Chapter Text
once upon a time, yoongi’s life looked promising. but it was spring, and things are usually happier when the flowers are blooming. it didn’t stop things from completely falling off. things that were completely out of his reach. things that made him take a semester off from college. but now, it’s here. min yoongi is a senior, getting closer and closer to graduation. he’s becoming an adult for real, with no chance of turning back. one thing about yoongi is that he never fully understood the concept of time. it just feels like he’s always running out of it, swimming against the tide.
summer came along with its own set of messed up challenges, and has since melted into fall, and yoongi isn’t keeping score, but if he were, it would be the universe: seven billion versus yoongi: zero. it just feels like he can’t win, no matter how hard he tries, it’s simply total devastation and despair. absolutely no reason to keep going. either that, or right now he’s just in a mood—cranky as fuck, to be honest. his clothes are sticking uncomfortably to his skin, and the cacophony of chatter and clattering cutlery in the cafeteria is overstimulating him a bit too much. it’s been one of those weeks from hell. the sheer amount of papers and words and tunes and notes have already fried his brain. this heat isn’t helping in the slightest.
“ughhhhhhh.”
sitting on the other side of the table, jimin snorts. “that’s your third groan in under twenty minutes, according to my calculations. that’s gotta be some type of world record.”
“it’s way too fucking hot today,” yoongi mutters, shifting his body in an attempt to catch more breeze from the ceiling fans. it’s useless. “jimin-ah. do you remember when october used to be cold?”
jimin analyses him through the thick lens of his reading glasses. he rarely ever wears them, but mentioned something about his eyes being dry earlier. he looks cute. until he opens his mouth. “hyung, you sound like a grandpa,” he smiles, pausing mid-sip of his overly sweet, cream-laden monstrosity of a coffee. “you literally sound like one of the ahjussis from the retirement home taehyung volunteers at.”
jimin, this freaking wolf in sheep’s clothing. the light slap he receives on his arm is immediate and, frankly, well-deserved. “ouch,” he deadpans, glaring at yoongi. “that’s assault.”
“you had it coming,” yoongi replies with a shrug, sipping on his regular sweetened, perfectly iced americano. grabbing a snack with jimin has become more and more of a thing lately, since the two of them have the same free periods this semester. it does, however, come with large doses of teasing. in a way, yoongi and jimin are like tom and jerry; they love to be together so they can annoy the fuck out of each other, until one of them completely breaks. it’s a silent competition, one that yoongi isn’t completely sure he’s winning most of the time. hence, if he were to keep tally of the universe scoring against him. that’d be way too many points for him to lose.
jimin narrows his eyes. “yoongi hyung, be real with me. do you wanna kiss me again? wasn’t once, while completely wasted, enough for you? is that why you’re so grumpy?”
much to his own dismay, yoongi’s cheeks heat up instantly. it’s just teasing, he knows that, because jimin is a fucking menace who enjoys fumbling people for sport, but it still gets under his skin. despite not being interested in a relationship with jimin, no matter how hard he tries to project an aura of cool nonchalance, yoongi is, at his core, a hopelessly flustered little gay. if a guy flirts with him, he will malfunction—that’s just his default.
“can you please stop flirting with me for sport?” yoongi says in a lower, menacing tone.
“why on earth would i stop?” jimin questions in the same tone, somehow even more menacing. “i’m good at this sport. i’d even say i’m winning, most of the time.”
“you should stop because i genuinely don’t understand how bringing up our drunk make out can be entertaining,” yoongi replies between his teeth.
after a beat, jimin breaks into a smile. “i can’t help it, hyung. i tried quitting it, but it’s too much fun. you get so caught up in it, it’s hilarious.”
yoongi groans again. “you’re a fucking gigantic pain in my ass.”
“okay, i’m sorry. can i make it up to you at the party tonight?” jimin says, his voice carrying just a pinch of mischief. he raises an eyebrow, suggesting yoongi should read between the lines of what he’s offering. “and you shouldn’t feel so flattered about us making out. i’m on a sidequest to make out with all of my friends.”
whatever that means. yoongi isn’t in the mood to leave the house, so of course, he quickly comes up with an excuse. “i’d love to, but i have so much to do, jimin-ah,” he sighs dramatically. “i’m literally cooked. and not only because of the weather.”
“here we go again,” jimin sighs.
“but it’s true!” yoongi protests, gesturing wildly. “the reason i’m melting in my leather jacket—in fucking october, mind you—is global warming! all the fucked up things going on with the planet right now are being caused by billionaires and artificial intelligence! get me out of here, jimin, this is actual hell!”
“you know what?” jimin takes off his glasses. “fuck yes. let’s blame elon musk for stopping you from looking like a sexy rockstar in your leather jacket.”
“he—stop,” yoongi says, a laugh escaping his lips. “i could write an entire thesis about this, but the impending doom it’d trigger would be unbearable. ignorance is bliss, it’s true.”
“not to mention, it’s the real reason for your pouting.”
“no.” yoongi sips on his coffee. “it’s because i’m sweating.”
“and the sweat is ruining your aesthetic.”
yoongi glares, rolling his eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck. “god, do you ever shut up?”
“you sure don’t,” jimin bites back.
the answer to the age old question will yoongi and jimin ever stop bickering? remains elusive.
before yoongi can clap back, taehyung materializes beside them, resplendent in an eccentric suit that looks like it’s half art exhibit, half fever dream. he freehanded small vintage whimsical moons all over it. he’s extremely aware of how well he can pull it off. “happy friday, messieurs,” he announces with a flourish, as if he’s gracing them with his presence.
“not so happy—yoongi hyung isn’t joining us at the party,” jimin laments with just enough drama to match taehyung’s energy.
“sacré blue! why?” taehyung asks, literally clutching on his pearl necklace for dear life.
“i have to write an entire essay for my theory of musicology class,” yoongi says. for once, it’s not even a lie; he really has to do it.
“but we’re gonna have magical brownies!” taehyung exclaims, dropping all the act they were playing. “and that kid kevin is hosting, we all know the motherfucker is rich. i’m talking about the finest drinks for free! hyung, you can’t miss it.”
“sorry, my essay about the homoerotic undertones of romantic-era piano duets isn’t going to write itself.”
jimin stares at him with his mouth hanging open, while taehyung sighs and shakes his head in mock disappointment.
“you’re such a fucking nerd,” jimin says.
“i doubt that’s a real thing. romantic-era piano duets?” taehyung asks.
“sounds ai-generated to me,” jimin says.
yoongi rolls his eyes. “it’s not my fault you’re so uncultured, jimin-ah.”
“hey! he has a great repertoire,” taehyung defends.
“who the fuck was dueting in the romantic era, hyung? chopin and tchaikovsky?”
“tchaikovsky was only nine years old when chopin died,” yoongi shrugs. “plus one was russian and the other was polish. i don’t see how they’d be dueting. sounds very impractical.”
“hyung, if you come to the party i swear i’ll even indulge in your vast music knowledge,” taehyung says with puppy eyes. “please?”
“or—” jimin interrupts. “you could totally write about your extremely niche topic over the weekend. can’t you just come with us tonight? please?” he pouts. “you never go out with us anymore.”
yoongi shakes his head. he’s scared to admit out loud that his company just isn’t good at the moment, so he keeps using studying, of all things, as an excuse. the truth is that yoongi needs self-deprecating alone time, and a party is just gonna ruin his schedule. somehow his friends keep being understanding and nice about him not showing up anywhere. he isn’t fully sure he deserves it.
so despite their relentless attempts to drag him along, from jimin spending the rest of the afternoon bombarding him with text messages, to taehyung crossing the entire campus just to try and bribe him into going, yoongi remains resolute. he won’t be leaving his apartment to attend any sort of function. if he manages to finish this essay tonight, he still has the entire weekend to cut loose—not that he will. but the choice will be there.
this week, as though more of the same, felt like it was fucking endless. and yet, yoongi managed to survive without ending his own life—or someone else’s, most likely jimin’s. so as a reward, he cranks the ac to the lowest setting possible. he and seokjin call that setting yakutsk, because that’s how they imagine the coldest place on earth feels like. but they have to earn the right to set their apartment to yakutsk. and tonight, yoongi feels like he earned it.
it takes a while but the icy chill creep into his bones, his fingers beginning to stiffen as he opens a google doc and starts writing his essay. he cracks open a can of coke zero, and promptly sends a picture of it to the group 1000 cans of coke zero in 2026. the count is currently 874 cans of coke zero, and they started the group as joke in february. yoongi and his friends clearly have some type of problem.
after six hours of pure and dedicated focus, yoongi finally wraps up. he stretches until he can hear his bones cracking, and makes his way to the living room. there, sprawled comfortably on the couch, is seokjin. he’s in his usual pair of pajamas, a silky lilac set, humming some random tune from the tv while carefully rolling a joint on top of a coffee table book, his long fingers working with the precision of an artist.
see, this is one of the reasons why yoongi doesn’t actually need to go to any party: he’s got the good stuff at home, thanks to his roommate who uses his pretty face as a tool to get free pot. this kind of hard work has to be recognized.
“yoongi-yah,” seokjin greets, patting the seat next to him like he’d do to a puppy. “do you remember, not that long ago, when the long awaited month of october used to be cold?”
“hyung! that’s what i’ve been saying all day!” yoongi so much as shrieks, flopping onto the couch. “and park fucking jimin had the nerve to call me old for it. he and taehyung wouldn’t shut up about how ancient i must be, just because i didn’t feel like going to some random house party with them tonight.”
the smallest amount of air leaves seokjin’s nose. “if you’re ancient, what does that makes me?”
“prehistoric?” yoongi offers.
“fuck you.”
yoongi smiles. “can you believe taehyung offered me money to go? he actually slipped a bill in my hand.”
“this guy,” seokjin snorts. “he’s something else.”
“it took me back to when i was twelve years old and my great-aunt boram would try to shake my hand and give me money without my other cousins noticing because i was her favorite.”
“what made you her favorite?”
“i played chess with her.”
“cute. of course you played chess with the elderly.”
“anyway,” yoongi dismisses the compliment. “taehyung kept saying tonight’s party was unmissable, that i’d deeply regret my choices if i didn’t show up. and jimin told me to take you with me, because he wants to see more of you.”
“more of me,” seokjin repeats, quirking an eyebrow.
“he told me he’s on a mission to make out with all of his friends.”
“that sounds like a joke.”
“it isn’t. it’s pretty serious.”
“right,” seokjin says cryptically. it’s impossible to know what goes on inside his head. seokjin is so private that even yoongi, who’s been his roommate for the past five years, doesn’t fully know him.
“anyway,” yoongi continues, “eventually they gave up. and i came home instead, finished my essay, and am actually very happy with my choices.”
“that’s the spirit,” seokjin says. “besides, there’s always a party thing happening. these people party literally every day. what makes this one more special than the one happening tomorrow, or the day after that?”
“that’s exactly what i told them! but deep inside, i get it. two years ago i’d also rather die than miss a party. i guess i’ve become a grown up.”
“these kids,” seokjin tuts, shaking his head as he lights up the joint. “they don’t know what a good time is yet. they’re too young to appreciate the beauty of it. it’s about getting high with your roommate and playing mario kart all night. isn’t that right?”
“well…” yoongi takes a slow drag when seokjin passes the joint to him, the familiar burn creeping in his lungs. “occasionally.”
seokjin widens his eyes dramatically. these freaking theater kids that yoongi keeps befriending, every single moment has to be some type of movie scene with them. and for some reason, he indulges all of them. “occasionally? what could possibly be better than my company?”
yoongi exhales, smoke curling lazily in the air. “if i don’t go to parties, how am i supposed to get laid?”
“oh,” seokjin says, tone dropping back to casual. “by joining grindr, like the rest of mortals?”
“like you don’t use grindr yourself,” yoongi says, passing the joint back to him.
“honey, have you seen my face?” seokjin gestures to himself with exaggerated flair. “do you think i need grindr to help me with anything?”
yoongi snorts. “of course you don’t.”
“yeah, that’s what i thought,” seokjin replies triumphantly. “so what’s your excuse?”
“my excuse is that i simply refuse to succumb to such a devious device. i vow to always meet people the way the gays that came before me intended,” yoongi replies.
“at a party with drinks of questionable precedence, strange ass music and even weirder people?”
“you just described literally any party at moonlight, but yes, that’s exactly how.”
seokjin laughs, shaking his head as he takes another drag. “you’re hopeless. acting like moonlight isn’t just as perverted as grindr, if not more.”
all teasing from seokjin aside, yoongi has honestly had some of the best nights of his life at moonlight. that club is the background of countless unforgettable moments. and sure, some of them truly were perverted, but nothing was ever as meaningless as a faceless exchange of dick pictures on an app, and that’s all yoongi tries to avoid. he can’t fucking do casual; he has tried and he has failed.
as the high sets in, yoongi finds himself blissfully relaxed. he half-watches as seokjin plays mario kart, the faint sound of game music blending with the hum of their old ac. he scrolls on his phone for what feels like an eternity, the instant dopamine from silly tiktoks too good to resist. on moments like this yoongi has to admit—living with seokjin is nice. they’re kind of the perfect roommates. they coexist effortlessly, each doing their own thing without stepping on the other’s toes. he wants to say that out loud, but then seokjin would just tease him for getting sappy, the same way he does whenever he recounts the night yoongi came home drunk and slurred out an unsolicited, heartfelt i love you, hyung to him, immediately falling asleep by seokjin’s side right after. so instead of opening his mouth just for the sake of embarrassing himself, yoongi unwinds in his own way by running a bubble bath. he likes to his free will to good use.
the water is warm, the bubbles surrounding him like a soft, pillowy cloud, it all smells like lavender and vanilla, and he lets his high carry him. lying on his back, his eyes lazily trace the intricate tiles on the walls; the patterns remind him of moorish architecture, where geometric designs were meant to evoke infinity, a reflection of the divine, and he certainly feels divine right now, his mind spinning with the multiple colors. the person who chose these tiles did a pretty good job, and he hopes they got a well deserved raise for it. few minutes pass, or perhaps several, when the sound of his phone ringing cuts through his haze, startling him.
groaning, he glances at the screen, a name flashing there: jeon jeongguk film. no picture attached to his contact, no emojis—just as straight to the point as possible: it’s jeon jeongguk, from the film department, calling min yoongi, from the music department. yoongi quirks an eyebrow, and reaches for the phone. his wet, wrinkled fingers slip against the screen, fumbling to press the answer button. “hel—”
jeongguk’s voice bursts through the speaker, cutting yoongi’s greeting. “please don't say anything, and please don’t hang up on me. just let me speak.”
and that’s odd for a number of reasons.
for starters: jeongguk is the latest addition to their dysfunctional little friend group. but the two of them? not exactly besties. they’re friendly, but nothing more than acquaintances—basically, they hang out with the same people from the art department so often that they’ve happened to learn each other’s names. plus, yoongi is a senior and jeongguk is just a junior. so calling each other on a random friday night? definitely uncharted territory.
if yoongi’s being a hundred percent honest, he’d say jeongguk is fucking annoying, actually. annoyingly attractive and annoyingly talented. he’s effortlessly cool, parading around in his baggy clothes, looking like a rockstar. the fact that yoongi has to try so hard everyday to seem slightly interesting and not at all weird, while jeongguk gets to simply wake up and just exist like that, is infuriating on its own.
so yeah, they totally aren’t even remotely close to being friends. unless, of course, yoongi counts that fateful night at moonlight. it was summer, and things were still alright. at that point, he’d known jeongguk for no more than a month, and apparently that was enough time for his ass to get so drunk he found himself making out with the guy, cornering him against the wall right next to the dj booth. the promise of more might’ve been there, but yoongi is not only an impulsive drunk, but a very sensitive one, and jeongguk is fucking hot, so at some point in the night, while sharing a cigarette with taehyung at the sidewalk in front of the club, yoongi passionately yelled that he’d marry jeongguk in a heartbeat if he said yes. he’d have his babies, despite that not being physically possible. he’d give jeongguk the moon, if he asked for it, since his dark brown eyes look remarkably like a starry sky.
the fact that jeongguk could also step out of moonlight for fresh air and a cigarette and hear him shouting at the top of his lungs hadn’t crossed his mind at all. so of course, that’s exactly what happened. and as yoongi opened his mouth to try to come up with an excuse, jeongguk brushed the whole thing off as if it was nothing, while yoongi got too embarrassed to try to fix the situation. thankfully, one of jeongguk’s friends got kinda fucked up and needed to be babysat, so the two of them just ended up drifting apart for the rest of the night.
but yoongi remembers everything. he remembers the taste of apple flavored vodka in jeongguk’s mouth. he remembers the smell of tobacco mixed with alcohol and weed and sweat and jeongguk’s cologne. beat of the song thumped with the rhythm of their bodies. the goosebumps start to raise the minute that my left hand meets your waist. yoongi can’t forget the frustration after getting home alone to a lousy handjob in the shower, despite having had his thigh between jeongguk’s and his fingernails dragging along his back under his shirt.
after that, things got really awkward. yoongi blames himself; he should’ve been less intense. like, way less. jeongguk was quick to find himself a boyfriend, a jock with huge muscles. and then every other aspect of yoongi’s life went to shit, and he never had time to actually get over jeongguk. he couldn’t be at moonlight watching jeongguk and big buff jock kiss, so he stopped going out at all. and now he just pretends that he isn’t super into jeongguk.
being into jeongguk is extremely inconvenient. which brings him back to the call, and only one possible question: what the fuck? as per his request, yoongi doesn’t say anything.
jeongguk continues rambling over the phone. “good. phew. thanks. i really expected you to hang up. i actually expected you to not answer the phone at all, i thought you’d have blocked my number by now. so thanks for not doing that, i guess!” he proceeds to laugh hysterically. yoongi is so deeply and profoundly confused, and the fact that he’s high isn’t helping. he’s very slow when he’s stoned. but he stays quiet, mostly because he’s curious to see where jeongguk is going with this, as he keeps talking and talking really fast, like he’s just spitting out his entire flow of consciousness in one breath.
“i know it’s fucking three in the morning and this is fucking pathetic, alright, the last thing i need from you right now is judgement. even though judging is like your second nature—fuck, why am i even doing this?—ok, just. listen. i just wanted you to reconsider things. i know our last conversation ended pretty badly, but come on. it costs nothing for the both of us to just stop and think about what the heck we’re doing. like, is it really worth it? to put everything to waste like this? i really don’t think it is.”
the first thing yoongi thinks is that he hadn’t even noticed it was three in the morning. the second one is that he’s fairly certain jeongguk called the wrong person. and then he almost interrupts him to clarify things, but he’s also human. sue him for enjoying a good piece of gossip. so he keeps listening as jeongguk yaps: “mingyu-yah, i just think you made a terrible mistake when you broke up with me. because letting me, a hot piece of ass, simply go, is stupid. you're being fucking dumb.”
the rest of the sentence goes muffled in yoongi’s ear, because he’s pretty sure he just heard jeongguk saying mingyu-ah. and if yoongi’s correct, that’s the name of jeongguk’s big tall buff tanned jock boyfriend. well, ex-boyfriend.
well, shit.
yoongi slides down a little in the bathtub, the soap bubbles hitting his chin, his face burning red in shame. he should’ve hung up when he had the chance. now he’s just intruding in something he has absolutely no business knowing about. now he’s just being insanely inappropriate.
“don’t you think i’m hot? like, don’t you think it’s a waste to let me go? i think so. i’m currently staring at myself in the mirror, you know? and i don’t really give a fuck if you have your reasons, i think we look fucking good together and we should--no, not me, you should reconsider. that’s what i think.”
yoongi almost laughs in disbelief, but quickly clears his throat instead. he’d hate for jeongguk to think that mingyu is making fun of him, even though mingyu is actually yoongi in this situation. the sound seems to snap jeongguk out of his trance. “fuck. you’re still listening. i forgot that you’re still listening. oh, fuck. oh, shit. alright. i’m gonna be real with you, i’m so fucking baked right now. and i couldn’t fucking stop thinking about this huge mistake you made, so, yeah. you should reconsider letting me go like this. it’s your loss, truly. anyway, it’s way too late, so i’m gonna hang up. just think about it, alright? think. stare at a picture of me and use your brain. alright. bye. this is jeongguk, signing off.”
the call comes to an end, and it takes a while for yoongi to recover from the second hand embarrassment he feels. not because jeongguk called his now ex-boyfriend just to ask to be boyfriends again. yoongi has eyes, and those eyes have looked at jeongguk plenty of times. it’s insane not want to be with him. jeongguk is hot as fuck, so hot that sometimes yoongi struggles even focusing on what the guy is saying, because he’s busy imagining how jeongguk’s tongue inside his mouth would feel like again.
that’s not what kills yoongi inside. no, it’s the fact that jeongguk is gonna wake up the next day, sober, and realize he called yoongi by mistake. and that’s just going to be absurdly mortifying for the both of them, the type that completely ruins any possible flirty dynamic that could possibly occur again between them, something even worse than proposing marriage after making out in a dirty club. any chance yoongi might’ve ever gotten to be with jeongguk goes down the drain, just like the water from his bathtub.
the amount of obstacles between the bathroom and his bedroom seem to be endless as yoongi bumps on the walls and trips on his own feet. is he feeling dizzy because he stood up too fast and his low-ironed ass blood pressure dropped? most likely. he eats a late snack with seokjin, who insists on serving it on an actual plate like they’re in a michelin-star restaurant. he listens to a ten minute rant about how people don’t appreciate how food is presented anymore, and that’s just as important as the flavor. and then instead of staying up and overthinking, yoongi goes to bed and overthinks there.
the sun is almost up when his phone chimes with new notifications.
park jimin (menace #1):
you should be hereeeeee
bitch
you better not come up with a nerdy lame excuse and actually attend my birthday party. shall i remind you it’s on the 13th and that’s next week
yoongi:
is the so called “party of the year” you insisted so hard on me to go so fucking boring that you’re texting me instead of making out with someone hot?
wow. :/
park jimin (menace #1):
you’re fucking terrible
i’m drunk and i crave validation rn
and you’re always awake
so promise me you’re going
yoongi:
i wouldn’t miss it
it’s been on my calendar for a while
park jimin (menace #1):
you’re actually a pretty great friend
yoongi:
don’t get too sappy on me
it doesn't suit us
park jimin (menace #1):
right
you suck
yoongi:
you suck harder
good night
park jimin (menace #1):
<3
(btw jeongguk will be at my party)
yoongi:
(how’s that fucking relevant)
park jimin (menace #1):
(i just thought you’d like to know)
yoongi:
(i don’t understand what you mean)
yoongi can’t deal with this. he forces himself to sleep.
by noon, he wakes up feeling like he’s been hit by a truck. he blames it on his bad posture and crappy mattress. his eyes are dry, his mouth is cotton, and his brain immediately shoves one thing to the forefront—jeongguk’s call.
he can’t recall much of what was said. the bits he does remember spin around in his head. while he brushes his teeth, he listens to jeongguk’s sweet voice saying take me back. by breakfast, he’s poking at cereal that’s gone too soggy while trying to figure out if jeongguk realized who he dialed after he hung up. by lunch, don’t you think i’m hot? echoes in his brain like a cursed ringtone from the early 2000s. by mid-afternoon, as he’s lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling fan, he’s questioning the nature of cause and effect, reality, and turning back time. he then grabs his phone to google, “can overthinking cause brain damage?” which, thank god, it can’t. yet. yoongi could be patient zero, who knows.
but the thing that really keeps gnawing at his nerves is the fact that jeongguk hasn’t followed up. not a single text, not even an apologetic meme or a sorry hyung, i totally called the wrong person haha silly me!. it’s radio silence from his end.
either jeongguk still has no idea he called yoongi by mistake—which means yoongi is the one who has to decide whether to break the news to him or let it fester forever. or, jeongguk does know he called yoongi instead of mingyu. and he’s mortified. so mortified that now their already weird dynamic is about to evolve into some new level of awkwardness. and both options suck in their own soul-crunching ways. yoongi’s certain this type of thing can only happen to him. he’s somehow cosmically selected to be the guy this stuff happens to. the chosen one. except instead of wielding a sword or discovering magic powers, he just lies face-up on the living room floor, contemplating existential doom in sweatpants. honestly? if he stays like this forever, it might be better for everyone involved. yeah. sounds like a great plan.
time’s a complete blur, but eventually yoongi blinks and sees hoseok and seokjin crouched over him like concerned park rangers stumbling upon a wounded forest creature.
“how long has he been lying like that?” hoseok whispers.
“about an hour. but when i got home he was already like this,” seokjin replies, deadpan. “so it could be even longer.”
“should we be concerned?”
“nah. it’s yoongi.”he breaks the whispering, turning his head at him. “you’re fine, aren’t you?”
yoongi blinks again. “totally.”
hoseok looks unconvinced, but seokjin is quick to shrug it off. he has this uncanny superpower when it comes to knowing exactly when yoongi needs space versus when he needs to be dragged back into the world.
“marvelous,” seokjin says, already heading for the kitchen. “let me grab a drink. it’s never too early to pregame.”
“we’re pregaming for what, exactly?” yoongi mutters from the floor.
“i have a party for us to go!” hoseok beams. and if there’s one thing about this guy, is that he’s absolutely evil. he may look all sweet and sunshiney from across the room, with his cool as fuck outfit and radiant smile, but he’s not that innocent.
like one of those nights that start out of nowhere in movies, in a quick change of scenes, just one drink turns into several. hoseok preaching that if yoongi and seokjin don’t leave the house more often they’ll become victorian ghosts. and then seokjin, the fucking traitor, bailing at the last possible second with a weak-ass excuse about having a spiritual stomach cramp, which he delivered with oscar-worthy drama, of course.
so, yes, hoseok being the devil is the only logical explanation for how yoongi ends up here. trapped. socializing. getting increasingly drunk in the desperate hope of forgetting about jeongguk and that damn phone call. it’s working, for the most part. there’s something about hanging out with fashion students that always puts yoongi on edge; he feels too perceived, like anyone can see through him.
“they’re not even looking at you,” hoseok says when yoongi mutters about feeling scrutinized. “you’re just paranoid.”
and alright—hoseok may be right. he often is, and it’s so fucking annoying. but that doesn’t make the feeling any easier to shake. the worms in yoongi’s head are saying everyone knows you’re not a hat guy, even though he has one currently sitting on his head. yoongi downs whatever shot he can get his hands on until he’s slightly less self-conscious.
it’s been quite the year for hoseok. first, he caught his boyfriend cheating. then he lost his job. something about budget cuts, though everyone knew his asshole manager just didn’t like him. after months of rejection emails and spiraling, hoseok took the only part of his life he could control—his wardrobe—and started posting outfit videos. what began as chaotic mirror selfies somehow turned into actual sponsorship deals. now he’s styling shoots, doing brand partnerships, and casually befriending semi-famous art students like it’s no big deal.
yoongi’s proud of him for the way he turned things around, even if it means ending up in parties filled with people who say “avant-basic” unironically. he’s used to parties with small groups in small apartments, where everyone gathers around to listen to music and eat stuff they can just take out of the freezer. he’s used to microwaves and microplastics, cheap alcohol and hot boxing the room. this isn’t yoongi’s kind of outing at all, but he rolls with it. he quietly tours around the house and admires the light fixtures. then the art pieces covering the walls and the books on the shelves. he’s crouched in a corner trying to pet a pomeranian wearing a tiny pearl necklace when his phone starts buzzing on the pocket of his jeans.
it’s jeongguk. yoongi inhales sharply, bracing himself for whatever comes next. certain that, as soon as he accepts the call, he’ll hear an exasperated whine from the other side of the line, jeongguk’s voice going i’m sorry hyung, i’m so so so so sorry at least a dozen times.
that’s not what happens.
“mingyu-yah,” jeongguk says with determination.
yoongi’s jaw drops to the fucking floor. this can’t be happening again. there’s no freaking way this is a real life event. he enters the first empty room he can find to listen to jeongguk better.
“wow. you’re really not going to say anything. not even a hum. i actually don’t know what i expected. this is so stupid, i’m just gonna hang–”
something demonic possesses yoongi quickly and makes him hum lightly in response. “hmmmm.” and he can’t understand why, in the name of lucifer, he’d be alright pretending he’s jeongguk’s ex-boyfriend. just to keep listening to jeongguk speak? that’s pathetic even to yoongi’s standards.
“he speaks,” jeongguk mutters. “or, well. hums. i did ask you to do it, so i shouldn’t be surprised that you actually did. either way, uh… i’m just gonna be honest. i was so embarrassed when i woke up this morning, fuck, i don’t know what came over me. in my mind our call lasted so fucking long. i have no idea how long it lasted, i haven’t checked. can you believe i was too fucking embarrassed to even check?”
yoongi thinks, you should’ve checked, jeongguk. fucking hell.
“...so i ate some leftover brownie from last night and i’m not embarrassed anymore! i stand by what i said. we should reconsider this break-up. and you should answer my texts. it’s just a couple, i’m not completely flooding you, i’m not that insane. i mean, i’m sure you saw that i texted you. so be a dear and answer me, damn it. that’s what i have to say. i hope you’re doing okay. we should get back together. and you should text me back. byeee.”
yoongi starts cackling over the off-hook tone. because what else is he supposed to do, when his life became an episode of a lame romantic netflix comedy drama? he has to laugh at himself; it’s easier than blaming the universe for setting him up yet again. he leaves the room, looking for any familiar face. it has to be some nepo-baby hosting this party, as the house is simply never ending. it baffles him that sometime in the 90s, someone’s dad was on the first batch of k-pop idols, and now yoongi is here crashing their party and drinking their expensive vermouth.
finally, he finds a friend in the kitchen. namjoon is there, struggling to cut a lime. one thing about namjoon is that if yoongi needed him to hold a cutting knife to save him, they’d both be dead.
“hey,” yoongi says.
“my drink needs a garnish!” namjoon immediately explains.
“you’re doing a great job,” yoongi responds. he watches as the lime rolls around the counter and namjoon inhales deeply as if he’s counting to ten in order not to completely lose his shit.
something clicks in yoongi’s brain. what he needs right now is more information about jeongguk, and namjoon, being the biggest gossip he knows, definitely has it.
“namjoon-ah,” yoongi says. “you look like you could use a smoke.”
namjoon’s eyes all but glisten. he gives up on cutting the lime immediately. “best idea i’ve heard in hours.”
the cold immediately slaps them in the face the moment they step outside. yoongi shivers, clutching his lighter as he tries to coax a flame out of it. “what the actual fuck,” he mutters when it takes him a few tries, the breeze not helping. finally, the cigarette catches, and he takes a deep drag, the warmth of the smoke rushing through him. “yesterday felt like i was stepping on the surface of the sun, and now i’m shivering? i’m fucking shivering?”
namjoon grimaces as he flickers his lighter with one hand and rubs his head with the other in an attempt to warm up.
“hell of a time you chose to get a buzzcut,” yoongi muses. “right in the beginning of fall. you’re just gonna be freezing all the time.”
“i can wear beanies,” namjoon shrugs.
yoongi hums, taking a drag. “you know that feeling when you’re wearing a hat in public, and you never wear hats, so you’re totally sure every single person who crosses your path is gonna know that you’re not a hat-wearer?”
namjoon blinks. “i fear some experiences are individual, hyung.”
with a sigh, yoongi yanks the stupid thing off his own head and shoves it into namjoon’s bag. “just give it back to me when i leave, yeah?”
namjoon nods, exhaling smoke in a slow stream. he’s quiet for a moment, jaw locked and brows furrowed, the way he gets when he’s calculating his words. then he says, “i didn’t get the buzzcut to look cool. i got it because my situationship left me so insane i had no other choice but to shave my head.”
yoongi’s been through lots of heartbreak in his life, but hitting this low is unimaginable for him; he likes his long hair too much. “i know. how are you, by the way? we barely had any chance to catch up these past weeks.”
“the beginning of semester caught me by the throat, but i’m getting back on my feet now,” namjoon nods.
“that’s good to hear.”
“it’s just been…”
“quite the year?”
“tell me about it.”
they laugh. “you know where we live, if you ever need some different people to hang out and get your mind off of things,” yoongi offers. he and namjoon mostly hang out when the entire group is together. it’s been the case with all of them, since yoongi’s only been hanging out with seokjin at home and with jimin in school. it’s been quite the year. now he feels like he doesn’t know how to socialize with other people anymore. the universe is ruthless, though, and it’s forcing him.
“thanks hyung. that means a lot.”
the silence between them stretches for a moment, and yoongi lets it. he knows namjoon won’t just spill the beans right away. he has to believe he isn’t being a complete snitch. yoongi flicks ash off the tip of his cigarette, watching it scatter in the wind. “so i spoke to jeongguk earlier,” he says. it’s not a total lie. “he sounded sort of unhinged.”
namjoon snorts, nearly choking on his smoke. “that tracks.”
yoongi raises an eyebrow, taking another slow drag. “let me guess. his ex?”
“yeah,” namjoon groans. and then just spills everything, like he was just waiting for someone to bring up the subject so he can vent about it. “i just don’t fucking understand why jeongguk is still clinging to the idea of being his boyfriend. they weren’t even together, it was just this weird situationship. and i’ve had my share, hyung, i can’t keep watching this happen. jeongguk won’t be able to rock a buzzcut, he’s just gonna look goofy.”
“at least he looks good in hats,” yoongi sighs.
“unlike you, apparently,” namjoon bites back a smile.
“shut up,” yoongi says. “so… they weren’t boyfriends?”
“nope.” namjoon taps his cigarette against the railing, ash falling in neat little flakes. “just a lot of late-night hookups and whatever bullshit excuses he gave to avoid commitment.”
“huh.” yoongi watches smoke dissolve into thin air. he doesn’t have anything to say that won’t give away his true intentions. that he isn’t gossiping just for the sake of gossiping.
“he just hates that he was dumped, that’s the truth.”
yoongi almost chokes. “he was dumped?”
“yeah, mingyu was the one who ended things!”
that piece of information must have escaped yoongi, because his shock is genuine. “who could be this stupid to let jeongguk go?” he mutters quietly, more to himself than to namjoon.
“that’s what i said!” namjoon gestures with his cigarette like it’s a laser pointer. “but jeongguk… i don’t know, man. he’s stubborn. and blind. like, dude’s clearly into someone else, but he’s stuck on this whole ‘unfinished business’ crap with mingyu. maybe that’s why mingyu couldn’t keep things going, can you imagine being with somebody who wants someone else?”
yoongi’s grip tightens around his cigarette. “someone else?” he asks.
namjoon smiles knowingly, turning to him. “don’t play dumb, hyung. you know exactly who i mean.”
jeongguk likes yoongi? no, he doesn’t. it can’t be. yoongi scared him off. there must be yet another person in the mix.
yoongi stubs his cigarette out on the railing. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“sure you don’t.”
“i don’t,” yoongi says matter of factly. “and i’m going inside before i get frostbite, if you excuse me.”
yoongi prides himself in being able to act like he isn’t totally drunk, but his mind is spinning in multiple directions. at this point, he isn’t sure if he’s being willfully clueless or just incredibly skilled at lying to everyone. all of his friends know he never got over jeongguk. hell, even jeongguk probably knows that. and it’s ridiculous, because they were never a thing in the first place. it’s just overall ridiculous. yoongi’s entire life is pathetic.
all he can hear is namjoon’s voice behind him. “yoongi, come back! i’m still holding your stupid hat!”