Work Text:
The leaves are falling, the night is young, and Taehyung is drunk.
Namjoon’s annual Halloween party is always the perfect mixture of a good time and good booze, and Taehyung is an active proponent of both. He doesn’t know if it was the third morgue-a-rita or the fourth shot of witch’s brew that did him in, but he’s a little drunk and a little bored and that’s never really been the best of combinations. Low inhibitions coupled with high spirits: a recipe for fun (and disaster). It's the culmination of these factors that's led him to where he finds himself now. In front of Hoseok’s house at 3:00 in the morning with an armful of toilet paper rolls. About to get his prank on.
Maybe sober Taehyung would concede that toilet papering is a little immature, but it’s relatively harmless and drunk Taehyung thinks it’s hilarious. It’s Halloween, pranking is tradition. It’s a prank or be pranked world, and Taehyung is choosing to be proactive.
So here he is. In front of Hoseok’s house, still in costume, and armed to the teeth with enough toilet paper to keep a frat house running for at least a week. It’s freezing and he doesn’t really remember how to walk straight, but it’s fine. He’s ready to fuck shit up.
Taehyung scans the lawn, eyes roaming over the landscape. Simple recon. He’ll start with the big tree on the left. Has that tree always been there? He’s been to Hoseok’s house just short of a million times and doesn’t recall ever seeing that tree. It’s probably fine.
He places his toilet paper arsenal on the ground, picking up a roll and bouncing it in his hand. He sets his aim above the closest branch, brows furrowed in concentration as he lines up the perfect shot. There’s a certain finesse to tp-ing, and Taehyung, even and especially when shitfaced, is no amateur. He throws the roll in a spinning arc, letting it slide off his fingertips as it glides perfectly above its target, white sheets billowing as it wraps around the branch and comes back down.
This is the best idea he’s had all night.
Yoongi is a strong believer in working hard and sleeping harder. After a solid week of early mornings and late nights trying to perfect the composition he’s been working on, he’d been pretty relieved to go into hibernation mode for the rest of the weekend. Ride out the surge of tricker-or-treaters fast asleep in bed. Maybe hit up the discounted candy after it was all said and done. A solid plan.
So, yeah, when he’s jolted out of bed in the middle of the night by the shrill sound of his car alarm blaring in his goddamn skull, he’s mildly surprised to say the least. In fact, he’s kind of panicking, flailing as he blindly reaches for the lamp on the nightstand and tries to assess what the fuck is going on in his groggy confusion.
He stumbles out of bed, still trying and failing to gather his bearings as he heads to the window for a peek of whose thieving ass he’s going to have to kick. Maybe it’s just one of the neighborhood cats. Either way, he's too tired to deal with it.
What he doesn't expect to see is the back of a tall, broad figure, presumably young and most certainly inebriated,clad only in a burlap sack hanging halfway down his legs. As Yoongi watches (dumbfounded) the stranger hugs the car, cheek resting against the roof as he strokes his hand down the window and stage whispers, "It's okay to cry. Let it all out."
There’s also toilet paper. Literally everywhere. Billowing from the tree branches, strewn haphazardly across the lawn. Even on his goddamn mailbox.
Jesus fuckin’ christ.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair in a half-assed attempt to smooth it into complacency, throwing on his bath-robe before grabbing his car keys and skulking out the door.
Yoongi flips on the porch light and clicks the alarm off. He crosses his arms across his chest, puts on his most intimidating glare. Waits for the kid to turn around. And waits, and waits a little more, because the stranger still just cuddled up to the fuckin’ car, hand stroking gently down the window.
He clears his throat, and nothing. He clears it a little louder. Nada.
“What the fuck, dude?”
The tall stranger turns slowly. He stares at Yoongi, expression blank and unreadable, for what seems like a lifetime before his eyes start to widen and he slowly breaks out into a huge rectangular grin that lights up his entire face. What the fuck.
“Are you an angel?” The stranger asks, voice deep and velvety and surprisingly pleasant despite the circumstances.
He lurches forward, stumble-walking his way towards Yoongi. Yoongi stiffens, bracing himself to kick this guy’s ass, but when the stranger gets close enough he simply cups Yoongi’s face in his hands gently, staring down at him with a fond sort of reverence that should probably be creepier than it is.
Well, it’s pretty fuckin’ creepy.
Yoongi steps back. “Hands to yourself, miscreant.”
Under the shitty porch light, Yoongi is finally able to assess the guy properly. He’s tall. Tall enough that Yoongi is mad about it, hovering several inches above him. Fluffy blonde fringe peeks out of the grey beanie he’s wearing. He’s handsome, with his strong eyebrows and sharp nose, full pink lips parted slightly. A rosy flush, probably from the booze and the cold, complements his golden skin.
He’s pretty in a way that might be kind of devastating if the circumstances were right. Which they most certainly are not.
Yoongi gives him a quick once-over, eyes roaming over long legs, tan and exposed because all the kid is wearing is a fucking burlap sack, hanging just above his knees and sliding off a shoulder. The material has slits cut sporadically throughout, exposing flashes of smooth skin, and Yoongi is kind of pissed because it’s a goddamn burlap sack but somehow he’s making it work.
Yoongi really doesn’t trust anyone who looks this good under fluorescent lighting.
The stranger strokes a hand lightly down Yoongi’s face. “Thank you, tiny Halloween angel. We don’t deserve you.”
Yoongi stares incredulously for a moment, a faint blush threatening to appear on his cheeks before he quickly comes to his senses and slaps the stranger’s hands away.
"Who the fuck are you?” He does his best to sound cross because hell if he’s gonna let some kid ruin his sleep and his lawn. Even if he’s pretty.
“I’m Taehyung,” Taehyung nods eagerly, as if this is the most obvious information in the world. He’s still looking at Yoongi like the sun is shining out of his ass; it’s a little unnerving to say the least. “You’re beautiful.”
Yoongi stares at him with dead eyes, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. “Taehyung, why the fuck is there toilet paper all over my yard?”
“This is Hoseok’s lawn, tiny angel. What are you doing in his house?”
Yoongi sighs. So the kid belongs to Hoseok. Fuckin’ figures.
“This is not Hoseok’s house. That is Hoseok’s house.” Yoongi points to the house one door over and watches as Taehyung’s eyes start to widen in about as much realization as his inebriated brain can muster.
“This is your house,” he says slowly.
“Yep.”
“This isn’t Hoseok’s house.”
“Nope.”
Taehyung brings a hand up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and grinning down at Yoongi. “And you’re not a Halloween angel?”
“Nope, not an angel. Just a regular person whose sleep you’ve disrupted and whose lawn you’ve covered in toilet paper,” Yoongi grouses, leveling Taehyung with a glare. Taehyung coos at the expression. He pats his hands in the general direction of Yoongi’s face, awkwardly petting his ear before Yoongi swats his hand away.
“That explains the tree.” Taehyung nods solemnly. Yoongi rolls his eyes.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t just call the cops on your drunk ass,” Yoongi stares Taehyung down. He’s probably not going to call the cops over a lawn full of toilet paper, but Taehyung doesn’t necessarily need to know that.
“It was just a prank, bro?” Taehyung tilts his head, face stretching into a lazy grin that might be kind of cute if Yoongi wasn’t so annoyed. Which he is. He’s definitely annoyed, even though his lips are threatening to quirk into something dangerously close to a small smile.
He says nothing, staring Taehyung down with what he hopes is coming across as disappointment and unamusement.
“I’m sorry, I thought it was Hobi's house and it was gonna be a sick prank and we were all gonna laugh and I really didn’t mean it," Taehyung rambles, looking down at Yoongi with sad and sincere eyes. He's frowning now. Why is Yoongi bothered by that?
Yoongi sighs. “What the fuck are you supposed to be, anyway?”
Taehyung squints a little. “I’m a sexy potato sack.”
Yoongi snorts, allowing himself a small laugh. He’s gifted a lopsided grin in return.
“Right, as opposed to a normal potato sack.”
Taehyung’s grin widens, and he flashes Yoongi a thumbs up.
“Aren't your nipples, like, chafing or some shit?”
Taehyung waves his hand dismissively. “Jiminie put bandaids on them, 's fine.”
“Aren't you cold at least?” Yoongi pulls his robe a little tighter. It's cold as fuck outside and the kid is wearing next to nothing. That’s not his problem, though. It’s not.
Taehyung shrugs, but he’s shivering a little and again Yoongi wonders why he’s concerned for the welfare of some delinquent he’s only known for about fifteen minutes.
“I’m making it work, right?” Taehyung waggles his brows, fixing Yoongi with a lopsided grin that makes his chest do a sort of jumpy thing that he doesn’t really want to think about.
“No,” Yoongi deadpans, but there’s a playful gleam in his eyes and for some reason he’s not nearly as annoyed as he probably should be.
He looks past Taehyung, surveying all the damage. Well, maybe he is pretty annoyed.
“You’re going to have to clean all this shit up.”
Taehyung nods frantically. He immediately turns, retreating into the darkness and kneeling to pick up armfuls of toilet paper from the yard. He’s wobbly and uncoordinated, but the effort is kind of cute, if not a little useless. He totters his way back to Yoongi, unceremoniously shoving wads of bunched up toilet paper into his arms.
"For you, angel."
Yoongi blinks. He’s still not entirely convinced that this is actually happening.
“Where did you get all of this goddamn toilet paper?” He sets his newly acquired stash aside. He’ll come back for that later.
“I..I don’t remember.” Taehyung looks perplexed, brows furrowing. “I think I was at the park…”
Yoongi groans. “You stole it from the public bathrooms at the park?”
Taehyung’s face immediately falls. “I stole it.” He looks at Yoongi, eyes sad and expectant, and now Yoongi kind of feels like the asshole who just told someone Santa wasn’t real.
“Well, yeah,” he shifts awkwardly on the balls of his feet. “I mean, you probably stole it, but it’s not that big of a deal.”
Taehyung is still kind of looking at him like he just kicked a puppy.
“There, there.” He gives Taehyung a comforting (awkward) pat on the shoulder. “Save the morality crisis for the morning.”
Taehyung doesn’t really look entirely convinced.
“I don’t feel so good,” he lurches forward suddenly, stumbling into Yoongi and nearly wiping the both of them out before Yoongi steadies him, grasping onto his arms. His brows furrow in concern as he scans Taehyung’s face; he looks a little pale, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead even though he’s shivering.
“You’re shitfaced,” Yoongi chides, tightening his grip on Taehyung’s arms. “You need water and sleep.”
Taehyung frowns down at Yoongi, but he looks about two seconds away from passing out right on the porch and Yoongi’s honestly just not equipped to deal with that shit.
“Don’t want water and sleep, want candy corn.” He pouts petulantly, dropping his head onto Yoongi’s shoulder and sniffling.
Yoongi freezes at the newfound proximity. Taehyung is very close now. Too close, probably. He smells kind of like a distillery, but Yoongi can still pick out a hint of vanilla, and it’s kind of weird and definitely distracting.
“Who the fuck likes candy corn? It’s just waxy sugar.” Yoongi clears his throat, doing anything he can to dispel the awkwardness, but Taehyung stays put with his head resting lightly on Yoongi’s shoulder. His hair is tickling Yoongi’s neck a little and Yoongi wonders, not for the first time that night, how he ended up here, with a tall, handsome, shitfaced stranger pouting in his arms.
“Blasphemy.” Taehyung’s words come out muffled through the fabric of Yoongi’s robe, the deep cadence of his voice vibrating through Yoongi’s shoulder.
Yoongi sighs, contemplating his choices. He scowls a little, suddenly remembering what they’re doing here in the first place. But sleepiness makes him soft around the edges and he feels kind of bad leaving the guy out in the cold like this, even though he’d just wrought havoc on the yard with toilet paper. Taehyung hiccups into his shoulder.
He could just let him crash for the night. Yes, he might be a serial killer, and this might be the worst and last mistake Yoongi will ever make, but, well. Yoongi trusts the company Hoseok keeps. In fact, he’s pretty certain he’s heard of a Taehyung before, one of the few names Hoseok mentions with fondness and with frequency. So that’s gotta count for something.
Taehyung is very pretty and his eyes are kind and thoughtful and then there’s the whole smelling like vanilla thing. And, yes, he did kind of fuck up Yoongi’s sleep and lawn. He didn’t do any real harm, though, and he did try to clean it up. It’s Halloween, and it’s not like Yoongi’s never done anything stupid under the haze of a few too many drinks and a good time.
“Do you wanna crash on my couch for the night? You can deal with your mess in the morning.” He gestures vaguely at the wreckage of toilet paper behind them. He’s probably gonna regret this.
Taehyung lifts his head from Yoongi’s shoulder, studying his face intently.
“You won’t try to take advantage of me, will you?”
Yoongi snorts. “You’re the one taking advantage of me. Do you want a place to crash or not? Should I just leave your dumb ass out here in the cold?”
Taehyung shivers, shaking his head. “Can we get candy corn in the morning?”
Yoongi hums in thought. “Let’s just get you water for now. You can sleep on the couch.” He looks Taehyung up and down, regarding his get-up in silent judgement. “And maybe some sweatpants. If I even have anything that will fit,” he gestures at Taehyung’s broad form, “all of this.”
Taehyung stares at Yoongi for a long moment, eyes gentle and fond and maybe a little surprised. He smiles down at him softly. “Thank you.”
Yoongi blushes a little, gaze flitting away to avoid Taehyung’s eyes, but he returns the smile in earnest. “Don’t mention it.”
He opens the door behind him, already appreciating the warmth emanating from inside.
Taehyung totters after him, still a little wobbly, but Yoongi guides him inside with a firm yet gentle hand on his waist.
“Trick or treat,” Taehyung peers down at Yoongi, giggling to himself at his own dumb joke.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but grin. “Maybe a little of both.”