Yoongi didn’t want it to come to this as he sits in front of his laptop, but his mother had pushed him too far this time.
“Yoongi-ah, you’re not bringing a date to dinner this year again?”
He’d gritted his teeth at her sickly sweet voice over the phone, had to bite back a sharp reply, because no, mother, I don’t have a goddamn date for the last fucking time just leave me alone.
“Soojin is bringing her fiancé,” his mother continued, oblivious to her son’s silent fuming on the other end. “They’ve already been together for three years, can you believe it? It probably won’t be long until they start having children either.”
“Good for Soojin,” he grumbled, and he could practically feel his mother’s lips purse in disapproval of his tone. Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, because he knew what was coming next;
“When am I going to get some grandchildren, Yoongi-ah? How long are you going to keep your father and me waiting?”
Exhaling heavily, Yoongi had rubbed at his tired eyes. “I’m only twenty three, eomma, I have plenty of time to meet someone.” It’s the same thing he says every time, the same thing she always ignores.
“Oh, I know, I know,” she’d quickly chirped over the line. “It’s just your aunt has been asking if there’s anyone special in your life, and I just hate to disappoint her.” He rolled his eyes, lips curling in disgust. A headache began to throb in his temples, and Yoongi clenched the hand that wasn’t holding the phone into a fist when he heard his mother begin to say something else.
“Look, eomma, I have to get going now,” he’d interrupted the beginning of her sentence, trying to keep the venom out of his voice.
“Wait, Yoongi-ah, what ab—“
“I’ll see you next week for Thanksgiving,” he had spoken loudly over her. “Talk to you later.”
Before she even had a chance to reply, Yoongi hung up abruptly and tossed his phone onto the couch with more force than was necessary. Raking his hands through his black hair, Yoongi clenched his teeth, both in irritation and because his head was aching dully. Speaking to his mother always takes a toll on him.
He needed a fucking drink.
Yoongi moved into his kitchen and grabbed a bottle of scotch out of his pantry, not even bothering to use a glass as he took a long drag straight from the bottle. It burned his throat as it went down, and he welcomed the feeling as he fumed silently, leaning against his counter with a sigh.
So now here he is, glowering in front of his laptop at one in the morning, staring at the stupidest craigslist ad he’s ever seen.
Yoongi isn’t sure how he ended up here, but somewhere in his hours of angry internet browsing he’d done to take his mind off things, he’d somehow fallen down that hole. The rabbit hole where he doesn’t know how he got there and he sure as hell did not mean to watch two dozen of covers of “Let it Go” until Yoongi’s sure he’ll hear that fucking song in his nightmares.
But here he is, facing easily the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen. Scrolling down, he goes to click out of the page, but curiosity gets the better of him, so with a sigh of exasperation he begins reading;
It’s Thanksgiving. Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how you’re still single? About how your parents really want more grandchildren? Well, look no further!
I am a 21 year old felon with no high school degree, and a dirty old van one year younger than me painted like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar. I can play anywhere between the ages of 15 and 27 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and work late nights at a bar. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.
I can do these things at your request:
Openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice.
Start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion.
Propose to you in front of everyone.
Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on.
Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.
I require no pay but the free meal I will receive as a guest!
Yoongi scoffs as he finishes reading. Is this guy fucking for real?
He scrolls back up to see a small, incredibly blurry picture of a young man with startling red hair. From what little Yoongi can see, the guy doesn’t seem to be too bad looking. Yoongi rolls his eyes and goes to click out of the page, but once again, curiosity gets the better of him and his finger pauses mid-click.
His parents really are pissing him off. He’s sick of his mom’s constant nagging about being him single and her increasing pressure for grandchildren, and his dad’s not-so-subtle jabs at Yoongi’s life and career choices have gotten to the point that Yoongi wonders why the man doesn’t come straight out and say what he really thinks. His two aunts on his mother’s side are just as bad; always comparing him to his cousins, in the sweet as honey voices Yoongi has come to despise.
Leaning back in his chair with a heavy exhale, Yoongi steeples his fingers and bites his bottom lip. Honestly, at this point, Yoongi is sick of his family. He wouldn’t really have anything to do with them if it weren’t out of obligation. They have always disapproved of his path in life, always judged him and compared him, always scorned him and lectured him. Narrowing his eyes and gazing absentmindedly through the triangle his steepled fingers make, he can’t help it when a smirk pulls at his lips.
His mother wants him to date? She didn’t say who.
Shaking his head at the prospect of what he’s about to do, Yoongi moves back closer to his laptop and clicks on the ‘reply’ button.
“Why the hell not?” He mutters to himself.
Yoongi sits at the small circular table of the café, his leg bouncing nervously as he awaits the arrival of the craigslist guy.
He learned the guy’s name in the reply to the email he’d sent, awaking to find it the next morning. With shaking hands he’d opened the email and read the short reply asking to meet later that day at the café. Yoongi doesn’t know what the actual fuck he was thinking as he taps his fingers on the table in agitation, earning him an annoyed look from a woman at the table next to him, but he doesn’t even notice as he eyes the time on his phone. What if the craigslist dude doesn’t even know that Yoongi’s a guy? He realizes he hadn’t specified in the email. Would this “Jimin” even want to help him when he finds out Yoongi’s a man and not a girl?
Five minutes until the meeting time, Yoongi decides that he can’t do this. He stands up and is about to flee the café when a soft, melodic voice from behind him makes him freeze;
He turns around quickly, ready to tell the guy that he’s sorry but he’s changed his mind, but Yoongi’s words die in his throat when his gaze settles on the young man before him.
Holy shit, he’s beautiful.
The man before him looks like barely more than a boy, what with his soft, chubby cheeks and plush, full lips. His hair is a pretty silver color, unlike the picture from the ad where his hair had been flame red. It glints almost lilac in the light streaming in through the windows of the café and tumbles across his forehead, the afternoon sun casting him in a warm glow and lighting up smooth, tan skin. Yoongi takes in the sharp, sculpted jawline and straight, shapely nose, the warm brown eyes peering at him through dark lashes. His gaze sweeps over the oversized grey sweater that is too long in the sleeves and the tight, ripped jeans.
His throat turns a little dry because this is not what he was expecting.
This baby-faced kid is a convicted felon? And he’s hot as hell? Damn.
The black-haired boy’s attention is brought back when the young man cocks his head at him, looking like a little puppy as his eyebrows raise. “Are you Yoongi-ssi?” He asks again, his voice quiet and clear.
“Uh,” Yoongi blinks, shaking himself out of his stupor. “Um, yeah. That’s me,” he grunts intelligently. He is dazzled when the silver-haired boy in front of him smiles wide, his full lips parting and his eyes narrowing into little upside down crescents that has Yoongi momentarily speechless because holy fuck, what a beautiful smile. The boy steps closer and holds out his hand, and Yoongi is surprised to see they are the same height as he jerkily takes the tiny—oh my god, it’s so small—offered hand and lets the other shake it enthusiastically.
“I’m Jimin,” the younger boy grins, and Yoongi can’t help but stare back dumbly. “Park Jimin. It’s great to meet you!”
“Um,” Yoongi blinks, not quite sure how to react to Jimin’s enthusiasm as they release hands. “Min Yoongi…it’s nice to meet you too.”
Jimin steps back and looks towards the café counter. “Do you want to order something? I’m buying.” He asks with another smile, and Yoongi shrugs.
“I guess I’ll have a coffee. Black.”
Jimin wrinkles his nose before smiling again. “Gross, but coming right up!” Before Yoongi can respond, Jimin skips off to place their orders. Actually skips. Yoongi doesn’t know whether it’s cute or weird.
He sits back down at the table to wait for Jimin, debating on whether or not he wants to go through with this. He decides he’ll talk to the boy first and see how he feels after.
Jimin arrives at the table a few moments later carrying Yoongi’s drink and some sort of Frappuccino drenched in so much caramel Yoongi gets a cavity just from looking at it. “One black coffee,” the boy announces, placing the steaming beverage before Yoongi, who gives the silver-haired kid a small smile.
“Thanks,” he says, wrapping his hands around the paper cup to absorb its warmth as Jimin slides into the chair across from him.
“So,” the kid begins, resting his elbows on the table and leaning closer, his chin cupped in his hands. “What’s the story? Why do you need my help?”
Yoongi sighs and leans back in his chair, crossing his legs and tiredly running a hand through his black hair. “Asshole family,” he grunts, not really knowing how else to explain. It seems to be enough for Jimin though, who nods thoughtfully.
“Say no more,” he nods, reaching behind him and pulling a pen and a little notebook from his back pocket. Yoongi raises his eyebrows.
Is this kid serious? He’s going to take fucking notes?
“I’m assuming you’re hiring me for Thanksgiving?” Jimin asks, and Yoongi nods. “Okay, if I’m going to be your fake date, we should learn the basics about each other so it’s more believable,” he explains to Yoongi, who nods again. “Alright,” Jimin flips open the notebook and settles back in his chair. “How old are you?”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow at the dumb question. “Twenty three,” he replies, watching Jimin nod and scribble something in his notepad.
“Occupation?” Jimin continues, and Yoongi has to bite back a smile at how serious the kid looks.
“I produce music.” Jimin’s eyes flash up to him, looking interested, and Yoongi can tell he’s curious. The boy looks like he’s on the verge of asking a question but seems to restrain himself.
“How many in your family?”
“Uh,” Yoongi narrows his eyes as he thinks. “My parents, my grandma, two aunts, two uncles, and a couple of cousins.” Jimin nods to himself as he scribbles in his notebook.
“Where are you from?”
“I rent an apartment in downtown Seoul,”
Yoongi quirks a brow. Seriously? “Um, cats I guess?” Jimin smiles to himself, not looking up from his book.
“Is that really important?” Yoongi asks in exasperation, taking a sip of his coffee. Jimin looks up at him and shrugs.
“It might be.”
Yoongi chuckles and gives in. “I guess black?”
Jimin wrinkles his nose and narrows his eyes at Yoongi. “Black isn’t a color,” he states with a frown.
“Sure it is,” Yoongi frowns back.
With a sigh, he crosses his arms and regards the kid before him. “Well, what’s your favorite color then?”
Jimin purses his lips as he thinks. “The rainbow!”
Yoongi scoffs at him. “The rainbow isn’t a color.”
“Sure it is.” Jimin narrows his eyes at him, imitating Yoongi’s tone from before. The black-haired boy isn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed.
“Fair enough,” he finally concedes with a small smile. “Continue.” Jimin nods happily and goes back to his notebook.
“What’s your relationship with your parents like?”
Yoongi frowns again, twisting his coffee cup in circles on the table as he thinks. He’s aware of Jimin watching him silently. “Strained,” he finally says his voice gruff. “They don’t approve of me or my lifestyle choices.”
Jimin looks like he wants to say something again, but instead stares back at his notebook. “Okay, how long have we been dating?” Jimin asks, sighing when Yoongi just looks at him dumbly. “You and me, how long have we been dating? We have to match our stories up so it sounds believable.”
“Oh, right,” Yoongi nods in understanding. “Um, maybe three weeks? Long enough that my mother doesn’t get suspicious, but short enough that I can explain why I haven’t said anything about you before. How does that sound?”
Jimin nods in agreement. “I think that sounds good. You can just say you’ve been keeping me a secret to surprise them, and after Thanksgiving is over you can just tell them we broke up. On that note, how did we first meet?”
Yoongi stares at him blankly. “Uh…”
Jimin sighs again and regards him in exasperation. “Um, how about…” he taps his chin and purses his lips in thought. “We met when I accidentally tripped and spilled my strawberry banana smoothie all over you at a little smoothie joint downtown, and you were mad at first, but I was so sorry and embarrassed that I started crying and you had to calm me down, apologizing for making me cry even though I spilled my drink on you. And once I stopped crying down you bought me another smoothie and gave me your number so that I could get your shirt dry cleaned for you, even though that was just a cover to give me your number?”
Yoongi stares at Jimin with wide eyes when he finishes. “That’s oddly…specific?”
Jimin blushes bright pink and takes a sip of his caramel monstrosity to buy himself some time, his plump lips sealing around the straw and sucking in a way that makes Yoongi slightly uncomfortable. “That was kind of…” he coughs in embarrassment. “That was kinda how I met my first boyfriend.”
Yoongi tries to keep his face neutral as he stares at Jimin.
Does that mean Jimin is…
Yoongi can’t help but feel a sense of relief, because maybe this won’t be so weird for the kid. It also makes him regard Jimin in a different light, because he is really attractive.
Yoongi isn’t too secretive about his sexuality, but he also doesn’t go around announcing it to the world. All of his friends know, and he thinks his parents know too, but they just like to deny it, instead always asking him if he has a girlfriend yet. Yoongi’s had girlfriends growing up, but he’s just never clicked with them as well as he’d like. As well as his mom would like.
He’d discovered he liked guys three years ago after a drunken and sloppy hookup with a good looking man at a nightclub. He’d been freaked out to say the least when he woke up naked the next morning with a stranger in his bed. Yoongi had gotten over it quickly though, because it honestly wasn’t that big of a deal to him. He liked guys. So what? He knows his parents wouldn’t feel the same way, though, so he keeps it mostly to himself around them. The only person in his family who knows for sure and doesn’t even care is his grandmother. Yoongi’s chest fills with warmth as he thinks of the old woman.
Realizing Jimin is watching him, probably waiting for his response, Yoongi sees his eyes flicker with worry. Does Jimin think Yoongi is freaked out by him revealing he’s dated a man? Yoongi doesn’t want him to think that, so he flashes the kid a warm smile to reassure him. “Okay, that sounds good. Let’s go with that.”
He notices the way Jimin’s shoulder relax slightly, and the younger smiles back at him. He blinks in confusion when Jimin stands up abruptly, grabbing his Frappuccino and looking down at Yoongi expectantly, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “Let’s go on a walk and we can come up with our evil plan.”
Yoongi grins and stands up as well. “Okay.”