Chapter Text
I. And a Partridge in a Pear Tree
From: namjoonie
[14 December, 13:04]
Are you going to Jackson’s party tonight?
To: namjoonie
[14 December, 13:10]
man you know
i would love to but
i just started yuri on ice
From: namjoonie
[14 December, 13:12]
Oh my God
Yoongi don’t do this to yourself again
Remember when you started watching Haikyuu
You didn’t leave your room for like five days straight
To: namjoonie
[14 December, 13:13]
shh the next episode just started
From: namjoonie
[14 December, 13:14]
MIN YOONGI WE ARE TEXTING
DO NOT TELL ME TO SHUSH
To: namjoonie
[14 December, 13:15]
shhh i can’t hear the opening theme
From: namjoonie
[14 December, 13:15]
YOONGI
To: namjoonie
[14 December, 13:16]
shh
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to have fun once in awhile.”
Yoongi furrowed his eyebrows together and tipped the plastic red cup in his hand towards his lips, letting the familiar taste of bad beer and misery wash down his throat. He covered his frown with the edge of his cup. “Well, we clearly have very different ideas of fun.”
A derisive snort came from Namjoon’s direction. “Yeah, your idea of fun sucks.”
Yoongi’s frown deepened. Okay, just because his idea of fun didn’t include abandoning his warm bed to trudge through town for twenty minutes (since, according to Namjoon, Jinnie-hyung needs the car tonight to go grocery shopping , and Jinnie-hyung couldn’t power walk the five fucking minutes to Costco) while it was fuck-all degrees out, didn’t mean that it sucked . On the contrary, actually; Namjoon was the one who sucked for dragging Yoongi to a party, especially when he knew that parties were a strong number four on the List of Things Min Yoongi Hated (only beaten by light jogging, grape flavored candies, and Kim Seokjin). Yes, for that, Namjoon sucked balls . Major balls. Probably Seokjin’s balls.
“So does your mom,” Yoongi replied in a blurry mumble as he took another swig of his drink, foregoing the storm of statements in his head.
Now it was Namjoon’s turn to frown. Good, Yoongi thought bitterly. Namjoon didn’t get to be all smiley and dimply right now. Not while Yoongi was sitting on a couch that smelled like piss and Red Bull when he could’ve been in bed, stuffing his face with shrimp chips and crying at Victuuri fanart.
“Yoongi, this isn’t healthy,” Namjoon said, still frowning. “I shouldn’t have to literally drag you out of bed and dress you myself to get you to leave your room.”
Yoongi shuddered, unsure if his sudden shivering was due to the slight draft in the room or to the unpleasant memory of Namjoon shoving a shirt over his head while simultaneously trying to peel off his Kumamon pajama bottoms. As much as Yoongi admired and respected his roommate, he was not nearly gay enough to enjoy being suffocated by 100% cotton while Namjoon manhandled him with a tasteful cable knit sweater.
“In my defense,” Yoongi shot back. “I did not need your help. I was perfectly content staying in bed and not changing into this extremely uncomfortable sweater, thank you very much.”
“In my defense,” Namjoon reiterated, mimicking Yoongi’s childish tone. “I didn’t want you to die alone underneath a pile of empty snack wrappers, simply because you’re too lazy to haul your ass out of bed and put on a shirt that is both clean and not bought from the sales bin of Walmart.” He paused to look Yoongi up and down. “Besides, that sweater looks nice on you.”
Yoongi crossed his arms across his chest. “You're just saying that because you bought it,” he grumbled. Yoongi, for one, quite enjoyed his discount Walmart tees. Sure, they smelled a little funky, and they were always a size too big, but it was still better than spending hundreds of dollars on a single pair of ripped jeans (“It’s high fashion,” Namjoon always insisted as Yoongi tried not to stare at his skinny ass sticks for legs through the continental holes on his pants legs).
“Besides,” he continued thoughtfully. “What’s wrong with dying alone? I like being alone.”
“No, you don’t,” Namjoon deadpanned. “You just like the concept of being alone, of independence and self-reliance. You like thinking that you can get through life without anyone else. You like thinking that rejecting other people’s company is the way to do it.” Namjoon began ticking off the points on his fingers, and dear Lord, he was going to be speaking for a while, wasn’t he? “This stubbornly independent mindset has caused you to subconsciously crave human affection.” Yoongi sunk deeper into the couch. He might as well get comfortable if he was going to sit through another one of Namjoon’s analyses. “Deep down, you know that you can’t be alone forever, at least not with your sanity in one piece. So, you push this desire for intimacy as far away towards the back of your mind as you can using self deprecating humour, hedonistically unhealthy foods, fictional relationships—”
“Are you done?” Yoongi snapped.
Namjoon began to shake his head, before catching Yoongi’s murderous glare and nodding eagerly.
Yoongi huffed irritably. “God, you’re the worst,” he mumbled. “Why do you always act like you know everything?”
If Yoongi had said it to anyone else, they might’ve held at least a fragment of embarrassment or shame. But, no, he was talking to Kim Namjoon. Kim Namjoon, who had been in the top of his class for every year of his schooling since kindergarten. Kim Namjoon, who, instead of gushing over Power Rangers and dinosaurs as a toddler, pored over Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. Kim Namjoon, who had a better understanding of the human psyche than anyone Yoongi had ever met.
So of course Kim Namjoon, Kim fucking Namjoon, would nod in wholehearted agreement, grave look on his face and everything. “What, are you implying that I was wrong?”
“I’m implying that I’m okay with being alone.” Yoongi pressed, the slight tinge of annoyance in his voice surfacing completely now.
Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Hyung, please, I’m pretty sure I know you better than you do.” Yoongi tried not to think about the validity behind that statement too much.
“I’m serious, you little shit,” Yoongi urged frustratedly. “I’m...I’m like that one Christmas song. You know, the one with the partridge in the pineapple tree—”
“Pear tree.”
“—alright, Namjoon, can you shut up for, like, five seconds?”
The two boys stared at each other in silence for a few seconds (about five, Yoongi noted suspiciously) before Namjoon spoke up again. “Pineapples don’t even grow on trees. They actually grow on grounded plants, not unlike berries—”
“My point is!” Yoongi shouted suddenly, raising a finger to silence Namjoon. “All those stupid fucking presents the dude in the song sent were always accompanied with their counterparts, all except for the partridge. I am that partridge. Yes, I’m alone, but do I care? No, because I have a sweet ass pear tree to keep me company.” Yoongi paused. “By pear tree, I mean my laptop and an unlimited supply of snacks.”
Namjoon furrowed his brow. “I don’t think that’s what the song is trying to say.”
“No, I think I’m right.”
“I really don’t think you are.”
“Let’s just agree that it’s open to interpretation.”
Namjoon furrowed his brow even more, so much so that he looked a bit like he had a unibrow. “Alright, even if that were true,” he started, emphasizing the word ‘if’ so hard that Yoongi flinched a little. “You are not a partridge.”
Before Yoongi could protest and explain, yet again, why he was most definitely a partridge, Namjoon turned around, raised a finger, and pointed straight at…the guy Yoongi had been staring at all night. Ah. That was slightly problematic. “You’ve been making sex eyes at that dude all night,” Namjoon continued, echoing Yoongi’s thoughts exactly. “You most definitely are not a partridge.”
“Excuse me, what sex eyes?” he protested, knowing very well what Namjoon was referring to (he had never been very subtle when it came to flirting). Alright, yes, maybe he had stolen a few glances. More than a few glances. A couple instances of prolonged gawking. Maybe a little bit of drooling. But, it wasn’t his fault—the guy had a nice face. And a nice smile. And nice lips. And nice thighs. And nice—
“Look, you’re doing it again!” Namjoon sputtered, wiggling his hands in front of Yoongi’s face. “Your eyes are getting all weird and squinty!”
“I have no idea,” he scoffed, glancing over at Nice Thighs again. “What you’re talking about.”
Namjoon wrinkled his nose. “God, if you’re gonna be all gross and creepy, at least do it to his face.”
An incredulous sound rumbled out of Yoongi’s throat. “Are you saying that I should try social interaction?”
Pause.
“Yeah, you’re right, that was asking too much.” Namjoon mumbled. Yoongi tried not to find any offense in the statement.
“If you finish your drinks so easily, you’re gonna regret it the next day,” Namjoon added offhandedly, eyeing Yoongi’s increasingly empty cup.
Yoongi glanced down, and shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s not like I have anything else to do,” he replied blandly, downing the last of his drink. “Which reminds me—would you be a doll and...?” He raised his cup towards Namjoon and scrunched his features into a gummy smile.
Instead of spitting out a curt refusal like he usually would’ve, Namjoon simply rolled his eyes and snatched the plastic cup from Yoongi’s hands. “I hope your hangover hurts like hell tomorrow.”
Yoongi almost replied with an equally biting remark, before stopping himself with clamped teeth on his lower lip. Not because he knew that Namjoon’s words had no real venom to them, or because he decided to be the bigger man, or even because he couldn’t think of a comeback (although two of the three weren’t exactly untrue). No—it was because Nice Thighs had chosen that moment to stretch his arms towards the ceiling, standing high on his toes so that his leg muscles flexed, and because Yoongi’s brain had chosen that moment to notice that the other boy’s jeans were really, really tight .
Yoongi tried to shove his cup against his lips to alleviate the sudden dryness in his throat (and to cover the blush creeping up his cheeks) before realizing that he didn’t have it with him. It was still with Namjoon, who—as Yoongi concluded after a sweep of the sweaty crowd—was sure taking a long time to pour liquids into a cup.
Whatever. That was fine. More time for him to admire Nice Thighs from afar.
Perhaps the nickname was a bit dehumanizing, but Yoongi wasn’t exaggerating. The guy really did have nice thighs . Even in his skinny jeans ( especially in his skinny jeans) Yoongi could make out the outline of every muscle and tendon on his legs, all the soft curves and dips. Yoongi coughed and cleared his throat, wondering where the hell Namjoon was with his drink.
Had Nice Thighs been a dancer? Or, was he a dancer now? Everything about the stranger reminded Yoongi of the dance majors he saw practicing in the courtyard between classes. Okay, yes, his legs looked like they had been crafted by the gods of equally coveted and equally drooled over body parts, but there was something more. He radiated that aura, that dual personality of hyperactive confidence and genuine, soft kindness. It seemed like he would be unrivaled on stage, all of his actions both graceful and powerful at the same time. Yoongi could see it in every one of Nice Thighs’ movements. From the fluid way he threw his head back in laughter, to the brilliantly bright smile imprinted on his face, to the smoothness of his motions when he stretched his limbs, to the way his face lit up in curiosity when Namjoon approached him—
“Wait, fuck, what?” Yoongi coughed out, choking on his own saliva as he pat his chest in a vain attempt to alleviate the sudden fit. Caught in the midst of his intense staring session, Yoongi hadn’t noticed Namjoon sidle up beside Nice Thighs, gummy smile and deep-set dimple in place as he began talking. Namjoon’s expression made him look charming, endearing, almost adorable—basically everything Yoongi knew he wasn’t.
This couldn’t end up well.
As if confirming his thoughts, Nice Thighs beamed up at Namjoon when he finished talking, took his cup—no, took Yoongi’s cup—and stood up. Alright, so Namjoon just gave away Yoongi’s booze cup to a random, albeit very hot, stranger. Not the worst. Sure, it was a little annoying, as he’d have to get himself a new cup, but that shouldn’t be too much work. He would just yell at Namjoon about it later. It sure wasn’t the end of the world.
Except, yes, it was the end of the world, because Namjoon was pointing in Yoongi’s direction. And Nice Thighs was looking at Yoongi. And Nice Thighs was walking over to Yoongi. And fuck, he was really attractive, why did Yoongi not at least comb his hair before leaving the apartment?
“Are you Yoongi?”
Yoongi froze and blinked up at Nice Thighs. He had a really nice voice, not as deep as Namjoon’s, but not quite high-pitched either, with a gritty, grainy texture to it that rippled Yoongi’s skin with gooseflesh. “Uh,” he managed to say in between clearing his throat. “Unf.”
Nice Thighs smiled, and holy shit, it was even more radiant up close. With full rows of pearly white teeth, crinkled up eyes that almost disappeared, and the prettiest pair of dimples Yoongi had ever laid eyes on. That included Namjoon’s dimples, which Yoongi thought was nothing compared to Nice Thighs’. After all, Yoongi had never gotten the urge to poke at Namjoon’s dimples before, nor had he ever wanted to squeeze them, or kiss them, or see if they were deep enough to drink water out of.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Nice Thighs replied teasingly, still smiling widely. Yoongi tried not to blush too hard. “Here,” he began again, holding Yoongi’s cup out. “Namjoon asked me to give this to you? Not sure why he couldn’t give it to you himself, but he seemed like he was in a hurry.”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes and craned his head around the room in an attempt to locate Namjoon. Sure enough, he was nowhere to be found. Yoongi guessed that he had dashed out as soon as he handed the cup over to Nice Thighs. Man, Namjoon really did suck balls.
“Wait, how do you know Namjoon?” Yoongi asked abruptly, taking the cup from Nice Thighs. Some of the drink sloshed out and onto the other boy’s sweater (an ugly red thing with a 3D reindeer hot glued onto it) in the exchange, and Yoongi winced. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no, it’s okay!” Nice Thighs interjected cheerfully, stopping Yoongi’s groveling before it could even begin. “And, I actually don’t really know Namjoon. I’ve kinda just seen him around campus because of mutual friends.” Yoongi couldn’t help but be hurt at that. Namjoon had friends other than him? That bastard.
As Nice Thighs spoke, he pulled his sleeves up to cover his palms and began pawing at the stain. Yoongi raised his own free hand, as if to try and wipe off the stain himself, before squeezing his fingers together into fists and shoving them into his jean pockets. “Stop clawing at your sweater like a dog,” he mumbled into his drink instead. “It’s only going to set the stain deeper.”
Nice Thighs stared at Yoongi, hands stopping. His eyes were wide, and his head cocked. The corners of his lips turned down slightly, but not in a particularly unhappy way—just an inquisitive one. A few beats later, his curious expression shifted into an amused one, lips stretching and eyes crinkling at the corners. “Namjoon was right,” he said as his grin continued to widen. “You really are interesting.”
“What? What did that bitch say about me?” Yoongi blurted out, suddenly sitting up straight and leaning forward. “Whatever he’s said, it’s not true.”
Another beat of silence passed before Nice Thighs burst into laughter. His head fell forward and his eyes curved so much that they almost disappeared. He didn’t bother to cover his agape mouth, instead choosing to wrap his arms around his stomach. His laughter was so big, so unrestrained, so genuine , that Yoongi almost felt like he was witnessing a private moment.
“W-What?” Yoongi reiterated, the same word but with much less confidence.
Nice Thighs shook his head quickly. “Sorry, sorry, you’re just really—” He stopped to giggle a little more “Really funny, you know?”
Yoongi felt something knot in his gut, and he downed a gulp of his drink to try and detangle it. He wasn’t funny. He was a cynical, jaded teenager who made Edgy™ jokes that no one got but himself. He wasn’t funny. He wasn’t funny, and he didn’t make people laugh that hard. He was a partridge, a lone wolf. He wasn’t funny .
“I’m not funny,” Yoongi said with a frown.
Nice Thighs gave him an annoyingly sweet smile, and Yoongi took another sip as he felt the knot grow. “And I’m Hoseok.” he replied as he slipped into the spot on the ratty couch beside Yoongi’s. Yoongi couldn’t tell if he was relieved at the fact that he could stop calling him Nice Thighs in his head or if he was disgusted at his introduction.
“Why are you sitting next to me?” Yoongi asked, frown growing.
Hoseok beamed and leaned into Yoongi’s side. “Because you’re funny.” He stage whispered into Yoongi’s ear.
His suddenly close proximity startled Yoongi into dropping his cup, drink splashing on his lap and to his right—or, in other words, drink splashing on his lap and on Hoseok. “Oh, God, I’m so—” he stammered as he picked up his cup. “I—I’m—”
“It’s fine!” Hoseok said in a rushed voice, hand falling on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi flinched at the contact, dropping his cup again, but on the floor this time. He felt the knot grow again, twisting around and around his gut several times over. Hoseok quickly lifted his hand away, Yoongi stumbling off of the couch quickly after.
“I—I’m sorry,” Yoongi mumbled as he backed away woozily. God, he shouldn’t have drank that much. “I gotta go, I’m—”
Hoseok’s eyes widened. “Yoongi, it’s fine, I—”
Yoongi didn’t hear the rest of his sentence, having pushed his way out of the room before he could. When he reached outside, he gasped and coughed, trying to take in as much fresh air as he could. The knot felt absolutely suffocating now, snaking up from his stomach to his lungs, to his throat, to the roof of his mouth…
And all over Jackson’s front lawn in the form of bile, beer, and half-digested breakfast.
He really shouldn’t have drank that much.
II. Two Turtle Doves
From: namjoonie
[15 December, 07:34]
I’m eating breakfast with Seokjin at the cafe today; take care of yourself
Aspirin’s next to the bed, and cereal’s in the cupboard
To: namjoonie
[15 December, 08:22]
i hate you
you responsible and respectful scum
making sure i’m okay and texting with proper grammar
just the worst
From: namjoonie
[15 December, 08:25]
Don’t forget to stay hydrated
Yoongi groaned as his forehead hit the desk. “Holy shit, I want to die,” he moaned. “Who has a holiday party on a Wednesday night?”
Although Yoongi paused like he was waiting for an answer, he knew Namjoon wasn’t going to reply. Not when he was around Seokjin. At the risk of throwing up in his mouth, Yoongi peeked up at the pair in front of him. He gagged when he caught sight of both boys staring at each other with figurative heart eyes, fingers intertwined and foreheads almost touching.
“Jesus Christ, you guys are disgusting,” Yoongi noted, grimacing as he watched the two exchange loving glances.
Of course, they had to respond to that one. “Stop being a bitter old man because you couldn’t bag Hoseok last night,” Seokjin replied curtly.
Yoongi fully lifted his head from the desk curiously, ignoring the negative connotations—and denotations—of Seokjin’s words. “Wait, how do you know Hoseok?”
“I had dance class with him last year—” Ah, so Hoseok was a dancer, Yoongi mused to himself. “—but that’s not the point.”
“I think it is,” Yoongi mumbled. “I didn’t know you could dance.”
“He can’t,” Namjoon piped up helpfully. “He quit after the first week.”
If it were anyone else, Seokjin would’ve beat every inch of their being until they weren’t able to stand—right there in the Calc classroom. Instead, Seokjin threw Namjoon a withering glare, which shut him up faster than anything else could’ve. Yoongi supposed that was the one benefit to the two of them dating. Namjoon was the only one who could get the best of Seokjin, and Seokjin was the only one that could get Namjoon to close his damn mouth.
“My point is,” Seokjin grumbled. “You’re very obviously jealous of our relationship.”
Yoongi scoffed, because that was a stretch if he’d ever heard one. He was not jealous of their relationship, especially considering the fact that the last thing he wanted right now was a boyfriend. Yes, he envied certain moments, like when Namjoon ordered Seokjin’s favorite drink (a vanilla latte with an extra shot of hazelnut) without having to ask what he wanted, or when Seokjin instinctively reached to massage Namjoon’s shoulders after a long day of classes, or when the two of them linked their hands together every chance they got, almost reflexively, but he wasn’t jealous . No way.
“God, don’t take your relationship insecurities out on me, hyung.” Yoongi replied, rolling his eyes and knowing full well that the two had the most amicable relationship on campus, one that was almost always filled with cheese and fluff. Sure, when they fought, they really fought (Yoongi had been just one of the many victims of a flying plate or Mario figurine to the head when he walked in on one of their fits), but they always made up quickly afterwards, with kisses to foreheads and fingers meshed tightly together.
But Yoongi swore he wasn’t jealous.
Seokjin rose an eyebrow. Yoongi half expected him to not reply and half expected him to spit out another smart aleck response about Yoongi being the insecure one, but he did neither. “You know, I still talk to Hoseok. Like, I have his number and everything.”
Yoongi waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, he pressed his lips together and scrunched his eyebrows questioningly. It took him a few seconds to understand what Seokjin was suggesting. “What, you feel sorry for me or something?” Yoongi asked. If there was anything Yoongi hated more than a smartass Seokjin, it was a sympathetic one. “Thanks, hyung, but I’m not one of your charity cases.” He spat out, his tone more defensive than intended.
Seokjin’s gaze trailed down Yoongi’s profile, from the top of his unruly black hair to the dark circles underneath his eyes to the oversized white t-shirt covered in grease stains that hung loosely off his shoulders, before settling back on Yoongi’s eyes. “Clearly not,” he said flatly. Yoongi hadn’t thought it was possible, but even his monotone voice was dripping with sarcasm.
“Shut up,” Yoongi muttered, cheeks flushing. Surprisingly enough, that’s exactly what he did, shifting his stare away from Yoongi’s slightly (or more than slightly) disheveled state and back to Namjoon. Yoongi wrinkled his nose when the corners of Seokjin’s lips curled upwards and when Namjoon got a gross, glassy twinkle to his eyes, the one he only got when he was around Seokjin. Ew. Disgusting.
“Do you even take this class?” Yoongi added, suddenly realizing that he had never seen Seokjin in Differential Equations before.
Again, Seokjin waved his hand in the air. This time, though, his eyes didn’t leave Namjoon. “That’s irrelevant.”
Yoongi frowned. “I don’t think you take this class.”
“Irrelevant,” Namjoon repeated, grinning at Seokjin.
Something about their twin smiles made Yoongi’s heart twist around his chest, made it coil and uncoil unpleasantly. Namjoon and Seokjin had been an inseparable pair from the start, and had began dating within the week. They were just so perfect for each other, so undeniably made for each other. No one could refute the fact that they were two halves of a whole, two peas in a pod, or, if one wanted to use idioms of the Christmas carol variety, two turtle doves.
For some reason, that sentiment made Yoongi really, really mad.
“God, guys, get a room,” Yoongi muttered.
But it wasn’t like he was jealous or anything.
III. Three French Hens
From: namjoonie
[16 December, 14:43]
Hey, can you buy some more milk when you get out of class? We’re out.
Yoongi?
To: namjoonie
[16 December, 15:17]
soryr i cant im busyy rn
From: namjoonie
[16 December, 15:19]
Oh yeah I forgot you have the 3 shits today
Good luck
To: namjoonie
[16 December, 15:20]
no wait hepl me i wont makr it out alieve
namjooooon
nAMjOON THEYRE MAKINGN SPiTBALLSNAMJOOM
Yoongi grit his teeth as he pulled another wet wad of paper out of his hair. “Okay, let’s go over the review sheet again—”
“No fair, Gukkie, you can’t make two!” Jimin, the smallest (and oldest) of the three kids, protested.
Jeongguk, a round-faced boy with large eyes, stuck his tongue out. “Nuh uh, that’s not in the rules.” He put his two spitball guns against his lips again and blew out, Jimin screeching as one of the spitballs hit his arm. The other, of course, hit Yoongi’s cheek.
“So, when you divide fractions, you first have to—”
“That’s ‘hyung’ to you,” Jimin interjected in a growl, sounding more cute than menacing.
“—change the division sign into a multiplication sign, and then—”
“Jiminie, you’re so adorable!” Taehyung, ever the erratic, gushed, dropping his spitball gun and leaning over his desk to pinch at Jimin’s cheeks.
“—flip the denominator and numerator in the second fraction, which is—”
“Stop, I’m not ‘adorable’!” Jimin whined querulously, slapping Taehyung’s hand away.
“—called a reciprocal.”
“You are!” Taehyung continued to coo. Meanwhile, Jeongguk began to direct all of his spitballs at Taehyung, a few stray ones hitting Yoongi. “You’re like a puppy. Or a chili pepper,” Taehyung paused to retaliate at Jeongguk with one of his own spitballs, pulling an ear-splitting shriek out of the boy. “So cute.”
Yoongi sighed, rubbing at his temples as he listened to the trio launch into another cycle of constant bickering. When he first agreed to tutor a few kids once a week in exchange for a mediocre paycheck and some extra credit in Calc, he hadn’t anticipated them ; the trifecta, the trio, the three French hens of Si-hyuk Elementary themselves. His first after school session had left him with an unbearable migraine, marker covered limbs, and a whole lot to complain to Namjoon about the next day. A few months had passed, and he had learned to bear with them a little better.
Still, he had never been much good at containing his anger.
“Alright, listen here, you little shi—”
“Hyung!”
Yoongi tried not to fall out of his seat as Taehyung rushed past him and towards the door. He failed, of course, ending up with his ass on the sticky carpet. Jeongguk and Jimin giggled as they watched him, only rubbing salt in the wound by pelting him with more spitballs. As...strange as Taehyung was, this was the first time he had ever ran Yoongi over when he got picked up. And the first time Yoongi had ever heard anyone call their mother ‘hyung’. Come to think of it, wasn’t it a little early for Taehyung to go home? Yoongi wasn’t protesting in the slightest, but he was technically responsible for these kids, meaning that if they got kidnapped or anything like that, he would probably get punished. Maybe lose some of his extra credit or something.
“Ah, so we meet again.”
Yoongi froze in his spot on the floor, ignoring the battery of spitballs currently lodging themselves in his hair. Last time he checked, Taehyung’s mom did not have that deep of a voice. The only logical explanations were either A) Taehyung's mom had undergone some very big hormonal changes since last week, or B) that was not Taehyung's mom. Yoongi had been expecting some variation of B to be the case, but what he hadn’t expected was for the Not-Taehyung’s-Mom looming over him to be none other than Nice Thighs himself.
“Wait, what are you doing here?” Yoongi blurted out.
Before Hoseok could answer, Jeongguk did it for him. “That’s Hobi-hyung, duh,” he paused to blow a spitball directly onto Jimin’s forehead. “He’s here to pick Taehyung up, you dumb dumb.”
“I’m Taehyung’s older brother,” Hoseok added amusedly, which was much more helpful than Jeongguk’s contribution. “Mom normally picks him up, right? I’m sorry, this must've been a bit of a shock.”
Yeah, no kidding, Yoongi mused.
“I usually pick him up after school, actually,” He continued, walking over to Yoongi and holding his hand out. Yoongi grabbed it hesitantly and pulled himself up. “But, we have a family thing today, so our mom told me to pick him up early.”
Yoongi just blinked at him, still trying to process it all. Hoseok, the hot stranger with the nice thighs and cute smile, Hoseok, the dancer who still talked to Seokjin, Hoseok, the guy who Yoongi spilled his drink on—
“You should get going to that family thing, then,” Yoongi said curtly, face flushing at the embarrassment of the mere memory. “Wouldn’t want to be late.”
Hoseok tilted his head to the side curiously and stared at Yoongi with wide eyes, and Yoongi couldn’t help but be reminded of a kicked puppy. “Yeah,” he said, disappointment tinging his words. “Wouldn’t want to be late.”
Yoongi’s blush only worsened, and he hid it with a stack of review sheets. He should’ve felt bad, he knew, but he had learned a long time ago that, most times, it was easiest to not feel anything at all—including guilt.
“Hyung, hyung, hyung,” Jimin whispered, tugging on Yoongi’s sleeve as the siblings left, (Taehyung waving madly as he did so). “I need to ask you something.”
Yoongi sighed and lowered the review sheets. “Is it about dividing fractions?” He asked blandly, knowing full well what the answer was.
“Hyung,” Jimin continued, lowering his voice even more as he ignored Yoongi’s question. “Do you like Hobi-hyung?”
Yoongi furrowed his brow. “Excuse me?”
“I said, do you like —”
“I heard you the first time,” Yoongi snapped as Jimin pouted. “What gives you that idea?”
Jimin smirked, the little shit of a fifth grader. “Because you look at him the same way Gukkie looks at Sana. And Tzu-yu. And Nayeon. And—”
“Shut up!” Jeongguk screeched, leaning over his desk to lunge at Jimin. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
“It’s true~” Jimin continued in a sing-song voice as he backed out of his seat and pranced around the small classroom. Yoongi sighed for the third time in the past five minutes, rubbing at his eyes. “You’re always looking at those girls with that dopey look, with your eyes all sparkly and glazed over.” Jeongguk had leaped out of his seat by now, chasing Jimin around with alarming speed. “And every time they look back at you,” Jimin continued. Yoongi wondered if he had a death wish. “You turn into a tomato, all red and blushy, fidgeting with your hands.”
When Jeongguk finally caught up with Jimin, he tackled him onto the floor, knocking a globe and a few stacks of paper over in the process. “And you get all smiley and embarrassed, and you won’t stop talking about them for days, and—” Jimin finally stopped talking to let out a few muffled screams when Jeongguk grabbed a roll of Scotch tape and plastered it onto his mouth. For once, Yoongi didn’t try to stop them.
IV. Four Colly Birds
From: namjoonie
[17 December, 12:23]
Please get some milk
I haven’t had cereal in so long
This is a dark time in our lives
To: namjoonie
[17 December, 12:28]
jisoos christ joon calm down it’s only been two days
and get it yourself
From: namjoonie
[17 December, 12:30]
No I feel my life source draining I need cereal
Yoongi
I know you’re there I can hear you in your room
YOONGI
“Fucking asshole,” Yoongi muttered, pushing his rickety shopping cart down the aisle angrily. “Can’t buy his own fucking milk. Honestly, if he didn’t pay for half the rent…”
He grabbed a carton of milk without looking and tossed it into the cart, huffing as he rubbed his frostbitten hands together. Of course, the supermarket’s heat just had to break down today of all days, on the one day Yoongi was grocery shopping. Honestly, why did life hate him so much?
“Yoongi? Is that you?”
Yoongi closed his eyes when he heard the familiar voice from behind, and rubbed his hands together with even more fervor than before, before clasping them together. “Dear Lord in heaven, please spare me this one time,” he mumbled, the makeshift prayer coming out in short puffs of air. Yoongi wasn’t religious in any sense of the word, but goddamnit, he was willing to convert to Christianity right now to have whoever was calling him right now be looking for a different Yoongi.
“Yoongi, it’s me!” The voice added, more excitedly now. “It’s Hoseok!”
Why did life hate him so much?
Before Yoongi could turn around, he felt a pair of hands land on his shoulder and a puff of warm breath on his neck. Yoongi bristled and squirmed away from the sudden contact, turning around to face a rosy-cheeked Hoseok. “Man, you just can’t get enough of me, can you?” Hoseok teased with a wide grin, dimples poking out briefly.
Yoongi laughed weakly, flailing his arms behind his back before finding purchase on the handle of his shopping cart. “Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled, ignoring the way his heart flew straight out of his chest when Hoseok directed his smile straight at him, a colly bird that perched itself on top of Hoseok’s head.
“So, how are you?” Hoseok greeted, running his fingers through his own hair and pushing his bangs back. Wow, he had a nice forehead, Yoongi mused, staring at the smooth expanse of skin atop his eyes. Alright, Yoongi, way to be creepy.
“I’m…” Sorry for spilling my drink on you that one time? A little weirded out by the fact that my heart feels like it’s about to burst out of ribcage every time you smile, even though I barely know you? Really, extremely, inhumanly awkward? “Cold.” He finished lamely.
Hoseok laughed, the same raucous laughter from the night of the party, and Yoongi felt another colly bird fly out. This time, it landed on Hoseok’s shoulder. “Yeah, I can see that,” he noted, taking in the huge scarf wrapped around Yoongi’s neck. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he reached into his coat pocket. “Hey, you want a hot pack?” Without waiting for an answer, Hoseok took Yoongi’s hand and shoved a warm rectangle onto it, closing his fingers around it for him. Yoongi felt a rush of heat course through his body, although he couldn’t tell if it was from the hot pack or from the fact that Hoseok just touched his hands oh my God what did it mean ?
“Oh, uh, thanks,” Yoongi said in surprise, grasping the hot pack tightly with both hands.
Hoseok beamed at him, his smile warming Yoongi more than the hot pack ever could’ve, and another colly bird shot out from his heart and nestled itself in between Hoseok’s fingers. “No problem.” Hoseok paused and stared at Yoongi for a little while, tilting his head to the side in that puppy-like way he always did. “Are you going to run away?” He asked slowly.
Yoongi blinked. “What?”
Hoseok poked his bottom lip out, not necessarily in a pout, but in what Yoongi supposed was a nervous tic. Although, what did Hoseok have to be nervous about? Yoongi should be the only nervous one. “I mean, you’ve sort of been avoiding me,” Hoseok elaborated as he wrung his hands together and shot Yoongi an anxious smile. “You know, like when you ran away at the party, or when you tried to get me to leave earlier while I was picking Tae up from tutoring…”
“I’m not avoiding you.” Yoongi blurted out, wincing at how much of a lie it sounded even to him. He squeezed his hot pack tighter in his hands.
Hoseok furrowed his brow, obviously unconvinced.
“No, really, I’m not,” Yoongi insisted. Still, Hoseok looked unconvinced. “I just… I’m a little confused.” He confessed. “Like, why would someone like you choose to talk to someone like me? It’s unnerving.”
This made Hoseok laugh, although it was more out of surprise than amusement. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked teasingly.
“Well, I mean,” Yoongi continued. “You’re…” He gesticulated wildly in Hoseok’s direction. “You know. And I’m…” His arms fell flat on his sides. “You know.”
Hoseok raised an eyebrow. “No, I don’t know,” he replied, amused. “But, I’m flattered either way.”
Yoongi flushed, the hot pack suddenly scalding against his palm. He slipped it into his coat pocket and let it burn a hole through the cloth instead of through his skin. At the same moment, he felt his phone buzz from the opposite pocket. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his phone out and unlocking it. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes when his screen was assaulted with tens of messages from Namjoon in frantic caps lock about needing milk before he ‘jumped out of the third floor window from the mere thought of having to eat his cereal dry’.
“I gotta go,” Yoongi sighed, wondering why he still lived with Namjoon. “I really need to get this milk home.”
Hoseok nodded seriously. “I see. Must be important milk.”
Yoongi snorted, but mimicked his grave countenance. “Incredibly so.”
Hoseok laughed. “Well, be sure to update me later. On the milk, that is.”
Yoongi stared at him dimly. “Uh, how?”
“Text me, of course,” Hoseok answered, handing Yoongi his phone with a smirk. “How else?”
Another bird flew out of his chest and perched itself onto Hoseok’s wrist, and Yoongi found himself staring at four colly birds as he punched his number into Hoseok’s phone.
V. Five Golden Rings
To: hoseok
[18 December, 02:24]
namjoon can you water horace for me, i’m gonna be at the library for a while
oh shit sorry wrong person
From: hoseok
[18 December, 02:27]
lolol ur fine ^^
and why r u at the library so late?
To: hoseok
[18 December, 02:29]
studying
From: hoseok
[18 December, 02:30]
wut (<_<) u should be sleeping
ur health is important...
To: hoseok
[18 December, 02:31]
...okay
that sounds fake but okay
??
hoseok?
are you asleep?
oh my god if you show up at the library i will never forgive you
HOSEOK
“So, who’s Horace?”
Although the sudden voice startled what little life Yoongi still had left in him out, his half-lidded eyes stayed glued to his calculus textbook. He flipped the page and choked down a yawn. “That’s none of your business,” he mumbled in what he hoped was an assertive voice (although, he doubted it was any more intimidating than a kitten playing with a piece of string). “Leave me alone, Hoseok, I need to study.”
“Yah, how did you know it was me?” Yoongi didn’t need to look up from his textbook to know that Hoseok was pouting. The thought made Yoongi smile, just a little bit, and he dipped his head a little closer to his textbook so that Hoseok couldn’t see his face.
“You’re the only person I know who’s awake right now,” Yoongi said distractedly, finding it a little hard to focus on calculus while trying to hold a proper conversation.
“Other than you, right?”
Yoongi snorted. “Well, aren’t we just a pair of ragtag misfits?”
Now it was Hoseok’s turn to snort. “Of course. Especially since I am, of course, the wildest person I know. In fact,” he lowered his voice, and Yoongi felt the table shift as he leaned in closer. “Once, I asked for a water cup at a McDonald’s, and I got a Sprite instead.”
Yoongi burst into tiny giggles at that, stifling them quickly by clapping his hand over his mouth. He could almost feel Hoseok beaming in pride, could feel it soak through his clothes and heat his skin up.
“Is Horace a ferret or something?” Hoseok asked suddenly, clearly still stuck on the subject. “Or, like, a kitten?”
Yoongi furrowed his brow. “How the hell would I water a kitten?”
“The same way you’d water a ferret?”
Yoongi looked up from his textbook and at Hoseok for the first time that day. He looked so insanely serious, lips pressed in a straight line and one eyebrow raised, that Yoongi couldn’t help but keel over his book in laughter. Hoseok followed soon after, his laughs louder and bigger and happier than anything Yoongi had ever heard in his life. They stayed like that for a couple of seconds, giggling and wheezing over the library table, until a student librarian made a loud shushing noise in their direction. Yoongi coughed and cleared his throat, picking up a long gone cold cup of coffee and shoving it past his lips with flushed cheeks.
Hoseok’s eyes widened. “Holy crap, how many cups of coffee is that?” He said in a hushed voice, probably to appease to the librarian’s request (although even his hushed voice wasn’t very quiet in the first place). “One, two, three, four—”
“Five.” Yoongi finished, sighing as he shifted his gaze to the five golden rings of condensation left on the library table from his drinks. It was a little artistic, if one wanted to look at it that way. Five cups of coffee, five trips to the 24-hour diner, five hours of poring over functions and differential equations.
“That...can’t be healthy,” Hoseok started hesitantly. “When was the last time you slept?”
Yoongi puffed his cheeks out in thought. “I’m not sure. When was the last time the cafeteria served lasagna?”
“That was...that was a couple days ago.”
“Oh,” Yoongi blinked. “Well, there’s your answer.”
Hoseok scrunched his eyebrows together in concern. “You need sleep.”
“No one needs sleep,” Yoongi scoffed, taking another sip of coffee. “That’s just a myth they tell you on TV to sell mattresses.”
Before he could even register the movement, Hoseok swept the four empty coffee cups into his arm and snatched the half-empty one from Yoongi’s hand. Yoongi sputtered, a dumbfounded gurgling noise leaving his lips. He tried to form words, but, for some reason, he couldn’t make any sounds other than a couple of loud ‘sdfjhskdf’s. The librarian shushed him again. “ I am going to clean up here,” Hoseok started huffily, standing up and dumping the cups into a nearby trash bin. “And you are going to go to bed.”
“But, I have to—”
“You can study later, after you’ve slept for,” he paused, closing the textbook and stacking Yoongi’s smaller notebooks on top of it. “Ten hours, at least.”
Yoongi looked on, speechless, as Hoseok grabbed a couple of tissues and began cleaning down the table. “Go. Sleep.” Hoseok added forcefully, wiping away the five golden rings. “Or I will carry you home bridal style and tuck you in myself.”
‘Thank you’ seemed to be stuck in Yoongi’s throat, even as he stood up from his seat and gathered his books. Sure, it was easy to say when someone was giving you a disposable hot pack, but when someone genuinely cared and looked out for you? Yoongi settled for an awkward half-bow and a mumbled “good night” instead.
Hoseok seemed to get the message, eyes crinkling up in a large smile. “Good night, hyung.” Yoongi swallowed the butterflies in his throat so that they fluttered around his gut with the unsaid thanks.
VI. Six Geese a Laying
From: sunshine
[19 December, 06:48]
good morning~ (*^▽^*)
how r u today?
To: sunshine
[19 December, 06:50]
holy shit how are you so enthusiastic in the morning
are you on drugs
From: sunshine
[19 December, 06:52]
??
im just a morning person
To: sunshine
[19 December, 06:53]
okay very funny
what drugs are you on and who’s your supplier
Yoongi hummed under his breath as he prodded at the egg sizzling in his frying pan with a spatula. “...gee gee gee gee, baby baby baby—”
“—GEE GEE GEE GEE, BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BA—”
Yoongi screamed as he turned around, flailing his spatula in the air wildly. A similar scream came from the intruder, although his was slightly higher pitched. Which was strange, because if Yoongi remembered correctly, Namjoon’s voice was definitely not higher than his.
“Jesus Christ, Yoongi,” Seokjin breathed out, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “Calm down with the spatula. You’re gonna take my head off.”
Yoongi sighed. It was just Seokjin. Of course.
“Yeah, too bad I didn’t,” Yoongi grumbled, turning back to his eggs before they burnt to a crisp. He stifled a yawn. Apparently, even the prospect of getting killed by a household intruder before he even had his breakfast wasn’t enough to wake Yoongi up. He slid the finished egg onto a plate with two other identical ones and peered over at Seokjin. “Tell me why you’re in my home again?”
“Actually,” Seokjin reached his hand over the fruit bowl (although it was moreso a ‘single Kit-Kat bar surrounded by two apples’ bowl) situated on the kitchen counter and Yoongi slapped it away. “This is half Namjoon’s home too, since he pays half the rent.”
“And that’s the only reason why I live with him,” Yoongi mumbled, carrying the plate stacked with four eggs over to the living room couch.
Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “No, you live with him is because he has an actual paying job, while you lay around in your room all day watching anime.”
“Tutoring counts as an ‘actual paying job’,” Yoongi snapped, slapping Seokjin’s hand again as he made his way back to the kitchen to grab a fork. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to babysit those brats and teach them about fractions at the same time? It’s hell, hyung. Loud, spit covered hell.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Seokjin scoffed. “I’m sure you enjoyed it last time.”
Yoongi furrowed his brow and tried to remember the previous tutoring session. It had been just as hellish as any other session, maybe even more so because of the French Hens’ sudden discovery of spitballs. “Oh, yeah, I totally enjoyed picking wet wads of notebook paper out of my hair when I got home,” he snorted as he jabbed a fork into the whites of an egg. “What a blast.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
He didn’t, he really didn’t. Seokjin’s knowing smirk, the type exchanged between two friends sharing a vulgar inside joke, implied that he assumed Yoongi had functioning brain processes in the morning, and actually knew what he was referring to. Which, again, he didn’t.
“I really don’t,” Yoongi said blankly, staring at Seokjin’s smug smile as he wracked his brain for what he could possibly be talking about. So, he wasn’t talking about the spitballs. And he most likely wasn’t talking about the fact that the kids still did not know how to divide fractions. Then, maybe he was talking about Taehyung leaving early? Or maybe he was talking about the fact that Taehyung’s mom didn’t pick him up this time, and that instead Hoseok—
“No,” Yoongi said hotly, stabbing at an egg yolk as he turned away from Seokjin. “No, no, no, no, no—”
“Oh, come on!” Seokjin whined. “Hoseok told me about it yesterday!” Yoongi continued to stare at the egg yolk, at the yellow oozing over his plate.
“You can’t act like you don’t like this guy,” Seokjin continued, ignoring Yoongi… Er, ignoring him. “You clearly care about him.”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Where did you get that idea from?”
“Well, for starters,” Seokjin shifted his gaze to the kitchen countertop. “His contact name on your phone is ‘sunshine’.”
Yoongi sputtered and coughed out the chunks of egg lodged in his throat. “H-How do you know that?”
“You left your phone on the kitchen counter.”
Yoongi sprang up from the sofa and lunged at Seokjin, who held the phone above his head as he read the messages on the lockscreen. Damn tall people. And Yoongi thought having to ask Namjoon to get things off of the shelf for him was bad. “Jesus Christ, Hoseok uses a lot of emojis,” Seokjin commented nonchalantly as Yoongi grappled at thin air in an attempt to get his phone back. “Like, I know he uses a lot of emojis, but with you, he uses a lot of emojis .”
“Goddamnit, I will fucking stab you with this fork,” Yoongi wheezed, flailing the silver utensil in his hand around. Seokjin continued to scroll down the messages.
“Aw, he asked if you were having a good day,” he cooed, insufferable smirk on his lips. “About fifty times too, I might add.”
“Hyung, give it back,” Yoongi pleaded, giving up on the aggressive approach and shifting into the puppy dog eyes one.
“He told you to stay hydrated, too!”
“ Hyung! ”
Seokjin paused his scrolling to look at Yoongi, mischievous glint in his eyes. “Make me breakfast?”
Yoongi huffed out. “Yeah, yeah, fine.”
“And let me eat the Kit-Kat?”
Silence.
“...He says it’s cold out, and that you should be sure to dress warmly and bring a couple of hot packs—”
“Okay, fine! I get it!”
Seokjin finally lowered his arms and Yoongi snatched his phone back. “Love you, Yoongs,” he cooed as he blew a kiss. Yoongi trudged silently back to the kitchen to fry three more eggs, six glaringly empty spaces newly created in the cardboard carton.