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swapped out cigarettes (for a better kind of high)

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when yoongi wakes up, his head is killing him. pressure wraps around his skull like a vice, throbs over his temples, hurts like a bitch. his tongue is dry, too, whole mouth feeling like he went and chugged a couple hundred litres of desert before passing out. he feels like shit, and that's the summary all softened up and sprinkled with sugar.


the only thing that could possibly make him move is the thick, warm smell of coffee that seeps in through the half-cracked door, doing it's best to lure him from his current place within the nest of plush white sheets that definitely aren't his. he's still pretty buzzed, whole room distorted and fuzzy looking round the edges, but caffeine is the strongest drug yoongi is yet to flood his system with, and it's worth the way he staggers in his trek from the bed into the brightly lit hallway.


sunlight pours in through large windows as the floor spins underneath him, whole thing like some kind of trippy lotte world ride, except nobody bothered to tell him he wasn't tall enough to get on (don't get him started).


"morning," the voice isn't yoongi's, not that he has to think about that for a few long moments or anything. it's loud - too loud, fuck - and cheery, so he's sure it isn't him. he's never sounded so fucking chipper - least of all now, during the hellish moments wherein death comes off as a pleasant seeming reprieve. "how're you feeling?"


yoongi cracks his eyes open to examine the offensively loud man interrogating him, finds the smiling face of kim namjoon, and wants for death all the more. "coffee." he grunts by way of response, dropping down heavily next to the younger at the breakfast bar, and homicide sounds like a fun thing to experiment with when namjoon chuckles. he's looking for some new hobbies, anyway.


"if you feel as good as you look..." he whistles softly, shakes his head kind of like he can't believe the picture of health that is min yoongi, and min yoongi drops his head onto one arm with a soft, unceremonious thunk!. raises the other to flip off mr funny guy.


they sit in silence for - well. yoongi isn't sure. he feels like it might be a good century and a half, but he can't say for certain. what he does know is that his head comes to close to exploding or imploding or generally bursting in one violent way or another about a million times before a door creaks and footsteps come padding out into the kitchen.


"yoongi-yah!" it's seokjin this time, and yoongi doesn't need to raise his head to figure out that much. "good to see you up and... well. having moved, i assume. we did put you to bed, didn't we? joonie, we put him to bed, right? we didn't leave him passed out on the counter? because i told you, if we do that one more time, he might actually die. the odds that he's going to slip and crack his head are really against us at this point. i swear to god, if you forgot to put him to bed-"


"i didn't forget!" namjoon broke in, whining defensively. "remember? i told you i was sure i'd torn all the muscles in my back so you gave me that massage, and then we-"


"okay." yoongi croaks. "that's enough. you put me to bed. i don't need to hear about your raging gay love life while i'm still stuck in that shithole."


"are you talking about home or school, yoongs?" namjoon says, voice like he's teasing, even though they all know there isn't anything funny about it.


"school, you fucking brainy asshole." his tone is supposed to be biting but he's still too undead to conjure up the snark, and it comes out some kind of pathetic mumble spoken into the crook of his arm. "fucking graduated early and left me in that fucking hellhole. fuck you."


seokjin clicks his tongue, pats yoongi's head softly on his way past. "i think someone needs a drink and something to eat, hey, yoongi-yah?" he says, doesn't sound all that bothered about the attack made on his boyfriend, and yoongi figures he's just that pathetic. melted over the kitchen counter with a fucking bird nest on his head and tote bags under his eyes, he can't say he'd be all that shocked.


"coffee." he mutters again, just in case this is one of those rare situations with seokjin where you actually have a say. namjoon snorts.


there's silence for a moment as seokjin opens the fridge, rummages around, and then he comes back, drops something heavily onto the counter. "maybe after you've eaten." he responds, and yoongi guesses this is not, in fact, one of the times with seokjin where you have a say.


he peers up at seokjjn through the folds of his shirtsleeve and the curtain of bleached blond hair that currently hangs in his eyes. "why do you hate me, hyung?" he asks, sounds sincere, and seokjin gives him a fond smile before turning away to prepare the food.


"yoongi-yah," he hums, "i don't know how anyone could hate you. you're so pleasant and cheerful. so upbeat. the life of every party."


namjoon makes a wistful sound of agreement, and yoongi would glower if he had the energy.


"is there any point in asking why you showed up here again last night?" seokjin asks, and his voice is different now, still light, but gentler around the edges, and yoongi hates it. shakes his head.


"your folks?" namjoon asks carefully, with understanding, and yoongi sighs heavily through his nose. they're doing this, apparently.


"in part." he utters, makes sure it's clear he isn't down for some kind of heart to heart. "look, i can stop crashing here if it bothers you."


"yoongi-yah!" seokjin exclaims, turns around fast enough to make yoongi's own stomach lurch with the motion. he closes his eyes again. he's not ready to witness the world and all its unnecessary moving just yet. "how long have i been your hyung?"


"longer than you've been joon's fucking oppa." yoongi mutters, for no reason other than he doesn't exactly feel like kim namjoon's biggest cheerleader today, and seokjin slaps his hands down onto the counter loudly.


"exactly! my door is always open for you, yoongi-yah." he tells him still using his therapist voice somehow. "when things get rough at home, or at work, or just because - never be afraid to come here, okay? if joon has a problem with that he can sleep on the sofa."


"hey!" namjoon sputters indignantly. "i don't have a problem! when did we decide i had a problem? i love yoonie! i grew up with yoonie! i met you through yoonie!"


"stop fucking saying yoonie." yoongi growls, and somehow namjoon interprets this as an invitation to sling an arm over his shoulders.


"point is, we don't have any problems with yoonie in this household. we love yoonie." he says again, for good measure, and yoonie - yoongi, goddamnit, pushes him away with a lowly muttered curse.


"i get it." he grumbled. "everyone loves me. get in line and piss off."


"was it your dad again?" seokjin asks quietly, because apparently they've all just decided to ignore what young says now. "i mean - normally you'll fill us in a little, but last night you were - well -"


"tripping?" namjoon supplies helpfully. "really fucking wasted? off his tits high?"


seokjin's face crinkles a bit in disgust, a judgemental kind of cringe contorting his expression as he glances at his boyfriend (yoongi can't say he blames him). "thanks, joonie. just the tasteful wording i was looking for." he says, and namjoon grins wide, a little stupid. "but yes. more so than usual, at least. do you want to talk about it?"


"not even a little." he mumbles, and it's the easiest fucking decision he's made all week.


"okay." seokjin hums, thoughtful, padding away to clatter around in the cabinets for a moment of two. "well, you mind if i talk for a minute?"


god, who died and made him therapist of the fucking world?, yoongi thinks to himself, is grateful he doesn't say it out loud because he's fairly certain its not his most scathing of insults.


"you're not gonna listen if i say no, are you?" yoongi says, world weary. "go ahead."


 "great answer!" he says, chirpy, pausing in front of a pan now set over the stove. he keeps his back to yoongi. "so, last night. you were, as namjoon so eloquently put it, really very wasted."


"fucking." yoongi supplies like he's being helpful, knows he's not. "the word he used was fucking."


"...yes." seokjin agrees. "right. he did. anyway: i don't know the details about any of that, and - i don't need to, i don't think. but yoongi, don't you think you should slow down a little?"


yoongi tugs his sleeves over his hands, tilts his head as he looks at his hyung. "you're supposed to live life fast." is all he says, knows it's not good enough, and seokjin hesitates.


"only if you're looking to die young." he starts clattering with the pots again, busying himself fussing over lids and handles and temperatures on the hob. he doesn't say anything else just then, and yoongi rolls his eyes, drops his head back into his arms, glances at namjoon, hopes to play it off, but his friend is shifting uncomfortably and he realizes this has been preconceived. he's walked into a fucking intervention. lured by the motherfucking turncoat coffee.


"hyung," he sighs, "i'm fine."


seokjin nods, keeps his back to yoongi. "we just want it to stay that way, yoongi-yah, okay?" he says, finally turns around, but yoongi doesn't meet his eyes anyway. nods.


"we care about you, yoonie." namjoon puts in, claps yoongi's shoulder. does it too hard, and it kind of hurts a little, but he's trying to lighten the mood and yoongi appreciates the gesture.


"yeah, yeah." he brushes it off. "you're fucking gay for me. i know."


"i mean - i'm pretty sure we're just fucking gay in a general, all around kind of way, but you're right. we do love yoonie." namjoon promises, laughs when yoongi thumps him with a sharp,


"it's yoongi, asshole."


seokjin smiles at them before putting a plate in front of yoongi and namjoon, turning away to gather the pan. "with that in mind, maybe you could try to stop?" he asks carefully, focuses on scraping the seasoned rice into the dishes like it's a high difficulty task. "you don't have to go cold turkey, yoongi-yah, but just think about... last night happening less, okay? or the next time we stage an intervention you don't get to eat my food and i leave you alone with joonie and his pamphlets."


"god, no," yoongi groans. "anything but that."


• • • •


perhaps the grimmest aspect of yoongi's reality is the fact that he stays at the kim residence so often that there's a bunch of his clothes shoved in the bottom drawer of their big dresser cabinet. and, well - that's a pretty dark state of affairs, in his opinion. would deny all knowledge of this apparel stash if ever questioned.


but on days like this one, where yoongi slept in the previous night's clothes that reeked of smoke and booze and things he'd rather not try to name, it's - still really fucking grim, don't get him wrong. but also it means he gets to shower and put on something that might actually be clean. means when seokjin herds him into the car to take him to school, gives him a lift because he's a full-fledged eomma, yoongi doesn't have to show up smelling like ass. which, given that it's his first day back after suspension, is probably a good thing.


it's cold when yoongi shuts the door of seokjin's sleek black hyundai, walks away quickly because he's running late which doesn't bother him but he knows his hyung will sit there and watch until he disappears into the school for no other reason beyond he doesn't realize he is not actually yoongi's long lost fucking ahjumma.


he feels some eyes on him as he pads up the steps but the school is pretty quiet, most students already in their first class, so yoongi can slip down the hall into his without issue. 


only, when he does step into the classroom, there's a kid standing in the centre, and the homeroom teacher, mr stick-up-his-ass choi is hovering nearby, turning fast on yoongi like a vulture locking down on some fucking bones to chew out, and he curses under his breath.


"mr min," choi says, tone saccharine with fake sweetness. "how nice of you to join us. i was just introducing our new student to the class. hopefully he will know better than to follow in your tardy footsteps. take a seat, both of you."


yoongi doesn't need to be told twice. brushes past the new kid, barely spares him a glance but realizes that he's hot, fuck. not very tall, shoulders mere centimetres above yoongi's own but his skin is golden and his eyes are dancing like this is funny to him, somehow, or maybe that's just what people who get enough sun and exercise are like. yoongi wouldn't know. all he knows is he's got a good ass and he's sitting two rows in front of yoongi.