some facts about jeon jungkook:
he is nineteen years old. freshman in college. currently an undecided major. talented at some things. introverted but competitive. likes to sing and doodle random faces he sees at coffee shops and on campus. shares an apartment with college sophomores kim taehyung and park jimin. currently suffering because of that last fact, because -
jungkook has never, in his nineteen years of life, dated anyone. that’s another fact. he is perfectly fine with this; he was perfectly fine with this. it took one (1) mistake, one night where he was maybe a little bit too drunk on jimin and taehyung’s booze and feeling sort of lonely watching them be all cuddly; he might’ve slipped something about wanting to meet someone. whatever. it was a moment of weakness. it’s not that he wants to date for the sake of dating. taehyung, though, hasn’t let it go since.
he means well. this is what jungkook tells himself when taehyung shoves a sheet of paper in his face at eight in the morning when he’s mechanically shoveling cereal into his mouth at the kitchen table in sort of a dissociative state. TAEHYUNG’S MATCHMAKING SERVICES, it reads at the top in taehyung’s glaring handwriting. jungkook doesn’t even want to read the rest of it.
“it’s a survey i developed just for you,” taehyung says, lowering it onto the table in front of jungkook when he makes no move to take it, “to establish your ideal type. to narrow down the scope. to make it easier for me to make a match.”
“i don’t want to meet anyone you know,” jungkook says.
“that’s just saying you don’t want to meet anyone,” taehyung purses his lips, “since i pretty much know everyone.”
sadly, it’s true. jungkook’s pretty sure he’s friends with everyone he has ever made eye contact with. he once saw him befriend someone who was trying to steal his lunch money. taehyung’s social skills are a superpower, and right now he’s using them for evil.
“just fill this out, the questions are easy,” taehyung says, jerking the paper towards jungkook.
“the questions are ridiculous,” jungkook mumbles around his cereal, even though he hasn’t even looked at them.
“stubborn,” taehyung says and reaches to smack jungkook lightly on the back of his head. jungkook continues eating, unfazed. “at least answer the gender one, for now. who do you prefer? male? female? both? whatever? i can’t believe i don’t even know this about you, you know. am i really your best friend?”
“jimin is my best friend,” jungkook deadpans.
taehyung lets out a shocked gasp, and at the same moment, jimin half-stumbles out of his room - or taehyung’s room, where he sleeps more often than not - with none of the grace of a dance major so early in the morning, like a hell-beast you summon using words of praise.
“did i hear jungkookie say something positive about me?” he smirks sleepily and shuffles over to the kitchen table to ruffle jungkook’s already messy hair. “hyung will buy you ice cream after classes if you keep it up.”
jungkook raises a hand to form an “o” with his thumb and index finger, not looking up from the table he’s been staring at blankly for minutes. taehyung's fingers inch the paper to the right so that it’s in jungkook’s line of sight.
“give me something to work with. you won’t be disappointed. satisfaction guaranteed or your money back.”
he hears jimin snort around the kitchen counter. he ignores it. he glances up at taehyung.
“did you take my money?”
taehyung waves his hand dismissively.
“not important. you said you wanted to meet someone,” he says, “i want to help.”
and all things aside, he does mean well. he means to help, no ulterior motives, no personal gain. taehyung is simple that way, and too damn kind-hearted. sighing, jungkook pushes back the chair and stands up, reaching for his backpack resting against the wall.
“check whatever,” he says over his shoulder before leaving. it has nothing to do with the puppy eyes taehyung’s giving him.
it takes taehyung a moment to realize he’s talking about the gender question. jungkook hears his victory squeal all the way to the hallway. he rolls his eyes a little bit.
he’s not really going to do this. he just wants taehyung off his back. he doesn’t need a matchmaker or a match or a person to date. taehyung is ridiculous. taehyung should just worry about himself. he isn’t dating anyone either, although they do have a very ambiguous thing going with jimin. they were like that already when jungkook met them in high school. no one’s ever sure if they are dating. sometimes jungkook thinks they are not even sure themselves.
he asked them, just once, a little bit before they graduated high school. jimin answered, “i have standards, you know”, to which taehyung said, “your standards are about as low as your height”, and then they somehow managed to throw hands with taehyung never lifting his head from jimin’s lap. it cleared up absolutely nothing, so jungkook didn’t ask again.
he has an hour before his next class, so he goes to his usual coffee shop to kill time. he doesn’t go to any of the ones on campus, they are always too crowded and there’s nowhere to sit. he doesn’t deal well with hectic. he goes to the one just behind campus; it’s a longer walk, sure, but it’s worth it if he can just sit at a corner table and sketch in peace. he texts jimin as he walks in; he’s been sending him random compliments off the top of his head all day, because he’s damn well going to get that ice cream.
hyungs left pinky toe is the most attractive left pinky toe ive ever seen. he snorts at his own message and stalks up to the counter.
he settles down at the corner table with his frappuccino and pulls out his sketchbook. he pulls one foot up on the seat with him, rests the sketchbook against his knee. plugs in his earphones. he sketches the people who come in, eyes flicking up every now and then. there’s a girl with a ponytail and freckles. a man with drooping eyes. a lady with curly, silvery hair.
he hears the door ding through the music, and glances up to quickly take a look at whoever came in. then he does a double-take.
he has never seen him before. he could be a college student, a few years older than jungkook at most, and there’s something about him that makes jungkook unable to take his eyes off him. maybe it’s the mint green hair, the outgrowing undercut. maybe it’s the glimmering pieces of metal in his ears. maybe it’s the way his profile looks as he tilts his head back to read the menu on the wall; the soft curve of his nose, his lips, his chin. the hand holding the pencil itches.
jungkook sketches his profile, the pencil moving on the paper as if saying, remember this. then he starts drawing him again, when he sits down at the table right next to his. he’s directly in front of jungkook, looking down at his phone. jungkook bites at his lip in concentration, and sketches the mess of his hair, the dark eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks. the shape of his face, the slightly pouty lips. he’s next to the window, and the light is hitting him in all the right ways. it’s not just the light, a voice in the back of jungkook’s mind says, he’s just that fucking beautiful.
the next time jungkook looks up, he almost jumps, because a pair of dark eyes is staring back at him. the guy is looking at jungkook with a completely unreadable expression on his face, his hands still on his phone. there’s no way he doesn’t know jungkook was drawing him; fuck, what now?
then he blinks, slowly, and smiles - a half-smile, half-smirk that pulls at the corner of his lips, amused, maybe, and maybe something else - jungkook holds his breath, for no real reason. he’s vaguely aware his heart is doing something weird, but refuses to acknowledge it any further.
the eye contact lasts abnormally long. that’s what it feels like. it feels like a challenge, at this point, and jungkook’s not about to back down first, even though his ears are probably turning red. finally; finally the guy looks away. does something on his phone and finishes his black coffee in one go. he gets up - but rather than turning his back and walking to the door, he starts walking towards jungkook. jungkook’s brain is very helpfully just going: shit. fuck.
the guy stops when he’s looming over jungkook’s shoulder. he’s not that tall, jungkook notes, as if that’s relevant. he’d probably tower over him if he stood up. but he stays frozen in his seat. the sketchbook is right there for the guy to see, resting against jungkook’s knee. he could close it, slam it onto the table face down, but he doesn’t. he stares at the guy who stares at the drawing. of him. that jungkook made. jungkook’s hand reaches up automatically to rip out one of the earbuds.
they are completely silent, for a while. please tell me what to say, jungkook begs his shit brain, which only continues the mantra of curse words. then the guy tilts his head.
“i think you made me look more attractive than i really am,” he says. his voice is low, kind of scratchy. nice. he sounds casual. almost bored. jungkook can’t read his tone or expression.
“are you calling me a shitty artist?” is what comes out of his mouth.
the guy looks at him blankly. blinks. jungkook does not expect the smile that spreads on his face. it’s different from the earlier half-smile. it shows his gums and makes his eyes wrinkle at the corners. jungkook thinks: holy shit.
“damn, kid,” the guy says, “no, i’m calling you the opposite.”
jungkook opens his mouth - and then his phone buzzes very loudly on the table. they both look down at it. it’s opened on his chat with jimin. the chat that is currently very questionable.
hyung looked good in the morning even with ur hair sticking up in every direction
hyungs butt is very smackable
sm a c ka b l e
keep it up and youll get ice cream <3
hyungs tiny hands are adorable
hyungs voice is nice. especially when singing in the shower at 2am
hyungs left pinky toe is the most attractive left pinky toe ive ever seen
for every sarcastic comment i’ll reduce the size of ur ice cream
“i’m going to pretend i didn’t see anything,” the guy says.
jungkook welcomes death, at this point. he’s not sure how much the guy saw. depends on whether or not he was raised to believe reading other people’s messages is bad manners, he guesses.
he casts one more unreadable look at jungkook.
“you’re really talented,” he says, “you should make money out of this.”
with that, he leaves. jungkook watches him pass by the window.
he lets out a deep breath. drops the sketchbook onto the table. what the fuck was that. he stares at the drawing and frowns, worrying his lip. he called him talented. he smiled. but then he just left, abruptly, probably weirded out by the chat, probably deciding he’s not interested in jungkook, after all.
he thinks about the gummy smile. thinks about retracing it on the paper. he groans, letting the pencil roll away from his hand and letting his head fall into his folded arms. his face feels like it’s burning up.
then he remembers the time, curses, and hurries to stuff the sketchbook and pencils into his backpack because he’s running really fucking late.
“i’m not sure,” jungkook says as they leave the small grocery store, “but i think someone was trying to flirt with me today.”
jimin looks at him. he’s full-on biting into his popsicle without even using his hands, which further proves jungkook’s theory about him being somehow related to satan. jimin laughs. jungkook narrows his eyes at him.
“what, is it that unbelievable?”
jimin takes the popsicle out of his mouth and only laughs harder.
“jungkook, no,” he says, reaching an arm around his shoulders and patting at his bicep. “it’s the opposite. i think people flirt with you all the time, and you just don’t realize.”
jungkook can’t decide whether jimin’s being serious or not. he’s still grinning as jungkook shakes his arm off.
“were they attractive?” he asks.
jungkook busies himself with his ice cream to stop his face from doing something weird. jimin bought him the one he wanted, even after all the threats to reduce the size. he always relents, in the end.
“uh,” jungkook says, “yeah. very.”
“what did you do? did you get a name? a number?”
jungkook groans quietly.
“when would i have asked for his name? when he was judging the sketch i made of him and probably thinking i was weird as hell? or when he saw our chat and all the embarrassing shit i sent you?”
jimin’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second. then he bursts out laughing again. jungkook is about ready to publicly throttle him.
“he saw it? the line about you wanting to smack my butt?”
“i think so,” jungkook mutters darkly, and jimin nearly doubles over. jungkook aims a light kick at his shin. “it was embarrassing as fuck.”
“you’re a good artist, though,” jimin says after a while, a little more serious. “i don’t think he would mind you drawing him. if anything, he was probably impressed. i know i was when you drew me.”
“i drew a picture of me kicking your ass after you lost my headphones,” jungkook says.
“still,” jimin says solemnly, “i was impressed.”
jungkook laughs despite himself.
taehyung has attached the matchmaking survey to the fridge door. it has fill me in :( scribbled on it. jungkook’s eye twitches. what does a man have to do around here to be able to enjoy some chinese leftovers in peace.
he skims through the questions, although even that sort of feels like giving in.
at the top, a box saying whatever is checked. the next question is about whether or not he would date an upperclassman. the next line reads, describe your ideal type here, and underneath it, some directional questions. morning/night person. quiet/loud. sense of humor. most important values. pet peeves. that sort of thing. on a scale from one to five, how important is being able to keep a tank of reptiles to you? what? some of the questions make it very obvious the thing was created by taehyung.
and okay, even if jungkook for some weird reason wanted to fill it out, he wouldn’t know what to write. he doesn’t know who he’s looking for. if he was looking for anyone. which he’s not.
image of the mint-haired guy flashes through his mind involuntarily. jungkook’s heart beats a little bit faster, and he determinedly ignores it. he’s probably not even going to see him again. he wishes the guy hadn’t smiled at him like that. he can’t get it out of his mind.
at the very bottom, it says to describe where he sees himself in thirty years. mourning the death of kim taehyung, who disappeared thirty years ago and was never found, jungkook almost writes. he doesn’t; he draws it instead, on the flip side of the paper. it comes out pretty nice, if he says so himself, him and jimin grieving around taehyung’s grave and the text, here lies kim taehyung. he never could stop meddling with jungkook’s romantic life. he tapes it on taehyung’s bedroom door.
even if he wants to stop thinking about him, the mint-haired guy lives on the page of jungkook’s sketchbook. you made me look more attractive than i really am, the guy said. have you looked in the mirror, jungkook wanted to say. he bites at his fingernails, thinks that he should probably be concerned for himself.
“wait up, yoongi,” hoseok calls behind him, as if he couldn’t catch up with his long legs and excellent fitness.
yoongi stills, nonetheless, and waits until hoseok is at his side before continuing walking. hoseok is expectantly quiet. yoongi can literally feel his eyes on the side of his face. he pretends not to notice.
“so?” hoseok goes finally, giving up first.
“so what,” yoongi says.
“don’t ‘so what’ me,” hoseok says. he takes out his phone and holds it in front of yoongi’s face. it’s opened on the group chat with him, hoseok and namjoon. hoseok scrolls through the entire conversation they had when yoongi was at the coffee shop. yoongi does not appreciate the evidence being shoved in his face.
im at a coffee shop and theres this guy sitting across from me
he has a sketchbook out and im pretty sure hes drawing me
are you sure hes drawing you and not like, a plant behind you
a plant would probably be a more fulfilling subject
yeah im pretty sure
he keeps looking at me when he thinks i dont notice
oh shit this sounds like the beginning of a romcom
draw me like one of ur french girls
draw me like one of your french girls
Every Time you make me question why i even tell you anything, ever
u should go over there
is he cute?????
are you blushing right now
i can sense him blushing through this txt
ALRIGHT hes attractive as fuck are you happy
his eyes are the size of the fucking moon
how does that even happen
his hands are. nice
that was poetic
shut up im not blushing
go talk to him
im pretty sure theres a law that states if an attractive stranger is drawing u at a coffee shop u have to talk to them
namjoon is the smartest person in the world & he confirms this
i confirm this
when this crashes and burns i’ll blame you 2
“you can’t just not reply after that,” hoseok says, finally lowering the phone. “what happened?”
“crashed and burned,” yoongi says curtly.
“was he like, totally awful? did you spill hot coffee on him? was he drawing a picture of you getting axe murdered?” hoseok nudges at his side. yoongi huffs and makes a face.
“i’m pretty sure he has a boyfriend. i saw his texts by accident. it was pretty boyfriendly.”
hoseok scrunches up his face in thought.
“hmm,” he says, “are you sure? was the word ‘boyfriend’ mentioned?”
“i didn’t actually look that long, okay?” yoongi groans. “he was telling some guy that he looked good in the morning, and saying something about his ass and his... toes? fuck, i don’t know, i obviously wasn’t meant to see it, and i wasn’t raised in the jungle so i didn’t stay and read it hoseok.”
hoseok lifts his hands up in mock surrender.
“fine,” he says, “if you’re convinced.”
“i’m good,” yoongi says tightly.
hoseok hums in a way that tells yoongi the discussion is anything but over. he’s going to be insufferable about this, isn’t he. yoongi rolls his eyes. takes the bait.
“you think i jumped into conclusions,” he says.
“just,” hoseok tilts his head, “you tend to do that. don’t deny it.”
“okay, fine. i panicked and hightailed it the fuck out of there. whatever. anyway, even if he didn’t have a boyfriend, why would someone like that go for -“
“shush.” yoongi’s vision is blocked by hoseok’s palm held two inches from his face. he frowns. tries again.
“why would -“
“no. nuh-uh. hush.”
yoongi snaps his mouth shut. he merely glares at hoseok, who lowers his hands to his sides now that he’s quiet, and smiles widely.
“no self-deprecating comments allowed. you’re not allowed to diss yourself. only namjoon and i can do that.”
yoongi feels an involuntary smile tug at his lips. he huffs out a laugh despite himself.
namjoon may be the smartest person in the world, but when they get to the apartment, he’s just asleep on the couch and looking ridiculous. the couch is way too small for him and his long noodle limbs; his legs reach way past the armrest, while his head dips over the other one, his face nearly perfectly upside-down. his left arm hangs towards the floor. the right one is thrown over his head. there are two huge books open on his chest and stomach, one of them titled the rights of women and the other one contemporary world politics. his mouth is hanging open and he’s snoring like a chainsaw.
“truly incredible,” yoongi comments, and hoseok says: “don’t double major in political science and english, kids.”
yoongi replaces the books with a blanket and works a pillow under namjoon’s head, somehow, but only after he’s snapped a picture of his dumb face. it’s his turn to be the icon for the group chat. it’s been one unfortunate picture of yoongi in the middle of a sentence for too long.
they let namjoon sleep because he works himself way too hard, and try to keep it down when bumping elbows in the small kitchen, making dinner. if you count boiling water for instant ramen as making dinner. out of the three of them, hoseok is probably the best cook, and even he is barely mediocre. namjoon is banned from the kitchen entirely after breaking all of their kitchen knives. he managed to cut the kitchen counter, the toaster power cord, and his own finger, but none of the onions.
“if you see him again,” hoseok says, because hoseok never simply drops things, “give it another try.”
yoongi isn’t planning on commenting, but then hoseok goes, “eyes the size of the moon, huh?” and yoongi nearly drops his face into his bowl of ramen, groans, “i hate you.”
of course jimin told taehyung all about the episode at the coffee shop, the snitch.
“you drew him, right?” taehyung says, crowding jungkook at the kitchen table, once again. “show me, i bet i can find him.”
“i don’t want you to find him,” jungkook says, smacking taehyung’s hand away when he tries to steal his blueberry muffin, “one time was embarrassing enough. if i see him again, then i see him again, but just, for the love of god, stop printing out those matchmaking surveys.”
there’s a pile of them in the middle of the table.
“i’m extending my business,” taehyung says, “i’m helping anyone who wishes to find the perfect match. a match made in taeHEAVEN. i modified it a bit, since i don’t know everyone as well as i know you. don’t worry, you’re still my number one focus.”
“i don’t even want to think about what you just said,” jungkook says blankly.
“fill in the survey, jungkook,” taehyung says, and his low voice is almost threatening.
“no,” jungkook says, and leans back as taehyung leans in, way too close for comfort, a hand on jungkook’s shoulder and never breaking eye contact.
“let me help you,” he says gravely, and it’s actually slightly terrifying.
“jimin is unbeatable at mario kart,” jungkook says loudly.
a distant crash sounds from taehyung’s room, and a moment later, jimin emerges, clad in a stretched out white t-shirt that jungkook’s pretty sure is his and boxers that he’s pretty sure are taehyung’s. it’s still funny how jimin seems to possess none of his dancer’s grace before ten a.m.
“i heard my name,” he says, and jungkook points at taehyung.
“tell him to stop using all our money on printouts,” he says as jimin drapes himself across taehyung’s back and yawns into his shoulder blade.
“it’s worth it,” taehyung whines, “it’s helping people find love. why do you hate love, kookie?”
jimin is smiling at him behind taehyung’s shoulder. it looks like it means something.
“i’m going to class,” he announces and gets up.
“your class doesn’t start in another hour,” taehyung says, but jungkook is already out the door.
jungkook isn’t looking for him, he swears; he isn’t scanning the crowds for mint green hair or listening for a low, sleepy voice. he just happens to notice him, in the afternoon when he’s waiting for jimin to get out of his dance composition class, sitting outside the building at the bottom of the stairs with his sketchbook and earphones. immediately. it’s the hair. it’s just the hair that jungkook’s eye is drawn to.
that’s a blatant lie and he knows it. the guy looks like a fucking angel and jungkook wants to draw him forever. he’s standing at the side of the footpath, a laptop bag slung over his shoulder, looking up from his phone every once in a while to glance to his right, like he’s waiting for someone. other people pass by him but jungkook doesn’t even notice them. slightly alarmed, he realizes he wants to see the guy smile again.
the guy looks his way, suddenly. their eyes meet. jungkook’s breath hitches. he thinks the guy recognizes him, although his face is not giving away much. he can’t tell what the guy’s thinking. he could be thinking about going to wait somewhere else. he could be thinking about something else entirely.
a hand in his hair interrupts his thoughts, and it’s probably better that way. jimin messes up his hair and bounces down the last stair.
“my favorite kookie,” he sing-songs, effectively blocking jungkook’s view of the mint-haired guy, “waiting to walk me home after class. i am a lucky man.”
“you’re in a good mood,” jungkook notes as he packs his bag, forcing himself to focus on jimin and ignoring the way his hands are maybe a bit unsteady.
“tae and i had fun on our lunch break,” jimin says, and jungkook is about to ask why the fuck he’s telling jungkook about his and taehyung’s impromptu make out session, when he adds, “he asked me to spread those matchmaking surveys around with him. people love it. he’s made successful matches, too. you should give it a try, kookie. it’s not like it could hurt.”
“right. why don’t you do it,” jungkook asks as he stands up, slinging the backpack over one shoulder.
“i did,” jimin says, “tae did, too. we’re a match.”
jungkook shrugs his shoulders aimlessly, because, of course. he looks over jimin’s shoulder; the guy is still standing there, starting to look a bit annoyed, maybe. jungkook wonders who he’s waiting for. there’s his profile, again, the sunlight making his edges glow. you made me look more attractive than i really am, he said, when in reality jungkook couldn’t make him attractive enough if he tried for years.
“earth to kookie.” jimin waves a hand in front of his face. jungkook grabs his wrist and pushes it down, sending a halfhearted glare at jimin.
“who’s got your attention while i’m talking?” jimin attempts to follow his line of sight. he lands on the mint-haired guy easily. jungkook was already too obvious even without his hair being mint green. it just seems like an overkill at this point. “him? who is he?”
“he’s the one from the coffee shop,” jungkook confesses reluctantly, and jimin perks up.
“the one who flirted with you? damn. you weren’t lying, he’s good-looking. sort of a rebellious vibe? sadly, i don’t know him. i wonder if tae does.”
“tell him, and i’ll fuck up all your laundry,” jungkook threatens.
jimin is just very obviously ogling at him now, and jungkook is dead terrified the guy will notice them and notice jungkook being weird once again, so he spins jimin around by his shoulders to face him, while simultaneously using him as a human shield. perfect. except jimin is half a head shorter than him, and he has a clear vision of the guy over the top of his head.
he grimaces and looks down at jimin, who he’s still clutching by the shoulders. jimin raises his eyebrows.
“even if he was flirting, he won’t anymore,” jungkook says, keeping his voice low, “let’s go. right now.”
“i can give him the survey for you,” jimin says, “you could see if you match.”
“now,” jungkook hisses through his teeth and tugs jimin along by the arm. jimin cranes his neck to look back over his shoulder once more. he makes a thoughtful noise.
“interesting,” he says.
why is hoseok running late now of all days, yoongi thinks, and tries his best not to look at the coffee shop artist at the bottom of the stairs. turns out his best is really shitty. coffee shop artist has his knee propped up, like in the coffee shop, his other leg stretched out before him in a way that makes yoongi think someone will sooner or later trip on it. it also makes him think he has nice legs. he looks away. still no hoseok.
hobi get out here
comin! like 5 more mins
he wonders what he’s drawing. coffee shop artist looks cute when he’s concentrating, his eyes all focused and biting at his lip a lot. yoongi doesn’t even want to think about his hands. they look like they know what they are doing, the pencil fitting in them naturally, moving across the paper in precise strokes. he thinks about the drawing of him. the fact that the guy spent all that time looking at yoongi to get his features right. god.
im dying hobi
stop being dramatic im almost there
he said his eyes were the size of the moon. not one of his proudest moments. but he really did think his eyes looked like they had fucking galaxies in them when he looked up at yoongi.
yoongi is distracted and that’s why he gets caught staring. or maybe the coffee shop artist gets caught staring. either way, they stare at each other. maybe it’s their thing. yoongi swallows.
give it another try, hoseok said. right. he just might walk up to him and embarrass himself if hoseok doesn’t show up soon, or if something else doesn’t happen.
something else comes in the form of a loud, orange-haired man who quite literally bounces down the stairs, stops behind coffee shop artist to ruffle his hair. yoongi sees a smile - upper lip stretched over bunny-like front teeth as he looks up - and then he just sees the other guy’s back.
okay. they seem close, he thinks, and tries to ignore the pang of disappointment as he scans the surroundings for hoseok again.
his eyes keep returning to coffee shop artist and orange-haired guy and he hates himself for it. they are standing very close, and coffee shop artist is holding onto the other guy’s shoulders. yoongi thinks of the chat he saw by accident, suddenly, and wonders hazily if that’s jimin. wonders if that’s his boyfriend.
fucking hell. he usually has no problem minding his own business. he needs hoseok to get his firm ass over here immediately.
when they leave, coffee shop artist has his arm looped through orange-haired guy’s. yoongi watches their backs without intending to, worrying his lip absently. without a warning, orange-haired guy turns to look back - looks straight at yoongi. yoongi can’t tell what it means, but he stares back, feeling sort of spiteful, for some reason. someone slaps him on the shoulder, and he jumps, just a little bit.
“thanks for waiting,” hoseok grins sheepishly.
“i almost walked into the light,” yoongi says, but is thankful for the intervention.
“i had a good reason. i was picking something up,” hoseok says, and continues the trend of shoving things at yoongi’s face. this time it’s a form of some kind. yoongi frowns at it. even though it’s just text on paper, he somehow feels as if the words TAEHYUNG’S MATCHMAKING SERVICES are being screamed at him.
“how is that a good reason,” he asks, “who the fuck is taehyung?”
“you don’t know what this is?” hoseok waves the paper around a little bit. “have you actually been inside a college building this week?”
yoongi stares at him blankly. hoseok stares back, for a moment.
“you know what, nevermind. it’s like this new thing on campus. you fill this out,” hoseok holds out the paper again, “and this guy taehyung - i sort of know him, he’s a year below us, a psychology major, i think? - he matches you with someone. people say he’s actually good.”
“please don’t tell me you think there’s a chance in hell i’m gonna fill that out,” yoongi eyes the sheet of paper with distaste.
“i’m going to give this one to namjoon,” hoseok says, “did you see that poor sophomore trying to flirt with him? i felt so bad for her. he has the social skills of a rock. i think he could use some help.”
yoongi doesn’t disagree with him, although the way he eyes yoongi implies that yoongi’s not much better off.
“i saw the coffee shop artist again,” he says for some fucking reason.
“oh! that’s why you were dying,” hoseok says. yoongi makes a noise and even he isn’t sure what it’s meant to convey. “did you talk to him?”
“no, i’m just more convinced he has a boyfriend. so you can stop telling me to give it a try.”
“you know i’m not going to do that,” hoseok nudges at his side.
the kitchen table is drowning in paper. some of the matchmaking surveys form somewhat neat piles, but most of them are scattered haphazardly all over the surface. jungkook has nowhere to set his cereal. it’s getting out of hand, he decides.
“tae!” he calls. there’s a faint sound, words muffled by walls and walls. his eyes settle on the sheet of paper closest to him. where it says, describe your ideal type here, they’ve written, someone who’s really bad at videogames so that i’ll always win.
“i think this person wants to date you,” he says to taehyung when he emerges from jimin’s room. it’s not that early, but there’s an impressive cowlick on the side of his head. jungkook would maybe feel bad about waking him up if he wasn’t so hungry.
“you’re not supposed to read it,” taehyung says, “it’s confidential.”
“then why is it laid out all over the kitchen table,” jungkook asks, gesturing with the bowl of cereal.
“there’s no space left in my room,” taehyung says, “don’t touch it, i have a system.”
“you’re reading all of these through and making matches?” jungkook raises an incredulous eyebrow at taehyung. he can’t decide if taehyung’s ridiculous, amazing or kind of terrifying. “do you even go to class?”
“king of multitasking,” taehyung declares and throws up a deadpan peace sign. “and jimin helps when he’s not practicing for the showcase.”
“clear the table,” jungkook says.
“no,” taehyung says, “not until you fill in the survey on the fridge door.”
the survey keeps reappearing there even though jungkook keeps ripping it off and drawing threats on the flip side. taehyung always has another copy to stick under the magnet that says new york despite none of them ever having been to new york.
they glare at each other wordlessly with the table between them for at least two minutes. jungkook reaches towards the fridge door, pulls the survey off it, scrunches it into a ball in one fist and, without breaking eye contact, stuffs the entire thing into his mouth.
“that really wasn’t necessary,” taehyung says, and jungkook can’t answer because his mouth is full of paper.
the thing is, every time jungkook looks at the survey, observations about the mint-haired guy fill his head.
mint-haired guy doesn’t seem like he’s a morning person. usually when jungkook sees him around campus before the p.m. hours, he’s carrying a black coffee and looking like he just got out of bed ten minutes ago, looking ready to stab anyone who tries to talk to him. he’s more quiet than loud; his voice always a little bit sleepy, and while it’s not soft, exactly, it’s soothing, somehow. his humor is deadpan and rapid fire; jungkook knows this because sometimes the guy is talking to someone, usually a tall guy with round glasses or a guy with copper hair, and he listens in; not intentionally, but it’s like he hears his voice and his ears automatically tune in. go figure.
he saw the smile again, the wide, gummy one, unexpectedly in one of the lounges when he was trying to get his art history homework done. the mint-haired guy was with his tall friend; he smiled at something his friend said, and jungkook promptly dropped his pen.
he’s not going to write that down.
“i’m not filling that out,” yoongi says, sliding his headphones back over his ears and turning back to his laptop.
hoseok’s hand comes up to lift a pad off his ear.
“it’d be good for you,” he says, “namjoon got a match and he has a date this friday.”
“so?” yoongi says. “who says i want a date?”
“you’re pining over the coffee shop artist,” hoseok says. yoongi stiffens.
“no i’m not,” he says. hoseok sighs.
“do you really want me to pull out the receipts,” he says, and they are both thinking about the numerous messages in the group chat that were the result of some kind of a temporary error in the function of that part in yoongi’s brain that usually tells him to shut the fuck up.
i saw coffee shop artist and i honestly hate how good he looks
i saw him again he was drawing and there was paint on his hands
why do i keep seeing coffee shop artist around i dont want to see his attractive face or his stupid doe eyes or his tall body or his fucking hands and did i tell you about his voice it sounds like im going to throw myself down a well
i saw coffee shop artist he was with the guy who may or may not be his bf and he was laughing and holy fuck who looks like that also why do they have to keep touching
i hate hands
“it’s tragic, hyung,” hoseok says.
“just leave me alone,” yoongi says wearily.
“either talk to him or fill this out,” hoseok says, “or i’ll break your favorite mug.”
“i don’t have a favorite mug,” yoongi says, “what the hell.”
“you do! it’s the one i bought you. the one with the smiley faces.” hoseok huffs. “anyway, please consider it.”
he leaves the form next to yoongi’s laptop. TAEHYUNG’S MATCHING SERVICES. yoongi still doesn’t know who the fuck taehyung even is, but he’s making yoongi’s life hard, right now.
he’d just describe the coffee shop artist, whether he wanted or not. hoseok knows this. yoongi hates him.
“also, i think you might have a thing for hands, hyung,” hoseok’s voice comes from across the room.
yoongi throws a water bottle at him.
at least namjoon is happy. he comes home after midnight on friday night, and although there are no big differences to how he looks or acts, yoongi can tell because he knows him so well.
“we went to a restaurant,” namjoon tells him, “i ordered a burger, and he asked me, ‘what color are burgers?’” he pauses, looks at yoongi with wide eyes. yoongi is very confused. “they are burgundy, yoongi.”
“that’s horrible,” yoongi says.
“i want to marry him,” namjoon says.
at least he’s happy. yoongi is, in an irrational way, sort of bitter about taehyung’s matchmaking services actually yielding results. he would never bring namjoon down because of his own petty problems, though, so he smiles, genuinely, and it means, i’m happy for you.
“can you believe the semester’s almost over?” namjoon muses, and turns to apologize to someone whose shoulder he bumped into.
“yeah, that’s what it says right here,” yoongi gestures to the pamphlet that was shoved into his hand at the door. spring 2017, end of semester dance showcase, it reads. “do you see hobi?”
yoongi can’t see shit. the aisle is crowded and it’s not that he’s that short, but namjoon towers over most people and has the advantage in situations like these. he has his fingers hooked in the back of namjoon’s shirt to not lose him; or possibly to keep namjoon from getting lost. he’s spinning like a pinwheel trying to avoid bumping into people, which is just making him into more of a public hazard.
“i see him. near the stage. hobi!” namjoon’s hand shoots up to wave at hoseok, nearly elbowing someone in the face in the process. he yells out hoseok’s name in increasingly ridiculous tones, and yoongi joins in a moment later, because what the hell. they are here to act as hoseok’s proud, embarrassing parents, anyway.
hoseok notices them because how could anyone not notice a scene caused by a walking flagpole and a guy with mint green hair.
“you made it,” he says when they finally manage to push throw the crowd. he’s beaming, but yoongi can tell he’s also nervous about his solo performance.
“you’re gonna do great,” he says, because he knows he is, because it’s a fact hoseok’s amazing and he practices five hours every day on top of his classes. hoseok smiles at him gratefully.
he goes on to explain the schedule. yoongi catches terms like contemporary and jazz and street, but a flash of orange in his peripheral steals his attention. he frowns; tries to look for orange hair in the crowd, in vain. namjoon taps at his shoulder.
“we should find seats, hyung.”
“right,” yoongi says, and to hoseok, “break a leg, or whatever it is they say.”
“actually, dancers say ‘merde’.” when yoongi just looks at him, namjoon adds, “it’s french for ‘shit’.”
“do you just make this stuff up sometimes,” yoongi asks.
namjoon grins. “sometimes. not this time, though.”
they wander into the third row on the right side of the aisle. yoongi mostly sits still and listens to namjoon ramble about whatever’s currently on his mind until the lighting changes and the host steps onto the stage to welcome everyone. he goes over the same points as hoseok did, probably, listing the acts and talking about the styles and themes. yoongi doesn’t listen to most of it, honestly speaking, but at the mention of hoseok’s name, him and namjoon whoop loudly, attracting looks from the people around them.
then the lighting changes to spotlights with a blueish hue, and a slowish instrumental with a heavy beat plays as ten or so dancers enter the stage. it’s some sort of a contemporary piece, yoongi gathers. he’s not an expert when it comes to dance, only knows what he’s learned from hoseok, but the choreography seems abstract and complex. there are some themes here, but he can’t really grasp them, the host’s explanations having slid out of his mind - wait.
yoongi’s eyes zero in on one dancer. it’s hard to tell in the blue light, but it is the orange-haired guy. holy shit. orange-haired guy, who is probably coffee shop artist’s boyfriend, is a dancer. a really good dancer. he has... abs. the male dancers are wearing their button-ups open for some fucking reason, and while yoongi can definitely appreciate it on one level, having to live with the knowledge that orange-haired guy is fucking ripped is giving him some mixed feelings.
this means coffee shop artist is probably somewhere in the audience. unless he’s a dancer, too, which he could be because yoongi doesn’t know anything about him. he really fucking hopes he’s not, because he’s not sure he could handle that right now.
someone in the left section cheers very loudly at the end of the performance. orange-haired guy, on stage, laughs at whoever it is that possesses such an impressive set of lungs, pointing into the audience.
“you okay?” namjoon leans in close to speak into yoongi’s ear over the applause.
he really doesn’t want it to bother him. he tries to pay attention to the other performances, but he feels like he’s partly somewhere else. he wishes hoseok’s performance would come up already so he could think about something else.
then it does, smoke and purple light spilling onto the stage. yoongi has heard the music countless of times watching hoseok practice. it starts out slow and gradually picks up. hoseok is perfect, but yoongi already knew he would be. his movements are sharp and smooth and fast-paced and yoongi can tell the entire room is collectively holding its breath. his dance tends to have that effect.
they spring up from their seats when it’s over, and him and namjoon really do their part as proud, embarrassing parents. it’s sort of exactly how yoongi feels right now, anyway. he knows it’s unusual for a junior to get a solo spot. knows that hoseok deserves it. namjoon throws an entire bouquet of roses that they picked up on their way onto the stage. it makes hoseok laugh so hard he almost falls over.
there’s one more performance after hoseok’s solo, after which all the performers gather on stage once more to bow. yoongi and namjoon wait for hoseok at the edge of the stage as people start clearing out. he comes, still sweating and breathing heavily, a towel around his neck, but looking happy.
“you killed it,” namjoon says immediately and high-fives hoseok, pulling him into a hug afterwards.
“you went way too hard for a college showcase,” yoongi says, high-fiving him after namjoon, “people weren’t ready. i think someone next to me fainted.”
“thanks, guys,” hoseok grins. “thanks for the roses, and thanks for being so embarrassing out there. you looked ridiculous.”
“anytime,” namjoon says.
a shout draws yoongi’s eyes across the room. there’s the orange-haired guy, wearing a shirt, now, and struggling under the weight of a guy who’s clinging to his front koala-style, who’s also the source of all the noise. the third person is coffee shop artist, who stands there watching the other two, a happy grin on his face.
“there’s jimin,” hoseok says, also looking over, “i’m going to talk to him about the performance quickly.”
yoongi whips his head around to look at hoseok, but he’s already taken off. he knew that was jimin. but -
he stares at the trio hard. coffee shop artist and his smile, the way the third guy is clinging to jimin and jimin’s arms around him. his brain is currently making a real connect-the-dots out of this.
“you coming, hyung?” namjoon asks, trailing behind hoseok.
“fuck me,” yoongi mutters under his breath and follows.
“watch out, hyung,” jungkook calls, but it’s a second too late as taehyung has already jumped and attached himself to jimin like a weird koala.
jimin stumbles, but holds taehyung up.
“you sounded like a siren,” he laughs, “you two are so extra.”
“you love us,” taehyung says, and jimin tickles at his sides until he yelps and lets go, sliding to the floor. he stays glued to jimin’s side, a hand in his hair. “you were great, obviously. loved the outfit.”
“of course you did.” jimin nudges at him with his hip. “did you like it, kookie?”
“the outfit or the performance?” jungkook scrunches his nose. “i already see too much of that at home. but the performance was awesome.”
“park jimin!” someone calls. it’s one of the dancers, the one with the incredible solo performance - jung hoseok, jungkook thinks, jimin has talked about him before - and he’s walking over. behind him, a tall guy in round glasses, and jungkook realizes suddenly why the dancer looked so familiar, why the tall guy looks familiar, too, because behind him - fucking shit hell, jungkook’s brain goes, and that seems to be the automatic response now, whenever he sees him.
he’s usually (more or less) fine with the perpetually messy mint hair, the undercut, the metal in his ears. the glowing skin, the pouty mouth. he’s fine tracing them on paper, which he has done more times than he’d like to admit. he is not fine now, when the guy is slowly approaching him and staring right at him with his dark eyes. jungkook still can’t read his expression.
jimin catches up with the situation immediately after seeing the mint-haired guy. a slow smirk spreads on his lips, and jungkook shoots him a look that hopefully says, i won’t hesitate to kick your ass in front of everyone if you say a word.
“you know taehyung,” jimin introduces, his hand snug on taehyung’s waist. taehyung waves a hand.
“taehyung’s matchmaking services?” the guy with the round glasses asks, smiling lopsidedly. the mint-haired guy raises his eyebrows almost imperceptibly.
“a match made in taeHEAVEN,” taehyung says, flashing a peace sign.
“please stop saying that,” jungkook says half automatically. out of the corner of his eye, he sees the corner of the mint-haired guy’s mouth turn upwards.
“i don’t think you know jungkook,” jimin continues, and he’s clearly enjoying this, “he’s a freshman and the third roommate. he’s not currently majoring in anything, but he should major in art, because he’s incredible. he’s especially good at drawing people.”
“hi,” jungkook says, and wishes a black hole would materialize out of nowhere so he could throw either himself or jimin in it.
“i’m hoseok,” hoseok waves with both hands, “this is namjoon, and over there we have -“
“min yoongi,” mint-haired guy says before hoseok can finish. he looks straight at jungkook when he says it. it does something very weird to jungkook. he swallows. finds himself unable to look away, again.
he vaguely registers jimin and hoseok getting into a conversation about the showcase. he’s wracking his brain trying to come up with a way to ask yoongi if he remembers the whole scene at the coffee shop, when yoongi takes a step closer. then another, slowly, like he’s hesitant.
“so,” he says, looking at the ground and then up at jungkook, “have you drawn me lately?”
jungkook nearly chokes on plain air. that answers that question, he supposes. he licks his lips, says,
“i only draw good-looking people.”
a smile spreads slowly on yoongi’s lips, and he bites down on his lip as if to suppress it. he looks down, dark eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks, and fuck.
“that’s a no?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at jungkook.
“i didn’t say that.”
god, where is this coming from. jungkook is straight up flirting with him. he didn’t know he was capable of flirting, much less flirting with the single most attractive guy he’s ever seen. yoongi is just looking at him, still biting at his lip, and jungkook has this feeling like he’s being studied. he can feel heat on his face, and prays that he’s not completely red. then again, he thinks he might see a faint flush on yoongi’s cheeks, too.
yoongi looks like he’s thinking hard about something. he glances at jimin and taehyung, who are still very much glued to each other, taehyung casually playing with jimin’s earlobe. the other four are having their own conversation, and it’s like they are purposely giving jungkook and yoongi their own space. jungkook thinks that might be exactly what they are doing. yoongi looks back at jungkook, hesitates; he looks like he wants to ask something, and he opens his mouth, but taehyung chooses that moment to detach himself from jimin and crash into jungkook.
“not to interrupt whatever’s going on here,” he says, an arm around jungkook’s shoulders, glancing between jungkook and yoongi, “but it’s getting real late and i still haven’t started on my cognitive psychology homework, so jimin and i are leaving. are you coming, kookie, or...?”
he lets the question hang in the air, opting to waggle his eyebrows at jungkook instead, and if jungkook wasn’t red earlier, he surely is now.
“i. uh. sure. yeah,” he says in a real intellectual manner. he looks at yoongi. yoongi still looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. he gives a small smile.
“i’ll see you around, then,” he says with a small wave of his hand. if taehyung didn’t tug on jungkook’s arm, he would’ve forgotten to move.
“what the hell was that, jungkookie,” taehyung asks as soon as they are out of the dance and theatre building, slinging an arm around jungkook’s neck.
“what was what,” jungkook says.
“it was the guy from the coffee shop,” jimin says chirpily on his other side.
“i gathered that much,” taehyung says, “what was with the tension. it looked like one of you was about to get thrown against the wall.”
jimin snickers, and jungkook feels himself blushing.
“i’ll throw you against the pavement right here,” he mumbles.
“kind of hot, kind of painful,” taehyung muses.
jungkook groans in frustration.
“why did he... there was that time at the coffee shop, but i thought he wasn’t interested. but now... did he seem interested?”
“did he seem interested,” jimin repeats, deadpan. “are you hearing this, tae?”
“i’m hearing it,” taehyung says. he hums thoughtfully and nudges at jungkook. “but i also think you have a point. he needs to prove that he’s serious. i want some serious romancing. grand gestures. only the best for kookie.”
“oh, god,” jungkook says.
hoseok smacks yoongi on the back of his head with the roses. petals get stuck in his hair.
“he was the coffee shop artist? the one with the eyes the size of the moon?”
“are you ever going to let that go,” yoongi groans.
“i kind of see where you’re coming from, he did have pretty eyes,” namjoon muses.
yoongi shoots him a glare that says, not helping, but namjoon taps away on his phone, unfazed. yoongi is guessing how long it will take for him to fall on his face, because they are walking and namjoon has shitty coordination.
“why didn’t you tell me?” hoseok continues. “more importantly, why did you just let him go?”
“i know, okay?” yoongi feels like lying down on the asphalt and just staying there for a while. “i thought he was dating park jimin until like two seconds ago.”
“yeah, i know jimin - not like, all that closely, but i’m almost definitely certain he isn’t dating jungkook. i’m almost definitely certain he’s dating taehyung.” hoseok looks up thoughtfully. “i asked him when i first met taehyung, like, ‘oh, is this your boyfriend’, because they were holding hands and all that, and taehyung said ‘sure’ and jimin said ‘in his dreams’, so... actually. i’m pretty confused.”
he looks at yoongi. yoongi doesn’t like how determined he looks.
“the point is, you two are clearly into each other. you were having a moment.”
“we were talking,” yoongi says weakly. namjoon snorts.
“even i could’ve cut the tension between you two with a knife,” he says, “and i’m really bad at cutting things with knives.”
he’s missing all of yoongi’s impressive glares because he won’t look up from his phone.
“let me guess, awful pun guy?” yoongi asks.
“his name is seokjin and if no one stops me i might propose to him by the end of the month,” namjoon says.
“speaking of life altering decisions,” hoseok says, turning to yoongi, “you’re going to ask him out, right? now that it’s clear he’s into you?”
“i don’t even know how to contact him,” yoongi mumbles, “i only know his first name.”
“i have an idea, hyung. it’s a great idea,” hoseok says, which means there’s a thirty percent chance yoongi is going to end up dead because of the idea.
still, he asks, “what is it?”
“it’s interesting that he’s friends with taehyung, isn’t it?” hoseok says ominously.
namjoon trips, inevitably, and yoongi’s hand closes around his elbow a second before it even happens.
the next monday, taehyung flops down on the couch next to jungkook when he’s playing mario kart with jimin.
“hey, jungkookie.” jungkook hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t look away from the game. “i have this one person i can’t seem to match with anyone. i thought you might be able to help.”
“what?” jungkook frowns. “how would i be able to help? why don’t you ask jimin?”
“just listen and tell me if anyone comes to mind,” taehyung says, and jungkook is still confused as he starts reading out from the survey. “the person who left this says he can be difficult to get to know at first, but not that bad once you know him. grumpy in the mornings and likes his coffee black. likes dyeing his hair in weird colors and sleeping in. told by some that he’s good-looking. he says he’s bad at talking to people and tends to run away from the situation, especially if it’s someone he likes. he’s sorry for waiting this long, nonetheless.”
“what -“ jungkook frowns, licks his lips. he clutches at the controller. taehyung carries on.
“the kind of person he’s looking for is tall, has brown hair and a nice jawline. has beautiful eyes that look like they have stars in them. nice hands that sometimes have paint on them. looks like he works out. wears white t-shirts a lot and looks good in them. kind of shy, but funny and witty without even trying. has a voice that sounds like music. artistic. has a habit of biting his lip when concentrating. draws people in coffee shops.”
like a final nail to the coffin, he reads, “goes by the name jungkook.”
jimin red shells him straight off the cliff. jungkook barely notices it. his hands are frozen on the controller.
“where he sees himself in thirty years: remembering our first date on friday, may nineteenth, 2017, five p.m., at the coffee shop where we first met. i bought him a strawberry frappuccino.”
taehyung falls silent. jungkook’s side of the screen says loser. he stares at it blankly.
jimin breaks the silence.
“well that was the most romantic fucking thing i’ve ever heard.”
jungkook buries his face in his hands. he knows he’s as red as mario’s fucking outfit.
“so, that’s one way to ask you out. what’s more,” taehyung pulls out another form and pushes it on jungkook’s lap, “i think you guys match.”
jungkook is looking down at a matchmaking survey he still hasn’t filled out, exactly, but in the empty space below describe your ideal type here, he’s sketched a face that’s unmistakably yoongi’s. okay, he didn’t realize what he was drawing on at first, and he thought he got rid of it, anyway.
“may nineteenth is this friday,” jimin comments. “what are you going to wear?”
“i... he... what?” jungkook says. he still has his face in his hands. “he... wrote that? yoongi? wrote that?”
“yeah, he came to my office today -” taehyung’s “office” is a table on the first floor of the psychology building that he occupies between classes - “to drop this off in person. i told him i didn’t trust him at first, you know, told him he better be fucking serious about wanting to get to know you.” he gives jungkook’s back a pat. “i think he’s serious. no one would voluntarily give all this cheesy shit to their crush’s best friend to read if they weren’t serious.”
“he asked me out,” jungkook processes, “through taehyung’s matchmaking services.”
“so, essentially, this is all thanks to me,” taehyung says, “you’re welcome.”
jungkook enters the coffee shop like he has many times in the past. only he has never felt this nervous about entering the coffee shop. he’s wearing slightly nicer clothes than usual, too; a white button-up v-neck made of flowy, thin fabric with the sleeves rolled up, and the jeans that taehyung says make his legs look nice. alright. so he’s doing this. he feels kind of weird, being here without his sketchbook. like his hands are too empty.
but then he sees yoongi at the corner table, and stops thinking about his empty hands. yoongi sees him, too, lowering his phone. his lips part as he looks at jungkook, like he’s letting out a breath. then he smiles. jungkook thinks he’s smiling back. he’s not entirely sure what his face is doing, to be honest. biting at his lip, he walks across the floor.
he thinks yoongi did something to his hair. the undercut doesn’t look as overgrown anymore. he looks... so fucking good in the torn, oversized denim jacket. jungkook sits down across from him. yoongi’s eyes on him are intense, like they always are.
“hi,” yoongi says. it’s weirdly soft.
“hi,” jungkook says. he’s flushing under yoongi’s gaze, but he’s never looked away. “i was promised a strawberry frappuccino.”
there’s the gummy smile. jungkook is transfixed. he wonders, vaguely, how many times he can make yoongi smile like that before the day is over.
“that, you were,” yoongi says and gets up, “i’ll be right back.”
as yoongi is ordering, jungkook resists the urge to text jimin and taehyung and just scream at them incoherently. maybe yell about how good yoongi looks and how fucked jungkook is and how he might not make it out of this date alive because it’s so much and jungkook has no idea how to act on a date and he might fuck this up royally -
yoongi sets a medium strawberry frappuccino in front of him.
“i hope you like chocolate chips,” he says, and jungkook stares down at the drink like he’s never seen chocolate chips before in his life.
“i do,” he manages, and looks up at yoongi who’s back in his seat across from him, “thank you.”
yoongi takes a breath.
“so,” he says, “you look. well. amazing? you look good. fuck.”
he makes a face at himself, his nose scrunching up, and if it isn’t the cutest fucking thing jungkook’s ever seen. he rakes a hand through his hair, mumbles, “real smooth, min yoongi”, and jungkook realizes, with some surprise, that yoongi is nervous, too. somehow, it works to calm him down. a smile pulls at his lips.
“i thought i was the only one,” he says, “nervous out of my mind.”
yoongi looks at him, raising an eyebrow.
“are you kidding me? i’ve been getting on my roommates’ nerves all day. i wasn’t sure you’d show. i hoped you would.”
it’s unexpected and hearing it makes jungkook feel inexplicably happy. he looks down at the table, tries to bite back a smile.
“well, i didn’t have much choice,” he says, “with the things you wrote. you really know how to sweet-talk a guy.”
if he’s not completely wrong, there’s a light pink flush on yoongi’s cheeks at the mention of the survey.
“hardly,” he says, and smiles lopsidedly, “but i’m glad it worked.”
“if you’re not in a hurry, i’d like to take you somewhere,” yoongi says as they are leaving.
almost two hours passed just talking and eating lemon pie. yoongi asked him about his drawing hobby, and before jungkook realized, he was telling him all about how he has been drawing since he could hold a pencil and how drawing helps him relax when he’s anxious. he doesn’t usually open up to people this soon. doesn’t usually open up to people, period. it’s just that talking to yoongi comes easily. he’s not sure what it is about him; about them. it feels like they match. (maybe taehyung’s vocabulary is rubbing off on him. thanks, taehyung.)
“can i ask where somewhere is?”
“you can,” yoongi says airily, “but i’m not going to tell you.”
“how do i know you’re not a serial killer, trying to lure me somewhere secluded to kill me?”
yoongi lets out a laugh.
“i’m pretty sure you’re like, eight times stronger than i am. i’m the one who should be worried.”
yoongi is relaxing, he thinks. grounding. jungkook forgets to be nervous. that’s not to say his heartrate doesn’t pick up when their hands brush as they walk along the quiet street. or when a ladybug lands on jungkook’s face and yoongi reaches up, gently guiding it onto his finger. jungkook thinks the fingers on his cheekbone linger a little bit.
“we should name it and keep it as a pet,” jungkook muses. they are huddled close, the ladybug between them on yoongi’s finger.
“we getting pets together already?” yoongi asks, a smirk pulling at his lips.
“is it too soon?” jungkook asks, and it makes yoongi laugh huskily.
“well, my friend just met a guy a month ago and he’s already thinking about getting married to him. so i guess it’s not too soon.”
they set the ladybug free, anyway. jungkook sings the opening theme to miraculous ladybug quietly as the bug flies off. when he looks at yoongi, he finds the other staring at him with his eyes slightly wide.
“what?” jungkook asks, puzzled.
“i, uh.” yoongi opens and closes his mouth. he tries to clear his throat discreetly. “you sing?”
“sometimes,” jungkook says.
“you have a nice voice.”
“oh,” jungkook breathes. he bites at his lip. his face feels warm. “thank you.”
jungkook doesn’t know where they are going, but even if they didn’t have a destination, he would be fine with just walking. they walk sluggishly, sometimes talking about whatever comes to mind - music, their favorite foods, weird shit their roommates have done. he really likes listening to yoongi talk, in his low, soothing tone. sometimes there’s a silence that neither of them minds. it’s comfortable.
jungkook keeps count of the gummy smiles. seventeen. eighteen.
“we’re just in time,” yoongi says as they come to a long staircase, “have you ever watched the sunset here?”
“no,” jungkook says, and takes yoongi’s hand when he holds it out to him, a smile ghosting on his lips.
they go all the way up, and yoongi doesn’t let go once. it’s beautiful up there. they can see the sun set over the city.
“you’re an artist,” yoongi says. he’s leaning his forearms against the railing and looking at the view. “this place can be sort of inspiring. sunsets are inspiring, right?”
jungkook hums. he digs out his phone and snaps a picture of yoongi, because he looks like a painting, covered in the soft yellows and oranges of the sunset.
“to inspire me later,” he grins, and yoongi glares at him halfheartedly; then, he tugs at jungkook’s arm and pulls him next to him, to jungkook’s surprise.
“take a picture,” he says. jungkook is very aware of yoongi pressed against his side, but he manages to keep the phone steady. his hand rests on the small of yoongi’s back, fingers curling in his jacket a little bit.
yoongi looks at the picture and makes an approving noise.
“see,” he says, “it looks better with you in it.”
jungkook hopes his blush isn’t as evident in the sunset. he looks down at the picture for a long time, long enough for yoongi to make fun of him for it, and feels so... warm.
the sun has set when they walk back. it never gets completely dark in the city, but it gets colder. jungkook shivers. yoongi is already shrugging off his jacket before jungkook can tell him not to.
“just wear it,” yoongi says, holding it out to him, “your shirt looks thin.”
“you’re only wearing a t-shirt,” jungkook protests weakly.
“i’m tougher than i look. i’ll be fine. take it.” jungkook only takes the jacket because he’s distracted by the way the pale yellow t-shirt hangs to yoongi’s frame, his accentuated collarbones, the soft-looking skin on his arms.
he’s taller than yoongi, his shoulders are broader, but the jacket is still oversized. yoongi looks at him, his lips curling upwards.
“looks good,” he says.
“smells like you,” jungkook mumbles, fingers deliberate on the collar. he snaps his mouth shut as soon as he realizes what came out of it. he hears yoongi choke on his right. when he turns to look, the other one is watching him with an expression he can’t really describe; he looks almost pained, biting down on his lip, his brows furrowed slightly. a faint flush on his cheeks. jungkook swallows. wills his pulse to calm the fuck down.
“smells sweaty, i mean,” he says, and yoongi blinks. then he snorts and gives jungkook’s shoulder a shove.
“brat,” he says, still smiling, “come on. i’ll walk you home.”
“those things you wrote on the matchmaking survey,” jungkook starts, and yoongi makes a pained sound at the memory.
“yeah,” he says, a little bit faintly, “i really did. write those things.”
jungkook bites at his lip. feels shy, so he doesn’t look at yoongi.
“do you really think those things about me?”
he feels yoongi’s fingers on his wrist, a gentle, reassuring touch.
“yeah, i really think those things,” yoongi says, “and more.”
“i drew your face,” jungkook confesses, and maybe it’s the fact that he’s drowning in yoongi’s jacket that’s making him feel like he can say anything, “where it said describe your ideal type here.”
jungkook sort of didn’t want them to get to his front door; but they get to his front door.
“this is me,” he mumbles, feeling the keys in his pocket.
“ah,” yoongi says. unless jungkook’s brain is making this up, he looks a bit disappointed, too.
“oh,” jungkook says, realizing something, “give me your phone number. i think it’d be good if taehyung’s matchmaking services wasn’t our sole means of communication.”
yoongi gives a laugh.
“you’re right about that,” he says, and saves his number in jungkook’s contacts when jungkook offers his phone.
“i’ll send you the pictures,” jungkook promises.
they are just standing on the front yard, jungkook not making a move to go inside, and yoongi not making a move to leave. there’s light coming through some of the windows in the apartment complex, and it’s the only light they have. there’s a light breeze that ruffles yoongi’s hair.
yoongi reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of jungkook’s eyes. the gesture seems deliberate, his touch lingering, and jungkook thinks: shit. we’re going to kiss. he’s never kissed anyone. that one time with jimin doesn’t count. he wants to kiss yoongi. he wants to kiss him so bad, and the way yoongi’s looking at him -
a sudden burst of noise makes them both jump. someone’s banging on one of the windows, making a goddamn racket. jungkook looks up, and doesn’t have to search for long; of course it’s their fucking kitchen window. jimin and taehyung look absolutely delighted. they stop banging on the window when they see jungkook and yoongi noticed them, and start waving and shouting something instead - thankfully, the glass blocks it. jungkook has a feeling it’s something they should not be yelling out of a window.
then the fuckers start making kissy faces, grabbing each other’s faces and mimicking kissing each other, and jungkook is going to kill them both dead as soon as he gets inside.
“i don’t know them,” he says, pained, “i have no idea whose apartment that is.”
yoongi laughs faintly.
“it’s okay,” he says, “this isn’t even the most embarrassing thing this week.”
jungkook smiles at him, lopsided and kind of tired.
“i liked today,” he says honestly, “i really did.”
“i did, too,” yoongi bites at his lip, looks at jungkook under his lashes, “text me?”
possessed by something - a rush of courage, or maybe just the way yoongi looks, right then - jungkook grabs the front of his shirt, and surges forward to drop a kiss on the corner of his mouth. it lasts a second; jungkook’s heart is beating like crazy.
“i will,” he says quietly, a centimeter from yoongi’s face, “goodnight, hyung.”
he rushes away before yoongi has a chance to respond. he doesn’t even know what his face looked like when jungkook kissed him. if you can call that a kiss. jungkook would rather die than turn to look now. he shoves the key into the lock and yanks the door open, runs up the staircase. he doesn’t slow down until he’s inside the apartment, where he leans his back against the door heavily and smacks his palm over his face.
the sound of taehyung chanting his name and jimin’s high-pitched laughter is not helping.
“what was that, kiss and run?” jimin asks.
“i know, okay?” jungkook lets the palm slide down his face. “i panicked. that was so pathetic. god.”
“it wasn’t that bad,” taehyung muses, “it was kind of cute.”
jungkook exhales. he points at jimin and taehyung, who are sprawling on the couch, taehyung half on top of jimin.
“you two,” he says, “are dead.”
“is that his jacket,” taehyung asks.
jungkook looks down at the denim jacket he’s still wearing.
“shit,” he says elaborately. then he’s running again.
down the stairs, again. it’s getting seriously cold, and yoongi’s only wearing a t-shirt. he doesn’t know where yoongi lives, but it might be somewhere far away. it could be on the other side of the campus, for all he knows. he might still catch up to him if he runs.
he gets to the yard and realizes he has no idea which direction yoongi went. he mutters a curse under his breath; then he remembers he has his phone number. saved under yoongi, he finds the number and calls it. it rings a few times; then, a gruff voice answers:
“which way did you go from the yard,” jungkook blurts.
there’s a few seconds of silence.
“yeah, it’s me,” jungkook says, “which way did you go?”
“uh, left? what -“
“wait there,” he says and hangs up.
he runs some more. yoongi could’ve taken some side road, in which case jungkook would’ve called him again; but he hasn’t, because jungkook sees him straight ahead; he stands out in the dark in his pale yellow shirt and mint hair. jungkook slows down to a jog; finally halts when he’s a meter from yoongi.
yoongi looks at him with his lips parted slightly.
“i,” jungkook pants, and then bends down from the waist, hands against his knees. he’s not in a bad shape in the least, he just... ran really fast. “forgot to return... this.”
yoongi blinks at him as he gestures at the jacket he’s still wearing.
“damn, kid,” yoongi says quietly, “it’s not like this is a life-or-death situation. you could’ve just kept it.”
“didn’t want you to freeze,” jungkook says, straightening up and stripping off the jacket. god, he’s probably all flushed. sweaty and gross. his shirt sticks to his skin in places. yoongi stares at him, his mouth slightly open like he just forgot to close it. he looks kind of bewildered. sort of dazed.
when jungkook holds out the jacket, he closes his mouth and swallows. takes it.
“fuck, jungkook,” he mumbles, and jungkook is not entirely sure what it means.
jungkook licks his lips. takes a deep breath.
“that, back there,” he says, “forget about it.”
“forget about it,” yoongi repeats. something flashes across his face. something hurt. “the kiss?”
“yeah. i want you to forget about that,” jungkook steps closer, ignoring the fact that he feels kind of shaky, “and remember this.”
he doesn’t think about it too much. he would panic if he stopped to think. so he goes straight for it; grabs yoongi’s face, leans in, and kisses him. full on the mouth, this time. angling his head to fit their lips together. yoongi lets out a small sigh and relaxes against him, his hands coming up to jungkook’s waist. they feel like they fit there, jungkook thinks hazily. he has never kissed anyone properly; he might be shitty at this, he wouldn’t know; but yoongi’s not complaining, his lips moving seamlessly against jungkook’s.
“i’d rather remember both,” yoongi says when they pull away to breathe, “i’d rather remember all of them.”
the jacket lies forgotten at their feet.
later, yoongi will confess that he thought for a good portion of the spring semester that jungkook and jimin were dating. jungkook will look slightly horrified and jimin won’t let him live it down for a long time. jimin and taehyung still act like both jungkook’s personal guard dogs and their biggest hype men. they are pretty much thorns in yoongi’s side, at first, but they... grow on him. (he still doesn’t know whether they’re dating or not. he asks, and jimin says, “never.” in the next sentence, to taehyung: “can you bring me a coke, babe?”)
much later, namjoon will move in with seokjin. it will feel bittersweet, for obvious, sappy reasons, but also because seokjin is an amazing cook and yoongi liked eating something other than instant ramen whenever he was over. they will be down to two, until hoseok tells him he, too, found a new place. cheap and close to the place he’s doing his internship at.
“what am i supposed to do,” yoongi will ask, “manage the rent by myself?”
“no, you dingus,” he will say, looking at yoongi with some exasperation but also fondness, “just ask him to move in with you. the other bedroom is a double.”
and yoongi does, kind of awkwardly and clumsily, aware of all the things that could go wrong; but jungkook smiles, smiles like he can’t help it; it’s the best kind of a smile, yoongi thinks, unguarded and open; jungkook leans in close, his lips soft on yoongi’s, and doesn’t say no.
it will feel like the end of an era, and it will feel like the start of a new one. it’s not a bad thing. it’s not a bad thing at all, yoongi thinks as he removes his hands from jungkook’s eyes, having guided him into the room that used to be the smaller bedroom, that he’s been turning into a studio for jungkook. jungkook’s gasp makes a warmth bloom in his chest. jungkook looks at him, a big grin on his face, and yoongi will never, never get tired of seeing the stars in his eyes. yoongi really loves him.
months later, they still haven’t unpacked all of jungkook’s boxes, due to laziness and their preference to occupy their time with other, more interesting things.
it’s well past midday on a sunday and they are still lying in bed underneath the covers, yoongi mostly asleep against jungkook’s side, and jungkook still feels tingly at the feeling of yoongi's breath against his neck and the weight of his arm across his chest.
he’s tracing patterns on yoongi’s arm with his fingertips, and holding the matchmaking surveys in the other hand. taehyung snuck them into one of the boxes. he will forever be smug about this, taking all the credit, although he didn’t, frankly speaking, do anything.
“do you think we should fill these out seriously,” he asks jokingly, “to see if we really are a match?”
“i would just describe you all over again, coffee shop artist,” yoongi mumbles into his shoulder, his arm shifting around jungkook. jungkook bites down a smile. same here.
“you should answer the most important question here, though,” jungkook says. “how do you feel about tanks of reptiles?”
“you can get a lizard if you want,” yoongi murmurs, “you can get a damn crocodile. but it won’t sleep in the same bed with us.”
jungkook laughs. his body shakes with it, and yoongi holds onto him a little bit tighter, smiles against jungkook's skin.