exist.”
“the fuck are you-“
“i’ve got wedding dress stuck in my head.”
yoongi settles for laying sprawled out on the floor, he can see tiny dust bunnies under his bed from here, maybe he should sweep more, and after this thought he promptly throws a minor tantrum.
“i fuckin’ hate him,” he mumbles, face pressed and mushed into the carpet.
he can faintly hear taehyung calling jeongguk for help – over yoongi’s scream into the carpet – requesting pizza and some sort of help for yoongi who’s forlornly wailing about his troubles at just gone 5 p.m. on a wednesday night.
-
yoongi’s passing through the auditorium one afternoon, hopped up on a double shot coffee with a stirred in energy drink, veins thrumming even as he drags his feet across the linoleum.
all nighters are certainly a bitch, he’d put off his latest assignment, leaving it all to the last minute and he’d reaped the consequences, only having just handed in the finished piece five minutes prior to now.
his professor hadn’t exactly looked impressed at the stripes of black under his eyes and coffee stained t-shirt. at least he’d tried.
and so the events find himself wandering past the auditorium like a drunken idiot, vaguely lost in what to do with his life now, his classes are all done and after the monster concoction of a drink he’d sculled earlier, food is the absolute last thought on his weary mind.
that’s when he hears taeyang.
well not taeyang himself, but a sweet rendition of one of his songs echoing through the auditorium. he hadn’t known that the music students were doing practice today.
yoongi feels his heart stutter in his chest when he hears the gentle rise in the boys voice, quickly cut off by squeal of the microphone falling down on it’s stand, and then a sweet laugh, abrupt yet sweet.
he knows that voice anywhere, the high pitch and that laugh.
one things certain, he finds when he peaks through the large open doors on the upper level, is that yoongi is most definitely fucked. he never expected him to be so hot.
from where he’s standing, he sees the soft glow of faded orange hair, messily dyed and slightly patchy, mused from the hand that keeps getting run through it. yoongi’s eyes trail down the expanse of torso, covered by a simple black t-shirt, and then his thighs and fuck, yoongi had thought all those flights of stairs had done him good, but this boy was something else, the muscle shaped against the curve of his shorts has him practically breathless.
his heart only stops a tiny bit when he glances up at him, feeling yoongi’s burning gaze, and then he quirks his lips up at the supposed new comer. it could also be the coffee that stops yoongi’s heart, but either way he’s this close to heart failure.
however he’s still a man on a mission, hotness aside this grudge has got to make itself known.
“you!” he says, practically marching through the seats across the auditorium and he knows he’s causing a scene as multiple eyes are drawn to him, including the boy, who’s frozen on stage halfway through adjusting the microphone, eyes wide like a deer.
it takes yoongi a lot of effort, huffing and puffing down the fuck tonne of stairs in his way. eventually he clears the obstacles though. albeit with high risk of him passing out. this combination of coffee, no sleep, and hot people really wasn’t doing him any good.
“i fucking hate taeyang,” he growls once he’s at the edge of the stage, hands planted on the dusty wood to glare up at him.
“i-uh… what?”
“i fucking hate taeyang,” he repeats.
yoongi sees some sort of inkling of recognition on his features, mouth fallen open in an ‘o’ shape.
“rapper boy?” he asks.
“taeyang boy?”
the other snorts. “well shit, you’re better looking than i thought.”
yoongi feels his cheeks flush, however he’s still mad.
“i know, however you really need to stop butting in to my shower music time no matter how good your voice is, i really don’t appreciate the potential of being murdered by seokjin because we can’t have both.”
“he was the angry one right?”
“yeah,” he says. “not fun at all.”
“mhm,” he agrees. yoongi feels like he melts a little at that, this boy is practically ethereal or some shit, with the kind of looks that teenage girls would write sappy poetry about. yoongi would as well.
yoongi stares for a while, and the boy tilts his head to the side.
“you know, we could always compromise,” he says.
“how so?”
“well you get your music one day, i get mine the next.”
“do you have to keep playing taeyang?”
“i’m going to keep playing taeyang.”
he stick his lower lip out at that, crossing his arms and weighing out his options.
“i guess…” he finally says, “i guess it could work.”
it takes yoongi a good few seconds of what feels like an eternity, some odd fucked up place where he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking about, to realise the boy’s moved from his previous place of standing, to crouching in front of yoongi. his brain’s truly moving at a snails pace today.
“so now we’ve settled that, do you think i’d also be able to get your number rapper boy?”
“my names yoongi, uh, min yoongi,” he says. “not rapper boy.”
“yoongi,” he says, testing the syllables. “well i’m jimin. park jimin.”
he feels slightly mocked.
“so am i able to get that number of yours? maybe a coffee too since you look so dead on your feet right now.”
“no coffee,” he mumbles. that coffee-energy drink combo is haunting him.
jimin still looks at him expectantly
“okay, well you know i’ve had a real mess of a morning,” yoongi declares, his heart stuttering a little. “and i think i kinda have to lie down.”
and so it ends with yoongi passing out on the rather uncomfortable seats of the auditorium, an arm rest or two pushed up to allow him to lie down, but with jimin’s number punched into his phone (something he is unaware of at the moment) after he’d simply backed off to take a nap.
“what the fuck was that,” jeongguk mutters to hoseok, who’d both watched the whole scene unfold along with several others in the auditorium. “is no one else fucking confused?”
the rest of the music group had just gone back to their own activities during the pairs awkward but rather dramatic display.
“i am. who even let those two out?” hoseok laughs.
jimin ends up downloading taeyang’s entire discography onto yoongi’s phone while he’s out just for the fun of it and only because people really should have a passcode on their phone these days.
yoongi almost attacks him in the hall next time the two make contact but really jimin thinks it had been worth it when taeyang next comes on through yoongi’s speaker during his shower, even if yoongi had almost thrown it at the door.