boyshit

by orangade

Summary:

Taehyung sticks to a couple of necessary rules regarding roommate etiquette: Divide the chores, pay the rent on time, and maintain a casual camaraderie.

It’s going well—until Taehyung thinks about fucking him.

Notes:

• In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the BTS One Setting Fest collection.

Chapter 1: things that men (boys) do

Notes:

hi folks! haven’t written anything substantial in a minute, so i let my impulsive ass enter a fest as the solution and this was definitely a. ride. lol, i hope some out there enjoy this as much as i have writing it!!

some lighthearted tunes (not in any order)

When Seokjin drops the news, Taehyung thinks this is it. The end of the world. It’s all in the signs. The dogs are howling, the bells are ringing, the crops are wilting, the goats are running across the fields, there’s thunder splitting against his ears, the ground is breaking into the molten earth beneath their feet with wide gaps open, ready to consume them whole. 

Beyond his thoughts, reality feels just as catastrophic. 

“Stop looking at me with those sad eyes,” Seokjin says, cutting the apocalypse short. “This is supposed to be a serious conversation and I’m about to laugh because your funny looking face is making it worse. Look. Look at how serious I am.” 

Outside, a muddy gray overtakes the city and reflects the gloom surrounding Taehyung and his bowl of soggy cereal. He slumps down in his seat at their dining table. “You’re joking. Right? I—you’re leaving? That’s it? This is how our story ends? Hyung.” If their story is crumbling as Seokjin insists it will, then it’ll only ever be remembered as a flat, anticlimactic conclusion to the Taehyung and Seokjin chronicles, an affair that kept Taehyung happy and healthy for the last two years. His previous roommate used to make lackluster excuses for getting out of activities with him and pretended to tolerate his presence. At the least, Seokjin never pretends when he’s sick of Taehyung. At least he lets Taehyung know when he doesn’t give a shit.

Typical Sundays start with a sluggish movement out of bed followed by the smell of fried rice and warm potato soup in the kitchen. Typically, Seokjin would yell at him to stop lingering behind him and fetch the bowls for breakfast. They’d eat their food and make small talk about the flustering economy while ignoring the violent sex thuds from the neighbors upstairs, and that’s the way Sundays roll. Supposed to. 

Seokjin, currently holding the flame to Taehyung’s rapidly rising emotional turmoil, clicks his tongue. “Our story doesn’t have to end here. It can continue on in a sequel with alternating POVs. Besides, it’s hard to tell what my fiancée would think if I were to continue living with you, even with the addition of kids and a dog.” 

Taehyung sits up straight. “Easy solution. I love kids and dogs. We could make it work. I’m sure Joohyun wouldn’t mind. She likes coming here.” 

“Unfortunately for me, I think that’s true,” Seokjin mutters. “But it’s different. It’ll be easier if I start making the transition now before the wedding. You get it.” 

He doesn’t get it. That’s another thing about Seokjin: he’s a full-time architect, part-time engine. A professional in sputtering—says several things at once in jumbled nonsense, as if to confuse Taehyung on purpose. Because it's fun to watch Seokjin spew at 80 kilometers per hour, Taehyung accepts it. Funny, funny. Today Seokjin decides he’s going to flap his mouth to shatter Taehyung’s heart into asymmetrical fragments, letting them rot away in his ribcage. It doesn’t feel too funny now. 

“You’re not getting it.” Seokjin leans back in his chair. “It’s been a long time coming. Don’t make it seem like I bit off your hand.” 

“It would’ve been less painful than whatever this is,” Taehyung mumbles sullenly. The cereal’s gone to straight mush, a near replica of watered down throw-up lodged in his throat. He swallows it down anyway. 

“Okay, big guy. Wanna start first with how you’re feeling?”

Feelings? His feelings. There are several. Many of them conflicted, torn, aghast—Seokjin would like that word—fumbling around trying to make sense of each other. It’s only morning, and he’s already lost it. Gone is his rational sense of mind. He hasn’t had his Sunday fried rice or potato soup yet. 

Taehyung purses his lips. “I don’t know. I’m happy for you and Joohyun, yeah, but there’s also a gaping hole where my heart's supposed to be right now.” 

Seokjin reaches over, grasps Taehyung’s hand, and then smacks it. “Cheer up, cowboy. Not like I’m gonna leave you empty-handed. I know someone who’s looking for a place and is a good fit for you.”

While Seokjin warbles on, Taehyung stops listening. He almost scoffs at the choice of wording. Good fit sounds like someone who’s there to keep Taehyung in check, as if he requires a babysitter at the tender age of twenty-seven. He’s capable of taking care of himself, contrary to Seokjin’s beliefs. It’s nothing a Naver search can’t do. He unclogged the toilet before. He made a meal before. Seokjin is cool sometimes but a pompous dickhead all in one. 

At the end, he catches the tail of Seokjin’s relentless, winding narrative. Taehyung looks back up at him warily. “You said he’s a cousin from your mother’s side?”

But Seokjin wants to be precise. “My oldest cousin’s youngest son.” 

“So that’d be your—?”  

“My great-grand nephew, yeah.” 

Taehyung scratches the side of his head with a finger, looking down at the table. Stubborn water rings and other miscellaneous white marks splatter across the cherry wood. The table stands lopsided while his cereal bowl hangs on, a delicate balance. They need a new table. He needs a new table. “Okay. Your great-grand-cousin-nephew. What’s he like?”

“Wh—you didn’t—? Okay. So you weren’t listening to me.” Seokjin narrows his eyes while Taehyung shrugs. “Let’s do it again. His name’s Jungkook. He’s from Busan, just recently moved to the city a few months ago because of a job opportunity. A few years younger than you. He’s a decent kid, but I try not to tell him or else he’ll get a big fat head, and he has enough of that all on his own.” 

“Sounds like a fun guy.” 

Seokjin’s words flow out into a sigh. “I know this is a lot already, but I think this would be great. Try it out and see what it’s like living with someone else. Better than having to beg on Craigslist or Roomster or whatever the kids are using nowadays. I have a hunch that you’ll get along.” He raises his eyebrows up, down, up, and winks. 

Taehyung can’t count the number of times Seokjin’s hunches have failed him. He rolls his head back. “I don’t know. My trust issues and all that.” 

“Your relationship with trust is worse than your will to live. But I can tell you he likes to clean. Likes to cook.” He points off on his fingers. “He’s a heavy snorer but you mindlessly drone in your sleep so those cancel out.”

“Go ahead. Just say that you hate me.” 

“I’ve been telling you that for the last two years, but that hasn’t stopped you from crawling into my bed at night. Anyway, thoughts?” 

Taehyung folds his arms. There’s not much else he can say. It sounds like Seokjin’s mind is already made up. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, rescind my invitation to your wedding and send Joohyun my congratulations. Let her know that I love her in advance.” 

“I never said you were getting an invitation. You and your dramatic ass.” This coming from the most dramatic man himself. The tone of Seokjin’s voice softens with the tilt of his mouth. “You know you could always talk to us or come around whenever you need. I’m sure Joohyun won’t mind since she’s a drive away and available 24/7. You can reach me only on the weekends from 2 to 4 PM via voicemail, but maybe I’ll consider giving you a call every now and then.” 

Taehyung sniffs, turning away. The rain sounds heavy to his ears, drops pelting against the glass. He thinks about the rain breaking down their windows, waves swallowing them whole to avoid the ordeal of starting from scratch all over again. He won’t give Seokjin the satisfaction of saying it outright, but he’ll miss him as a roommate. Their nightly gaming sessions. The outings to the fish market. Seokjin’s need to take Imodium pills when it was Taehyung’s turn to make dinner. The dynamic Kim duo. 

In all seriousness, Taehyung is doing a sublime job of holding it in. It feels too early for a goodbye, but he's always been a little on the soft side. This cereal is too much on the soft side. 

“I’m happy for you, hyung,” Taehyung says again, meaning it. “You deserve it.” 

Seokjin’s hand reaches over to him with a gentle rub on the shoulder instead of his usual smack. “You hungry? Maybe we can still make some fried rice. Or soup. Feeling potato?” 

On cue, Taehyung’s stomach gives out a deflating gurgle.

Voice cracking, he responds, “Yeah, man. Potato sounds good.” 

 

 

—

**ROOM FOR RENT IN 2BR APARTMENT** 

Looking for a long-term roommate to occupy one bedroom in this two-bedroom apartment, located near accessible transportation. Nice, moderate-sized room with windows and closet space. Beautiful view of the park from the bedroom. In-unit washer and dryer included. Minimum of one-year commitment. Send inquiries if interested.  

At the dining table, Yoongi sits with Taehyung as his consultant. He has some pointers. “I mean, it’s concise. Grammar’s fine. That’s all you wrote to sway the public in your favor?”

If Taehyung were running for office, he’d decorate the ad a bit more. Bedazzle it, add some sequins, use Jimin’s hot glue gun, and plaster it onto Yoongi’s forehead. A degree in software engineering and straight B’s in writing classes throughout his academic career have kept him afloat long enough. They won’t do much to save him from Yoongi’s remarks now. Ironically enough, that’s how they met—Yoongi writing intensive, critical comments on Taehyung’s paper during a peer review activity in their college writing seminar. 

“I thought Seokjin said he was going to get you a roommate,” Yoongi says, ignoring Taehyung’s bland look. 

“I’m casting out my safety net for if and when Seokjin’s choice of roommate doesn’t work out.”

Yoongi thinks about it. “Makes sense. But we’re not putting this one up because it’s boring. Fix it.” 

Taehyung looks up from his spot at the table, hinges creaking with the movement. “Why? It’s advertised exactly as it needs to be. Many of the ads listed are to the point.” 

Yoongi swivels the laptop toward himself. “That’s the issue. It blends in with the rest. There’s no sparkle, no wow factor. If I were looking for a place and came across this post even at my most desperate, I’d pass. Nobody wants to be rooming with a sad, boring man.”

Taehyung tugs at Yoongi’s earlobe. “Hey.” He’s the furthest thing from a sad, boring man. “Don’t stick around if you aren’t gonna help. I’m good. Let the door hit your plump ass on the way out. I’ll get the other plump ass in here.” 

Yoongi folds his hands across his chest. “I’m offended you’d think Jimin would hand out any suggestions better than I would. But I also don’t care.” He cares too much, Taehyung thinks. “But as I was saying, you should rephrase it. Advertise yourself as a hot, sad, boring man. That’ll pique some interest. Some people may want to room with someone that’s desperate in a hot sort of way.”

To him that makes little sense. He’s not feeling the accusations of being desperate either (but you’re hot so it’s okay, Yoongi insists), but there’s only so much he can be unsatisfied with before Seokjin officially moves out and he’s left alone straggling on his toes to pay rent. 

So he concedes. They change it. Reword, expand, scratch that, add that word in—the whole nine yards until Taehyung’s eyes burn from staring at the white of the screen. Within the hour, they come up with a more or less properly formatted description of the apartment that meets Yoongi’s “passable” requirements. 

**DON’T WANNA BE HOMELESS? HERE’S AN OPPORTUNITY!** 

Exhausted from the fruitless searches caused by the eternal pain of the economy? If you’d like to stay off the streets and live in a space with a ceiling and walls, this may be the apartment for you. This swanky apartment features: 2 decent-sized rooms with closet space (you get one). We will share a kitchen/bathroom. Many windows to bring in natural sunlight for the vitamin D-deficient folks. Windows may also expose some naked neighbors in the building across the street—avoid eye contact. Includes in-unit washer/dryer. Easy access to public transportation for the anti-walking ones. Good credit and sufficient income required (non-negotiable). Minimum one year commitment. Attractive roommate included in the listing (NOT clickbait—must see). 

If interested, please contact Kim Taehyung at your earliest convenience for more information or to schedule a showing. 

“It’s just. I don’t know. Makes me sound like a dick. Why am I advertising myself in this?” 

“The apartment is you; you are the apartment,” Yoongi says, holding out his arms as if to help Taehyung envision the image. His hands drop to his sides. “I think it sounds fine. Has your requirements. Has the pros, the cons. Your other post sounded more dickish than this one.” He looks over the final draft again. “Or you could lure in the freaks. We’ll try with trial and error.”

“I have some thoughts.” To which Yoongi replies, Keep them to yourself actually. “While this is great and all, this seems more of a ploy to watch me suffer. If I do end up getting a freak on my doorstep, I’m redirecting them to yours.” 

Yoongi shrugs, passing off as nonchalant. “Then don’t do it. Fine by me. Wait and stick around to find out how weird Seokjin’s cousin-grandchild is. Don’t come crying to me when he shaves your head at night.” 

“Be honest. Do you have a crush on me?” 

“What,” Yoongi says. 

“What,” Taehyung repeats. 

With a firm finger, Yoongi pushes Taehyung’s chin toward the screen. “Post it online and then leave me alone.” 

Taehyung wants to point out that Yoongi’s the one who decided to come over despite his I’m busy hyung, what about tomorrow? text. “Maybe it should’ve been Jimin here instead of you. You’re mean to me.” 

“I’m so hurt,” Yoongi says. He lightly taps Taehyung’s head with a knuckle. “When you hit the roommate lottery, pay my dues first. My rate isn’t cheap.”  

—

 

 

Now thinking about it, Seokjin hasn’t ever mentioned a great-grand-cousin-nephew in the two years they’ve been living with each other. It’s never sprung up in their conversations before. And Seokjin has talked about everything (everything) at least once. 

When Taehyung asks him about it one night, Seokjin tells him to stop pulling at his elbow skin and eventually brings up a family picture from the ancient archives of Facebook. The picture shows a much younger, funnier-looking Seokjin wearing tight swim shorts with an arm around a kid donning side-swept bangs and equally as tight shorts, caught in the middle of stuffing his mouth with a cheeseburger. 

“This is one of his better pictures,” Seokjin says, tinged with nostalgia. “He’s so much worse now.” 

Taehyung’s not focused on that as much. He’s more focused on how the next few weeks blur through as Seokjin prepares for his final move out of the apartment. Watching Seokjin slowly fade from their shared space—the rooms, the furniture, the number of shoes by the door—on the sidelines is discombobulating. The walls are less colorful and more beige. Hollow. It’s a strange feeling. Taehyung hates it. 

Joohyun has been coming around the last few days to help Seokjin carry out the boxes, indulging Taehyung and his puppy-dog stares by pinching his cheeks. Once he notices they’re not doing anything to change her mind and the situation is beyond a lost cause, he removes her hands from his face and goes into his room. 

Thing is, Taehyung gets along with people just fine. It's the living with other people that gets to him. A different being to adjust to, different habits to tolerate. The next one could leave pubic hairs on the bar soap. It happened twice pre-Seokjin. 

Despite his world being in its apocalyptic state, Taehyung is thrilled for Seokjin and Joohyun. Truly. They’ve been attached to the hip long enough for the next step and it’s only natural for them to follow the course. They’re good together. There’s no place for envy to crawl up his skin. 

Sometimes he’ll refer back to the ad he posted with Yoongi a while ago, see if there are any takers, but it hasn’t brought in any new notifications except for one. Someone by the display name josephjoestarluvr901 who responded to the post with this is dumb as hell. 

The freaks aren’t even eating this shit up. He reminds himself it’s better to be a sad, boring man than to ask for Yoongi’s assistance again.  

—

 

 

By the time he’s returning back home from work late one evening, Taehyung’s slowed down considerably in his steps. Another day of long hours, stiff necks at the desk, and brainless conversations. He’s one “Three days until Friday. We’re almost there guys, hang in there!” from strangling his neck with a utility cord. Silently groaning, tired, starving, Taehyung enters the threshold and hears voices. Seokjin’s familiar squawk flutters across the dimmed space, and there’s another one. Smooth, boyish. This one is new. 

When he makes his way toward the kitchen, he finds them standing against the counter. 

“Roomie! What wonderful timing, I was just about to make your grand introduction,” Seokjin announces. “Jungkook, this is Taehyung, the roommate. Taehyung, this is Jungkook, the cousin-nephew.” 

Across the kitchen counter, Seokjin’s great-grand-cousin-nephew looks at him with big round eyes. If Taehyung does a side-to-side comparison, Seokjin and Jungkook look almost nothing alike. If Taehyung has to look at Jungkook again, at the tattoos running down his arm, the silver on his bottom lip, the sturdy build, the comically round eyes, the soft face, it doesn’t seem likely that this is the same emo cryptid boy with meat in his mouth from Seokjin’s cursed Facebook photos. 

He’s now noticing the opened cans of soda, ramen cups, and clothes strewn over the chairs and couch area. Seokjin and his damn inconvenient timing.

Taehyung gives a polite greeting, reaches out and says, “Hey, nephew. I’m Taehyung.” He forgets for two seconds that Seokjin said that already. “Hi.” 

Jungkook says—he doesn’t say much. The most he offers is a half-turn of the lips, lukewarm at best. “Hey.” 

Taehyung’s hand remains in the air for a beat before he retracts it back to his side. 

“I was telling Jungkook about the wild things we endured amongst these four walls,” Seokjin says, patting Jungkook’s back. “You remember when you were in the bathroom and the ceiling above the toilet collapsed? Fun times.”

He remembers. “I liked it best when instead of helping me, you took a picture of me on the floor in the water and sent it to your entire family tree.” 

“That was you?” Jungkook asks. Recognition clicks. “Oh.” 

He waits for an extended version of Jungkook’s response, but there’s nothing else to it. Taehyung tries again, this time more formal. “It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. 

Taehyung tries not to let the polite look slip, but Jungkook the cousin-nephew is making it difficult. “I could’ve brought something home if I knew someone was over. Is there anything you’d want? We could order something.”

“No, that’s fine,” Jungkook says dismissively. His round eyes flicker up at Taehyung before he looks away again. 

“This is going so well,” Seokjin says brightly. “I’m going to use the bathroom while you guys get to know each other more intimately. Take all the time you need.” 

He waltzes his way out of the kitchen area and purposely ignores Taehyung’s incredulous look on the way out, shutting the bathroom door with a firm thud. 

When Taehyung turns back, he sees Jungkook shuffling in place, visibly as uncomfortable as Taehyung feels. 

He clears his throat. “So,” he starts. “Jungkook. How’s it been going?” 

“Good.” 

"That’s nice. Nice, nice, nice.” His fingers tap against the table. “Seokjin says you’re new to the city. How long has it been?” 

Jungkook’s eyes look up at the ceiling in thought. “About a few months.” 

“How have you been liking it?” 

“It’s fine.”   

“Great. Do you have anything else to do today? Going to get dinner, a drink, or…?” 

“No.” 

Good. Fine. No. Hard to believe Seokjin and Jungkook are related, having vastly different vocabulary repertoires.  

Taehyung keeps trying. For what, he doesn’t know. This isn’t going anywhere. “Seokjin says you’re searching for a place. What exactly are you looking for?”

“Something decent, affordable.” Jungkook shrugs, a different movement to the stoic figure. “I don’t know.” 

Taehyung tries to help him out a bit. “Any specific things you had in mind?” 

“Something close to work. From here it’s only twenty minutes away.” Jungkook’s eyes catch something behind Taehyung. “Is that a man on the table?”

Taehyung looks back to what he’s referring to, sees the sad man resin figurine sitting on the coffee table with his knees propped up, something he bought from a thrift market a while back. “That’s Sad Monty. I got him after a bad break-up. Reminds me we all go through it sometimes.” When that doesn’t excrete a response, Taehyung changes the subject. “Did Seokjin show you around?”

“A while ago, yeah.” 

“Do you like what you see?” Taehyung can hold a conversation down, when the other party plays along. It gets old fast. Extracting words out of this guy’s mouth is like pulling teeth. “You make enough to be renting out this place?” 

That evokes a different reaction. Maybe he shouldn’t have phrased it like that because Jungkook’s impassiveness takes on a sharper route, a slight crease in the eyebrows. He folds his arms across his chest. “Is there an issue with how you think I’m making income?”  

“Not at all,” Taehyung says, pedaling back. “Chill, it’s all good. I was just asking. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Last thing he needs is Jungkook juicing the cerebrospinal fluid out of him with arms bulging out of their tattooed skin. They’re solid arms and he has a solid head. Job security is the last thing on his mind. Maybe considering this might’ve been a mistake. 

Jungkook’s nostrils flare slightly, arms held against his chest. “I’m chill. I’m very chill.” 

“I don’t disagree,” Taehyung says lightly to appease him and keeps it at that. Seokjin went out and got him the chillest man in all of Seoul.

The skies above listen to Taehyung’s hushed prayers for all of this to end soon and out comes Seokjin rolling his wrists. “So? Have we decided to give it a go?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Jungkook feels the need to say. And it’s the way he says it: brusque, self-important. Like Taehyung is too little to add to the conversation about living together in his own place. His lips twitch involuntarily, a flare up in irritation. It’s been a long day. 

Before Seokjin can respond, Taehyung chips in. “Your nephew is right, hyung. He can’t afford making a mistake in living with someone if they turn out to be insufferable. If I were in his position, I’d look out for the assholes, too.” 

Jungkook looks back at him, seemingly unfazed by his comment, but Taehyung notices the hard tick in his jaw. 

Seokjin shivers, making a show of rubbing his arms. “Brrr, the sparking intensity. I sense a connection tingling. We can let this tingle for a little bit more over some food. I brought some—”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna check with Jungkook first?” Taehyung interrupts. He doesn’t mean to. It’s been a long ass day, and Seokjin’s cousin-nephew is a dickhead. “Gotta cater to his many needs and all.” 

Jungkook stares at him, steel-faced. “Do you have a problem?” 

“Do you?” Taehyung shoots back. 

“Oh boy,” Seokjin says.

Jungkook turns back to Seokjin. “I think I’m gonna pass on the food. Thanks for showing me around. I’ll give you a call later.” Briefly, he spares Taehyung another glance before walking out of the apartment. 

“Bye, nephew,” Taehyung calls out. The door shuts close. He turns toward Seokjin and stops. “What?” 

“No one said you had to be an asshole.”  

“Ouch. I was being myself.” 

Seokjin looks at him plainly. “You scared him off.” 

“He scared me. Did you see his arms?” 

Seokjin shakes his head. “Well, I think this could’ve gone great, if it went differently.”

Taehyung turns away. “Hard pass.”

“What hard pass? No hard pass. Give him a chance.”

“You know your cousin-nephew’s a dick? Because whatever the hell that was, I don’t wanna be around it in the apartment.” 

“You were the same the first time we met,” Seokjin points out. “Okay, yes, I get why you might think that, but Jungkook’s a little shy. Once you get to know him he pours out like a warm cookie. It’s cute actually. I think he likes you.”

The passive hostility certainly does tell him that. “Did you not—? That’s not the face of a warm cookie. I’m sorry man, but I don’t think I could live with someone who actively chooses to be difficult. Maybe he’s better off elsewhere. I’m better off looking for someone else.” 

“You’re being actively annoying.” Seokjin rubs the space between his eyebrows, eyes closed. “Just. All right. There’s another part to the narrative I didn’t tell you. So Jungkook had a rough time with his previous roommate, right? Some ugly stuff, they had a falling out, didn’t deal well with it, yadda yadda. He’s a little wary of rooming with someone new, but it’d be good for him, y’know? I told him, like I told you, to give it a try. Had to carry him on my back through this rain and all to get him here.”

“I get he’s your grandson-cousin and you care for him,” Taehyung starts, “but does he even want to look for a place here? He looks at me like I’m out to get him.” 

“To be fair, he looks like that at every first meeting. Like a baby shark.”

“Why not get a place of his own if he can’t handle a roommate?” It grates on his nerves. A guy he’s met for a total of ten minutes, souring the rest of his evening with that condescending stare. He doesn’t want to come back to that over and over every night. “I’m better off finding someone else by scouring the dark web.” 

Seokjin gives him a tired look. “Tell me you actually didn’t go through with that.”

“Yoongi said it was gonna help—”

“Yoongi? You said Yoongi? God bless you. I’m supposed to believe you found non-crazy people there with Yoongi’s help?” 

Taehyung huffs. “Okay, let’s say I didn’t. Jungkook doesn’t seem any better than anyone else I could meet on the site.” 

“I know you and I know him. That should be enough to tell you how it’ll go.” 

“All due respect, and I love you, but that tells me nothing about how it’ll go.” 

“Let’s think about it,” Seokjin says. “Great minds start fresh. Give it a day or two, have some dinner. I brought some stuff over and put it on the table for you. Once you sleep on it, you might have a different opinion.”

He has nothing else to say to that and lets Seokjin go. Taehyung doesn’t know what he’s thinking. The same judging look everyday? He’s lucky he survived their first meeting with the way Jungkook was glowering at him, gearing up for a fight, thick arms on display as a warning. No chance in hell he’s gonna withstand any of that on a daily basis. 

A shame such a face is on an asshole like Jungkook. He indulges in it a bit, wondering what it would be like if Jungkook did end up living with him, if things went the way they could have. A nice face to look at in the morning. But he can’t fathom having someone just standing there the way Jungkook was, dismissive and curt. Him and his big round eyes. 

Taehyung lets out a snort and a shake of his head while moving toward the table to look through the bag Seokjin brought over. Another failed attempt at securing a roommate. Nothing short of a great fucking day. 

—

When morning arrives, it brings the sound of Marimba trilling near Taehyung’s head. 

He wakes up in a jolt, hands groping under his pillow. He makes a hasty grab for his phone, taking a few uncoordinated swipes and a fall to his face to answer. “Yeah?” 

Seokjin’s voice chirps through the call. “Morning, sunshine. How are we feeling today? Happy? Calm? Sated?” 

“Disrupted.” 

“Good enough. I bring news for you, by the way. He said yes.” 

Rubbing an eye with two fingers, Taehyung yawns. “Congratulations. Love it. Who are we talking about?” 

“Jungkook. He said he’ll move in.” 

Noises directly above him pick up, the familiar awkward start of someone moaning. Taehyung makes a disgruntled sound. “Jungkook said he’ll move in.”  

“Yes. That is what I said. You sound like you don’t believe me.” 

“You were there for our last interaction.” The moans steadily rise. Taehyung turns to the side to cover one ear on the pillow, phone pressing up against the other. 

“I was. He said you were a dick. But he’s willing to room with you and pay his share of rent, for some reason unknown to me. I’ve already talked to Hansol about it and he’s fine. Gonna get Jungkook through the screening process and all that. You guys just have to sign a new lease agreement, and then everything should be good. Isn’t this exciting?”

He picks at his stubble. “For you, maybe.” 

Seokjin sighs. “Taehyung. I’m not going to force you if you don’t want to. If you’re not feeling it then I’ll tell him to look for a different place.”

Taehyung shuffles under the covers. Hard slapping sounds filter down from the ceiling. “He wants to live here? With me? Does he know that?”

“His exact words were yeah, I guess. He’s overthrown with joy.” 

“You said he thought I was a dick.” 

“You’re saying you weren’t? Believe me when I say every bone in my body is telling me this will work out. I know you’re worried but it’s gonna be hard finding someone out in the online world who you want as a roommate. We’re just taking a shortcut.” 

Taehyung, for all of his desperation, isn’t so optimistic about Seokjin’s prophetic bones. He’s right about one thing: finding a good roommate is difficult. He’s had his fair share of terrible ones, the bizarre ones that would gag themselves with toothbrushes, forget to pay their rent for a month or two or three. There’s only so much his online post can do for him. By the state of it, it looks like it’s going nowhere. It’s between a stranger and Jungkook and—neither choice is great.  

Seokjin trusts Jungkook well enough. But again, it’s Seokjin.

“I hope you didn’t fall asleep because I will scream.” 

“Don’t do that to him,” comes Joohyun's voice in the background. “Psycho. Hi, Taehyung.” 

“Hi, Joohyun,” Taehyung says. He scrapes at his scalp. The day hasn’t reached ten yet and there’s the start of a migraine knocking at his temples. The neighbors above him are taking it further, a chant of yes yes oh my god fuck yes coming through. “When is your cousin-nephew ready to move in?” 

“Really? You’re fine with it? He’ll be ecstatic.” Taehyung imagines an ecstatic version of Jungkook and finds it hilarious. “A roommate! Aren’t you happy I helped you out so you didn’t have to go through all that trouble alone? Khhhh, I’m too good. I don’t know how I do it every single time. I should be receiving generous compensation for all the things I do. You still owe me the last time I paid your car bill.” 

“I’m hanging up now.” 

“Fine. I actually don’t care about the car bill. We’ll talk more on this later and get it sorted out with Jungkook. If anything else happens, I’ll let you know. Good night, my little rockstar. Well no, get up, it’s 10 AM already. I’m gone and suddenly you mess up your sleeping schedule? Horrendous.”

“Bye, Taehyung,” Joohyun says again, this time closer. Seokjin squeaks, says hey, give that back. “And don’t let this worry you so much. Maybe it’ll turn out for the better. Don’t take everything Seokjin says too seriously either, you know how he is.” 

Taehyung hums sleepily. “Annoying as shit.” 

“So annoying. You’d think he’d learn how to be less. It’s a good thing he’s funny or we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“Show me your finger with the ring, I wanna see something,” Seokjin says while Joohyun cracks up. 

Once they hang up, Taehyung wonders if he made the right decision. He’s not ready for the change, and he’s not ready for what’ll happen once Jungkook with the big eyes and the clunky boots and the tattooed arm gets here. Guess he’ll fuck around and find out. 

Taehyung’s thoughts are squashed down by the high-pitched moans, his neighbors prepared to see the white light at the end of the tunnel. He groans in synchronous timing with them, the rest muffled by the blanket he pulls over his head. 

 

 

—

 

 

Taehyung had become attuned to Seokjin’s daily habits, his sounds, and his presence that it became an inherent part of the routine. With him gone, Taehyung finds himself back at point A. 

After getting everything confirmed through the landlord, all of Seokjin’s stuff coming out is replaced with all of Jungkook’s stuff coming in. Brown boxes appear a few by few each day until they’re scattered in a nonlinear pattern across the living room area. He’ll wake up and walk through the room to stumble over the newest addition, toes bruised over in pain. 

“What do you even have in these?” Taehyung once asked, pissed off over another toe going down in its sacrifice during the short walk to the bathroom. 

“Styrofoam peanuts,” Jungkook said, to piss him off more. 

He’s expecting the worst. Jungkook and his uppity self stringing around the corners, turning his nose up at every little thing he finds not to his liking. He doesn’t worm himself into Jungkook’s space if he can help it. While he thinks Jungkook is an asshole (despite what Seokjin says, because, yes, he is), he believes in maintaining the peace first. The roommate equilibrium is a fragile one. He can’t afford to cause friction when he’s desperate. He’ll settle on losing the pride battle this round. A bare minimum focus. 

Living with Jungkook is different. Different from his other experiences. He’s a tidy person, keeps the kitchen and laundry spaces especially neat. He washes the dishes with zero specks leftover, a vicious sponge in hand. He’s good at paying his share of the rent, always on the fifth of the month. He’ll do laundry at two in the morning on the weekends like it’s no one’s business except Taehyung’s when he’s on his way to take a leak. Seokjin wasn't lying about him liking to clean. 

Overall, it’s not…not bad. Not as much as he was expecting. 

There’s still a lack of talking.

He tried to talk to Jungkook. They’ve formed some semblance of half-assed small talk in between shared moments during mornings before work and some evenings after work. He’s asked several how’s it going’s and has received a bunch of good okay fine’s in return. The furthest their conversations have gone is to remind the other of when the super is supposed to come over to check the leaking pipe in the bathroom. Taehyung doesn’t question it too much. He doesn’t let the negativity fester in his head. 

It’s not bad. It’s not great either. 

So they continue in the limbo they’ve created for themselves, where Jungkook remains Jungkook, and Taehyung gapes like a fish out of water waiting for the air to seize his lungs. 

—

 

 

On Friday night, it’s warm for spring. The rain hasn’t shown up during the week, but it’s been replaced with a soggy humidity that envelops the city in a sticky sweat stain. 

Jimin comes around to the apartment after the sun settles down, with ice cold beers in hand and a dream. 

“I’m using your washing machine,” Jimin states. He places the beers on the coffee table in front of Taehyung, dragging in his bag of clothes. 

Taehyung is on the couch scrolling through a list of movies, eyes shifting from one title to the next. “I thought you worked late at the office today.” 

“I did,” Jimin says, measuring out detergent in the far little corner of the living room where the in-unit laundromat sits. “I had to leave early because of the terrible, nausea-inducing stomach pain that has led me to use the express wash in your home.” 

Taehyung turns his head and stares down at the clothes in Jimin’s arms. “You got shit on your pants?” 

Once he’s got everything in, he joins Taehyung on the couch, grinning. “Yeah, you wanna take a sniff? Nasty. No, dumbass. The laundromat in my building is going through repairs and you’re only fifteen minutes away from me.”

A simple no would have sufficed. Jimin is fun, though. It’s nice to have Jimin around when there’s been a tense, uncomfortable whatever floating around the apartment. He sips at his beer, curling and uncurling his toes. 

“Where’s your buddy?” Jimin asks.

“At work, I think. I’m not sure.” 

“Still not getting anywhere with him?”

That’s the thing. He hasn’t had a proper interaction with Jungkook because he doesn’t know where to start. What to do with a guy who wants nothing to do with you? Taehyung is satisfied not knowing. He isn’t eager enough to set off a ticking bomb with teeth and have it erupt back onto him. So he leaves the issue alone, letting it marinate in dust. 

Taehyung brings the question up. “What are we even supposed to do?” 

Jimin makes an indecisive sound. “Bonding activities. Take shrooms together, kill a bear. Did it with my brother once.” 

“Kill a bear?” 

“Shrooms. You would not see me today if I ever decided to take it on with a bear.” 

He forgoes saying anything else because at that same time Jungkook comes through the front door in navy blue scrubs, halting in place once he notices there’s another person in the apartment. 

“Hello, Jungkook,” Jimin greets him, ever the charmer. 

Jungkook looks at Jimin, wide-eyed. He’s always just sort of looking. Always with that deer-in-the-headlights expression. “Hi.” 

“Sorry to crash in your space like this,” Jimin says. “I needed a place to do laundry. Taehyung was kind enough to say yes.” 

Jungkook’s eyes flit over to the washing machine. “Okay.”

“It’s nice to see you in the flesh. Heard about you through the grapevine. I’m Jimin.” 

Jungkook does his half-smile thing, a little uneasy. 

Jimin continues to pester him. “Do you wanna watch a movie with us? We still haven’t chosen one from the last forty minutes I’ve been here.” 

Taehyung watches Jungkook struggle for an answer. He looks restless, out of place, like he’d rather be anywhere but here on the spot. So Taehyung does it for him to give him an out. “He came from work, Jimin. I doubt he wants to watch a movie with us right now.” 

When he says that, Jungkook’s indecisive look fades, turning a little lost. His lips gradually form a thin line. “Yeah. I’ll probably have an early night. I’m just gonna go take a shower.” 

Taehyung nods in return. “‘Night.” 

Jungkook hums back tonelessly, seemingly disinterested in the goodbyes. 

Once he’s out of earshot, Taehyung leans in and murmurs, “You saw that shit?” 

“See what?”

“See how…you know. How—” he makes a grunting noise for emphasis. Quietly, before Jungkook can hear him. “—he is?”

Jimin studies him, amused. “How—” he grunts out the same noise. “—he is? He hasn’t done anything. You, on the other hand? Man. Poor guy wanted to relax a bit, watch a movie with us, and you told him no. To his face. Cold.” 

Taehyung purses his lips. “What?”

Jimin gives him another long look, one that causes Taehyung to shrink into himself slightly, a puppy being scolded. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see what you did. Made an excuse for him without giving him a chance to answer himself. How would you know if he wanted to stay around with us or not?”

That’s not how he sees it. “Listen. From my multiple experiences—compared to your one,” he holds up a finger, “he’s just not interested in being around. When I’m here, he’s already shuffling back into his room or going his way out of the apartment.” 

The conversation comes to a halt when Jungkook exits his room with a towel and a change of clothes in hand. They pretend they’re deeply invested in the display of movies on screen until Jungkook’s gone. 

Once the bathroom door shuts, Jimin goes back in. “I don’t know, I’m starting to think you probably make him feel that way.” 

Taehyung splutters in shock and looks around for the cameras to come out and yell Gotcha! “I don’t say shit. He looks uncomfortable all the time. That’s how he is! I’m trying to make things less suffocating for him.” If that means no talking, then Taehyung’s not going to talk. He’ll stay ziplipped throughout the remainder of their time living together, if that doesn’t make matters worse. What the fuck does Jimin know anyway? 

“I’m not saying you’re doing it on purpose,” Jimin clarifies. “You guys don’t know each other like that, sure, but you have to be on the same page. Maybe he does want to talk to you—who the hell knows. Maybe he doesn’t know how to say it. You gotta help him out with that, give an opening. Ease it up. Guy can’t even walk without the eggshells trailing after him.” 

He’s given opportunities. Several. A multitude of windows. Frowning, Taehyung reexamines the times Jungkook and him have been in the same room. On the assumption that Jungkook doesn’t like being around him, he usually keeps the talking sparse. The last few times it was Jungkook who initiated the conversation, except Taehyung was the one who ended it, always going for an excuse to leave, like an asshole, while Jungkook sat in the apartment alone. He leans back into his seat, chest tight as he mulls over some new thoughts. Okay. Maybe Jimin is onto something. 

“Or maybe I’m wrong.” Jimin shrugs. “Use a different approach with him if you don’t want to keep all the uncomfy shit stuffed inside these walls. Press 13 Going on 30 if you aren’t going to choose a movie.”

When they’re a few minutes into it, Jimin pipes up again. “I gotta admit, he’s cute. I’d sulk around too if I wasn’t talking to a cutie like that.”

“I'm not sulking.” Taehyung scowls. “You’re tripping over your balls, my guy.”

“I can’t be the only one who thinks it’s hilarious to see how he’s exactly your type.”

A dying noise hits the back of Taehyung’s throat. Jimin’s eyebrows jump up at the sound. “He’s fifteen fucking steps away.” He quickly looks back at the closed bathroom door. The shower’s still running. “The walls have ears.” 

“You’re right,” Jimin says. “He probably has cute ones with studs.” He says it loud enough, one hand cupping his mouth. Jimin is too busy laughing at his own terrible joke when Taehyung chucks a throw pillow at his head, falling back onto the other side of the couch, that he doesn’t hear the washer’s timer going off.

 

 

—

On one of the days he works from home, Taehyung maps out a schedule for his deadlines, each one more daunting than the next. Tasks and meetings restrain him to his desk all day. Days at work, remote or otherwise, drain him to the core. While he likes being at home and not decomposing in traffic for an hour, there’s nothing more dull than eight hours on his ass, eyes burning through spreadsheets and emails and video calls. He works well into the nine hour mark, set on finishing up some projects. Taehyung calls it a night with bones cracking, and considers the time on his phone. There’s a growl rippling through his digestive system, and he wonders if there’s anything to eat. Last time he ate was in the afternoon, a couple of leftover pork dumplings that fell apart as soon as he picked them up. 

When Taehyung emerges out of his room for the first time in hours, he sees the whole place engulfed in darkness. “What the hell.” He feels around for the lightswitch on the wall. 

After the lights bring the room back to life, he zones in on Jungkook sitting on the floor, back against the brown couch. His head pokes out from where he’s sitting. 

“What are you doing in the dark?” Taehyung asks.

“Eating,” Jungkook says, like it’s obvious. There’s a pair of chopsticks in his hand. 

Dumbfounded, he repeats, “In the dark?” 

“I like it that way,” Jungkook snaps, defensive.

“I—okay. Sure.” The long day’s probably been bad for Jungkook, too. Taehyung turns toward the kitchen, stopping once he’s reached the counter. “Where’s the bag of Funyuns I left here last night?” 

“I threw them out.” 

“What? Threw them out?” 

Jungkook gives him a funny look. “They were stale.” 

Irritation tugs at Taehyung. The day’s been slow and off-putting, as many of his remote days are. Sometimes the only thing that can make working toward retirement age worth it is an old bag of chips with onion-ring essence. “I like them stiff.”

“Sorry I offended you over stiff Funyuns,” Jungkook says flatly, still looking at him funny.  

Taehyung dismisses the Funyuns. He points to Sad Monty. “Why is he facing the other way?” 

Jungkook looks back at Sad Monty in front of him on the table. “He was staring at me.” 

Fine. Whatever. He's more interested in how Jungkook has a pair of scrubs on and it’s ten at night. “Are you going somewhere after this?” 

“I got back from work. Forgot to pick up something to eat, so I used whatever was in the fridge.” 

Taehyung watches him pick at the sad bok choy they usually have in stock. “Only that?” 

“There wasn’t much else.” 

“Oh. You could’ve asked me to make you something.”

Jungkook regards him strangely. “You don’t use the stove.” 

“I use the stove,” Taehyung insists on saying. 

“You use it to cook?” 

Taehyung doesn’t respond to that. “There should be some other stuff around. Do you want me to make some ramen?” He checks the cupboards. “I think we may have…oh. I guess we don’t have that. Maybe some rice cakes?” He opens the door to the freezer. “Hm. Interesting. Don’t have that either.” 

Jungkook is still on the floor, still in his scrubs, sitting with that limp bok choy in his bowl. “It’s fine. I’m not really hungry.”

One thing he knows for a fact, since living under the same ceiling, is that Jungkook eats—and he eats well. It’s unlike him to miss a meal. Unofficially, it was Taehyung’s turn to go grocery-shopping but he’d been so slumped at work that it was bumped back to the gutters of his mind. Now Jungkook’s left to pick at wilting produce, stomach running on empty fuel. He probably hasn’t eaten in hours. He thinks back to what Jimin said, how he’s making it difficult for him. Not on purpose, but he needs to ease up. Ease it up. 

“Sorry. That’s on me. I’ll make sure to buy some things at the store tomorrow. Do you want anything specifically? Some packets of chapaguri or bibimmyeon. The shrimp chips, like the spicy garlic ones.” 

Saying the things he’s noticed that Jungkook eats around the apartment, like that’s all he focuses on—what Jungkook eats, what Jungkook does—prevents him from pushing further. 

This has been the most he’s talked to Jungkook since he’s gotten here. 

Jungkook does nothing but stare at him with round eyes. 

Taehyung nods to himself a few times in succession, hands in his sweat pockets. “Never mind. Sorry again. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Yeah. Yep. Goodnight.” 

“Hey,” Jungkook says before Taehyung can enter his room. “Did you eat?” 

Taehyung stops in his tracks. “Not for a while.”

Jungkook looks back at the coffee table. He itches at the patch of skin under his eye. At first Taehyung doesn’t catch it, but he strains his ears a bit, and hears a quick mumble of words. “Do you,” Jungkook says, grappling with a pause. He tries again. “Do you want to?” 

“I can order something for us,” Taehyung suggests, helping him out. 

“If you’re okay with that,” Jungkook says in return, a little reserved. 

Taehyung is definitely okay with that. He opens the food delivery app on his phone. “Fried chicken okay?” 

The food doesn’t take long. By the time it arrives, they form a huge spread across the kitchen table, foils of greasy chicken and crunchy sides. 

Jungkook speaks up while Taehyung sets up their plates. “You didn’t have to do that. Ask me and stuff.”

“I did,” Taehyung says, and finds that he’s honest. He hands over Jungkook’s plate. “We live together now. It’s the least I can do.” Funny that they’ve now reached the stage of uncomfortable politeness. 

Jungkook blinks, accepting the plate. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

Jungkook’s a good eater. There’s an unrestrained eagerness in the way that he eats. Taehyung is intrigued by the persistent frown engraved into his face. He must’ve been hungry. Jungkook goes through several pieces of fried chicken, cheeks rounded with food. At one point, he smacks the table with a fist. 

“Hello,” Taehyung asks, slightly alarmed. 

Jungkook turns to him, mouth full. “This tastes good.”

Very odd. Taehyung is staring too much. Very strange. He looks back at his own food and takes a bite into a piece to see what Jungkook’s fisting the table about. “Huh, that’s good. I thought it was gonna be—” a strangled gag cuts him off. His coughs lead into a choking fit, eyes watering as he struggles through the burn. 

Jungkook slows down in chewing. “You okay?”  

“I’m good,” he assures him, teetering on the verge of being normal again. The tears start to dry on his cheeks. “Spicy.” 

“The one you’re eating now?”

“This shit is like four peppers worth, some Level 4 type of spice. I should’ve ordered a different one.” 

Jungkook takes the receipt off the table. “It’s soy garlic.” 

“Right. A Level 4.”

Jungkook, mid-chew, raises an eyebrow. “It's Level 1.” 

Taehyung plucks the receipt from Jungkook’s fingers, taking a look at it. He crumples it up. “We don’t need to get into the specifics.” 

Once they’re done, they clear everything off the table. They work alongside each other in a type of silence that isn’t smothering them whole. 

Until Jungkook starts up in the midst of the quiet. “I just wanted to say—um.” He retreats back into himself, unsure. Taehyung lets him tumble through the stops, waiting patiently until he’s ready. “I—” He tongues his cheek, considering where to go from there. “I guess Seokjin hyung already told you, but it wasn’t great with my other roommate before this. He gave me an earful about the way I acted with you, and he’s right. I was being a dick. I wanted to properly tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took me a while.”

“It’s all good. I’m sorry for being a dick to you in the beginning.” 

“I was a dick to you first.” 

“Hm. Yeah. Can’t deny that.” 

Jungkook’s nostrils twitch slightly. “Okay.” 

Taehyung grins sheepishly. “Too soon? Sorry. Proceed.” 

“My previous roommate didn’t like that I rarely spoke,” Jungkook continues. “I guess that’s where the problems stemmed from, the lack of communication. It was exhausting to be around someone who was abrasive and unwilling to work things out. I just don’t wanna mess it up. Again.” He looks back up at Taehyung hesitantly, waiting for his reaction. 

Something in Taehyung twinges. He feels slightly more lousy because he had thought those things too, before. He’d been hyper-focused on how Jungkook was acting, how Jungkook was thinking, and wanted to make a bad guy out of him. Took it too personally. Seokjin’s words after the first meeting with Jungkook travel back to him. He’s a little wary of rooming with someone new.

Nodding, he gives Jungkook a hearty pat on the back, a more welcoming look. “I get it. We go through shit sometimes. I think we’re good, though. Really. We’ll work things out if anything happens,” he promises. 

An exhale. Jungkook’s shoulders relax; talking seems to make him lighter. “Okay. I—thank you. I mean it. And thanks for the food. I’ll pay you back when I can.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “This one’s on me. Consider it a welcoming gift. You can have me on the next one.” He feels self-conscious all of a sudden, wondering if he should’ve gone the noble, humanitarian route and declared right here they should do this again. He’ll have to crawl back into his hole and rot there if Jungkook decides no, I’m good, go fuck yourself.

But Jungkook doesn’t tell him to go fuck himself today. “Maybe less of the Level 4 soy garlic next time.”

Taehyung blinks in shock, processes it, and then laughs, a bright sound in the dim kitchen. He’s surprised to see a twitch in Jungkook’s face, a non-aggravated one. 

“Damn, so we’re funny now.” Taehyung leans in. “Can I be real with you then for a minute, Level 4? It is kind of weird that you eat in the dark. A little bit.” He pinches his fingers together to emphasize.

Jungkook huffs, not unkindly. “Better than you peeing with the door open.” 

Taehyung presses his lips together, leaning back. “You have me there.” He shifts around on his feet to seek out more comfort, only for a sharp pain to jab at his lower spine. “Ah, fuck, my back. Sitting in a chair all day is the worst at my age. I think I’ll have to die soon.”

“Physical therapy.”

Taehyung scrunches up his face, a teasing look. “Are you saying I should be getting it? I’m not that far from you in years.” 

The edge of Jungkook’s mouth curls up. The ring in his lip glints at a certain angle. “You asked me if I made enough to be living here once. I’m a physical therapist.”

He thinks back to Jungkook’s annoyed face that day, his tattooed, smooth arms folding up against his chest the first night he was here, scowling at Taehyung for assuming too little about him. A big presence in the small kitchen. He focuses on the Jungkook next to him throwing away takeout boxes, who’s less hostile and doesn’t seem willing to bite his head off.   

Taehyung laughs. “Oh shit? Cooler than me. I work at home sometimes. I guess I have that.” 

“I know.” Jungkook glances down. “You’re always at your desk when I come from work. It may not be much, but there are exercises to help with your back so it’s not as painful when you’re working in your chair.” 

Extending an olive branch. That he can appreciate. Taehyung smiles at him. “Yeah? You can show me what type of exercises I need to get through sometimes. On those days you wouldn’t have to worry about cooking either. Next time when we do delivery, we could get jajjangmyeon and these big dumplings from a place I know.” When, not if. Big kid steps for Taehyung. Jimin would’ve had tears in his eyes. 

“Oh.” Jungkook keeps surprising him today. Because he smiles back at Taehyung—a real one this time. The kind that curves his cheeks. It’s nice to look at, and fits his face sweetly. “Yeah. Sounds good.” 

Before he knows it, it’s nearing midnight. There’s sleep caught at the edges of Taehyung’s eyes, and he’s got an early day tomorrow. He pats the wall after they’ve put everything away, edging backwards toward his room. “Well. I’m gonna go. You should get some sleep. Goodnight again, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook’s expression is not closed off this time. “Yeah. Goodnight.” And then again, adding, “Goodnight, Taehyung.”

—

 

 

In the morning, once Taehyung is awake enough, he walks into the kitchen to compile a quick low-effort breakfast with some American cheese and a few remaining pieces of bread to sate his stomach. When he reaches the fridge, he notices there’s restocked produce, new groceries he doesn’t remember seeing last night. He rubs his eyes again to make sure. 

On the kitchen table a few feet away, there’s a warm bowl of rice and fried eggs, steady steam lofting up in wispy tendrils. Next to the bowl, a lime green sticky note inked with blue. 

don’t know if you like eggs. don’t worry, they’re level 1. 

— jungkook (level 4) 

—

 

 

Unexpectedly, it all starts to trickle into place. 

Jungkook becomes familiar in no time, a presence so worn to the walls it feels like it’s always been supposed to be like this. Taehyung gets to know him. Know him know him. Jungkook’s fun. He’s good to talk to. He makes double portions of meals without asking. He likes grilled pork belly. He hates using the microwave and prefers cooking his meals fresh. A few days ago, he bought two mattresses—accidentally. He keeps the other one on the floor instead of returning it and alternates between the two. They play video games together. They share the same look in the elevator when their elderly neighbor from next door mutters about too much damn noise. 

Jungkook smiles at him more often now, too. He’s seen a few variations, one allotted for a different occasion. A small shy one when he sees Taehyung in the morning. An unfiltered one with his front teeth poking out when he beats Taehyung at a game. A shit-eating one after he dodges Taehyung’s hand to steal food off his plate. It’s…nice. Weird, but nice. 

Now that they’re not awkwardly stepping around each other and timing when the other would leave (once upon a time ago), Taehyung and Jungkook share more meals together, breakfasts and dinners reserved for conversations about anything, everything. Spitballing things to do outside the apartment—together. Again, weird. Weird, weird, strange, weird. Taehyung’s astonished that he's gotten this far. But no, Jungkook’s actually sort of. All right. He’s still a little intense, but that seems to be an inherent part of him, he supposes. Comes in a red-bowed package with a set of round, deep eyes and bunny teeth. 

With some free time dangling in front of him, Taehyung takes an evening to be a responsible person and do some tasks around the place. His entire week’s been full of shit, peppered with the fact that his car is in the repair shop after the AC unit stopped functioning properly, and he needs to go into the office tomorrow. Choices come down to carpooling with someone else, but the only coworker within close distance is the one that claims they’re a “nice person” but endures a hemorrhage to abstain from shit-talking about everyone else on the team. Taehyung would rather remove each singular strand of hair from his own ear canals. 

He deserves a semi-normal evening. Starting with the vacuum first. While he vacuums, he has Final Destination 3 on as background noise. 

“Is this the one where they get premonitions of dying on a rollercoaster?” Jungkook makes his way over to the couch. He wears his glasses and the usual white tee/dark sweats arrangement, legs in criss-cross applesauce position by the time he sits down. His hair gently curls over his forehead, still damp from the shower. 

Taehyung says, “You watched this one? It’s the best one in the franchise.”  

Jungkook hums as he watches the movie, focused on the image in front of him. He sniffs a few times, rubbing his nose with a hand, and then adjusting the glasses. “The first one’s good. This one’s eh.” 

“What—no? Third one’s better.” 

“Sequels are never better than the original for a reason.” 

“The first movie isn’t nearly as interesting. Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s in this one.” 

“So?” 

Taehyung turns off the vacuum. “So? She’s a compelling protagonist who does her best to save other people and herself from the impending doom of death. And beautiful.” 

Jungkook looks over at him with interest. “What?” 

With a toe, Taehyung turns the vacuum back on. “I may or may not have had a brief, two-second thing for her in Sky High. And in the Scott Pilgrim movie.”

“Start with that next time.” Jungkook gets up. “I was more of a Warren Peace guy.” 

Taehyung laughs to himself. He puts aside the tidbit of information, for no other reason. Entertainment purposes. 

After Taehyung’s done vacuuming the area, Jungkook comes around again to dump a set of clothes in the washing machine. He’s got a certain system when it comes to doing the laundry: use an appropriate detergent, measure just enough fabric softener that doesn’t go into overkill. Jungkook has a particular eye for it, and is strangely neat with folding clean laundry. A different approach from Taehyung, who’ll take his clothes out from the dryer, cover himself in them while warm during the cold days, and then stuff whatever the fuck else in the drawers. If he’s lucky enough, sometimes he’ll remember to fold them. 

Jungkook emerges from the kitchen. He stands with something in his hand. “Are you missing half a garlic?” 

Taehyung sits up on the couch. “So that’s where it went. I was looking for it everywhere.” His previous plan for good deed of the day involved using the garlic for a green bean dish and sharing some of it with Jungkook as Jungkook’s done with him with several of his meals. When he tried for a taste-test, Taehyung decided maybe it’s best if he whips up a different, more basic dish some other time. “We’re out of garlic, by the way.”  

The garlic stays on the table. Once he’s got a cycle going in the washer, Jungkook is back next to him, bare feet grazing the floor. Taehyung sneaks a peek down at his feet and decides they’re nice, for feet. Jungkook’s toes are cute; not too stubby, not too bony, curved pretty, and not something he should be thinking about. He’s looking at his roommate’s feet. 

“It’s not my fault you ran out of the garlic,” Jungkook says. “Why did you need it anyway?” 

“Yeah.” Taehyung rips his gaze away to land on Jungkook’s face instead. “What?”

Jungkook gives Taehyung an amused look. He tacks on a slowly enunciated, “Garlic?” 

“Yes. The garlic.” That’s what they’re talking about. “I was trying to make some garlic green beans and have some for you to try, but it didn’t work out. Lost the garlic in the process.” 

“You were trying to make something?” 

“Yeah, sort of? Not nearly good enough for a Michelin star.” He laughs. “Maybe you are but damn, definitely not me.”

Jungkook shrugs, a little shy. “Nah.” 

“Just saying. Gordon Ramsay would hang up his white jacket if he saw you coming.” 

“Stroking my ego,” Jungkook says, face cracking into a smile. “So where is it?” 

“Where?” 

“The green beans. I didn’t see them in the kitchen.” 

Taehyung laughs dryly, then compresses his lips together. The shame of his failed attempt went straight into a plastic trash bag and down the garbage disposal chute. “Guess we’ll never know. Another time. But for now just watch the movie with me.”

They settle back into watching the movie while doing other tasks. Even with his head stuck in the washer, Jungkook makes an occasional quip to still try and assert the original is better. There comes a point in between the back and forth as Taehyung is holding his claim down that he realizes Jungkook probably doesn’t give a shit about the original. Or if he’s actually ever seen the original. 

“I wanted to ask,” Jungkook starts up again. “You didn’t get any offers online before me?” 

Taehyung shifts his eyes away from the screen. At the same time, one of the characters gets a nasty ending after an encounter with a nail gun. “Offers?” 

“Your online ad for the room. I saw it before I came here to see the apartment with Seokjin.” Hands behind his head, right knee propped up, he keeps going with his eyes steady on the screen. “At first I thought someone already made an offer. Imagine my surprise when Seokjin tells me he’s moving out of the same apartment that I happened to find online.” 

Taehyung didn’t think anyone was looking, with the lack of responses he received. He assumed it got lost in the complicated website algorithm. He’s surprised Jungkook found it when he did. “Did you? Hold on, you’re josephjoestarfucker?” 

Jungkook’s mouth twists and he has the decency to look ashamed. “It’s josephjoestarluvr—forget it. I was going through one of my phases when I made the account. But yeah, I saw your post.” 

“I didn’t get any offers,” Taehyung admits, and then, slightly accusatory, “You said it was dumb.”

“Because it was,” Jungkook retorts. 

“You’re here now so it’s probably not as dumb as you thought it was.”

Jungkook huffs. Taehyung likes how he huffs. There’s a playfulness to it. “It was definitely something. Missed a few points, though.” 

“Points. Sure. Which ones?” 

“To be honest, there’s not a lot of space. The kitchen is smaller than the pictures you posted, and there’s not really much of a view of the park as advertised. The most you can see are trees in the distance.”

So much for niceties. Seokjin can surely handpick the finest of the crop. “Thank you for leaving your one-star review. I would’ve been more prepared if I knew you were on your way. Seokjin hyung’s the worst.”

“He said we had to catch you off-guard or you would’ve never shown your face.” 

That’s true. Seokjin’s also a clever son of a bitch. He would’ve done overtime at work if this information was broadcasted. “Why come if you knew?”

“Sold me on the in-unit laundromat.” Jungkook glances over. His crooked mouth betrays his need to be serious. “Also wanted to see for myself what sort of a dick wrote it.” 

Taehyung bristles. That one stings a sliver. It originally wasn’t his idea to post the description, but it doesn’t matter if he tries to justify himself in front of Jungkook. Fuck Yoongi and his failed marketing strategy. 

“It wasn’t entirely wrong.” 

“The view of the park, right? I said it was nice. The trees and shit. You could see a squirrel running down the branches if you squinted.” 

“Right. The view of the park.” Jungkook does a deliberate once-over, making a show of checking him out until his eyes meet Taehyung’s. The air around them buzzes slightly, alongside the electric rumble of the laundry machine. “Definitely not clickbait.” He promptly stands up from the couch when the machine stops with a tinkling chime to signify the clothes are ready, leaving before Taehyung can have a say, where he now sits alone like a dumbass on the couch. 

Taehyung kisses his teeth with his tongue, contemplating. Maybe he’ll un-fuck Yoongi just this once.

—

On a Tuesday night, Taehyung sits at home finishing up a different project. His supervisor sent him ones to look over before he was ready to punch out for the day. Drawing out a sigh, he rolls his shoulders back to ease some of the stiffness. Another hour to sort shit through. 

Jimin, his light, his knight in shining armor, is supposed to come over and help him make dinner tonight. 

Jimin  
sorry man
something came up 

Taehyung  
You wound me 
What happened

Jimin
what didn’t happen 
yoongi hyung forgot his keys and he’s been sitting outside his place for two hours 
he’s lost all hope 

Taehyung  
Damn 
Doesn’t he have a spare? 
I remember being there when he made one after he lost the other key  

Jimin
yeah i have it 
he forgot he gave it to me
i’m gonna head over and see how long it takes him to remember i have another one

Taehyung
Cruel
Send me pictures 

Jimin
of course  
sorry about tonight 
save me a dinner date for next time 

There’s no use in making anything without someone guiding him in the kitchen, unless he’s looking for a day at the hospital. Taehyung settles on ordering takeout instead, giving into his cravings for something greasy and salty. 

He moves away from the delivery app once he’s made the order and goes into his contacts. Running his tongue across his lower lip and considering, he presses on it. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook says once he picks up after the fourth ring. “My coworkers have been insisting to let my worried husband know I’m alive.”

“Hi, husband. Are you done with work yet?” 

“Not yet. I’m finishing up some notes on a patient.” The noise of people talking fills up the background on the other end. 

“When do you think you’ll be done?” 

Jungkook makes an interesting noise. “Why? Are you planning something special for me, hyung?” 

Taehyung ignores the flip in his ribcage at the word hyung. It’s a recent development—only comes occasionally when Jungkook feels like it. Otherwise, to continue being a shithead, he calls him Taehyung. Taehyung doesn’t mind either. He’s been more comfortable with Taehyung lately: more casual, less “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your existence.” 

Taehyung rotates in his chair. He belatedly realizes there’s a smile on his own face. “I can’t say.”

“I’m going back to work.” 

“Wait,” Taehyung says, catching himself. “I have dinner waiting for you.”

“What? You?” He senses a smile in Jungkook’s voice. “What are we having, chef?” 

“A lovely spread of saltine crackers and tuna salad.” 

“That tuna salad went bad a week ago.” 

“Oh.” Taehyung frowns. He had it for lunch earlier today. “That’s not good.” 

Jungkook laughs. “So what did you actually do?” 

“Jimin says he can’t come over, so I ordered some takeout. And Pocari Sweat.” 

“Why Pocari?” 

“They didn’t have any other drinks. Did you want something else?” 

“Pocari Sweat’s good,” Jungkook says, and then asks, “Is it Level 4?”

Taehyung scoffs. “Okay, big funny man.” Jungkook's laugh comes out crackly and bright on the other end of the line. “When are you coming?” 

“Probably within the hour, more or less, depending on the subway.” 

“Hurry back or I’m gonna eat it all. You think you’ll make it in twenty?”

The competitive spark filters through the line. “I’ll make it in fifteen. Time me.” 

“If you say so.” 

“No, time me,” Jungkook says adamantly. He sounds like he’s pouting. “I’ll be there in fifteen. About to leave soon. See you at home.” 

Home, he says. Warmth tickles at his chest. Strangely, Taehyung doesn’t hate the thought of sharing as much. 

“Yeah, man,” he says. “See you at home.” 

—

Jungkook makes it back to the apartment in thirteen minutes and thirty seconds, a personal record. To keep up the congratulatory spirit, Taehyung throws a boneless piece of fried chicken into his mouth from halfway across the living room, which, predictably, Jungkook succeeds in.

 

 

—

Seokjin comes over to play Jenga. He says he’s over to play Jenga. 

“Aw.” Taehyung smiles. “Admit it, hyung. You miss me.” 

They’re all centered in the living room. Seokjin had called up Taehyung one day to accuse him of neglect, of forgetting about him and the legacy he left behind in the apartment, only for Jungkook and Taehyung to stomp all over it with their big ass feet. When Taehyung invited him over, Seokjin cut back with a response saying he’d only ever come when his decaying corpse hit the fury depths of hell, and then proceeded to ask if Taehyung still had the Jenga set in the apartment. 

Seokjin puts a hand up to shield his sight from Taehyung. He sits on the floor with him, both invested in a game of Jenga. “I don’t know what the meaning of that is.”

“You miss me,” Taehyung sing-songs, enjoying Seokjin’s full-body recoil. “That’s cute. It’s okay to let it happen sometimes, hyung. Embrace it for what it is. I miss you, too.” 

It’s good to know the tips of Seokjin’s ears still burn red whenever he’s throttled with affection. Taehyung would thoroughly pry out that reaction for a fun time when they were living together. The outcome always left him half in laughter, half in bruises. “I’m trying to pull this block out and your constant blabbing is making this difficult. How do you deal with it, Jungkook? I could barely do it myself. Stop staring at me, Taehyung. I’ll have Joohyun choke you.” 

Joohyun shoves a handful of popcorn in her mouth, eyes glued to the movie. “Can you not use me for your convenience? Take care of your own battles for once.” 

“Oh, I thought the vows were ‘til death do us part. I see how it is.”  

“Careful. We’re not married yet.” 

At the other end of the couch, Jungkook sits back with a beer in hand, picking at his lip ring absentmindedly as he watches the movie. 

Yoongi taps the side of his head. “You guys are related in what way again? The family tree is too complex to navigate.”

Seokjin places his drink down on a coaster. “I told you, Jungkook’s my oldest cousin’s youngest son on my mom’s side.”

“Thank you. That makes so much more sense now.” 

“I’m his father,” Jungkook answers in turn, somber. 

On the floor, Seokjin does a quick jab to the side of Jungkook’s stomach. “He’s also the reason I don’t go to family outings anymore.”

Jimin whistles around his drink. “Family reunions must be fun with you guys.” 

Agreeing, Seokjin claps the back of Jungkook’s knee. “I bet it's not as fun living here without me. You didn’t answer me, nephew. You genuinely like Taehyung's yapping?”  

Taehyung gives out an exasperated sound as struggles to ease out a block from the tower looming over them. For some reason, he’s nervous for Jungkook to answer. Which is stupid, because they’ve been getting along better. They’ve made staggering progress since the first day. “I don’t nearly yap as much as you do.” 

Jungkook takes his sweet time to answer, cutting Seokjin a side look as he drinks from his beer. 

“I’m sure he does,” Seokjin answers for himself. “No, really. Thank god you guys stopped that. I’m glad I don’t have to hear the sob stories anymore. As a former theater major, the melodrama was hard to watch. Oh he hates me, oh he’s a dick, oh my feelings.” He grunts in poorly concealed pain after Jungkook pinches his neck. “Try it again. Go ahead.”

“Me too,” Joohyun agrees. “All Seokjin did was bitch and moan my head off about the sob stories.” 

His insides buzzing, Taehyung laughs to pass off the attention and the twisting turns of a blush spreading across his cheeks. Alcohol makes him an easier target. If it shows, he’ll be fucked, and then be condemned to an entire night of unfunny jokes from too many heads at a time. For a second, he spares a glance at Jungkook, who’s faring the attention better than he is, and preoccupied with using a complaining Seokjin as his own personal foot rest. 

Yoongi takes his place in the armchair once he comes back from the bathroom. “So what do you do, Jungkook?” 

Foot in mid-air, Jungkook looks back at Yoongi, eyes round. “What do I do?”

“Occupation-wise.” 

“Oh. PT. Physical therapy.” 

Jimin seems interested in knowing that and holds that thought with his drink out. “Isn’t that great, Yoongi? Just what you wanted in the nursing home.” 

“Don’t make me bite you,” Yoongi says.

“Could you?” Jimin asks, hopeful. “I’ll join you in the nursing home. We can be bingo buddies and share dentures, your lifelong dream.” 

Taehyung’s having a time. It’s been a while since everyone’s had their schedules aligned to hang out. With a Jungkook-shaped insert added into the group, it doesn’t throw things off-kilter. Instead it all clicks, locking into place. Jungkook is definitely more comfortable, more playful with Seokjin around, scrunching his face up in the way that he does when he’s messing around. 

In the meantime, Taehyung and Seokjin have spent the last five minutes alternating in pensive turns, gauging the probability of the Jenga stack collapsing. Seokjin’s speculations are based on whether or not Taehyung will knock it down with an elbow without looking, or if Jimin will walk right through it to be a little shit. 

“Can we watch something with less torture porn?” Jimin asks, gagging at the sight of someone going through it on screen. “Joohyun, how do you even stomach this?” From his place on the rug, Taehyung offers Jimin a Jenga block to cover his eyes better. 

Joohyun gestures to the screen with a hand. “This is the fun part, Jimin. C’mon, guts and goo and all. So much better than filing other people’s taxes.” 

Yoongi, groaning loudly, slowly stands up from the recliner. “I’m tired of watching guts and goo spill out of people who have no autonomy over their lives. I’m gonna go get some drinks. Jungkook, you wanna help me?” 

Jungkook perks up at the request, eyes bright. Taehyung watches him from behind the Jenga tower, smiling. “Sure, hyung.” 

“Why don’t you ask me?” Jimin wants to know.

As if to reply, Yoongi opens his mouth, then says nothing else as he turns back and walks into the kitchen with Jungkook. 

“This is the grossest movie I’ve ever watched,” Joohyun says, entranced. 

Jimin raises his hand in question. “I’m curious, hyung. Does Jungkook get to call us uncles, too?”

Seokjin pushes one of the blocks out of the Jenga stack, intensely focused on one block in the middle. Taehyung thinks it’s the wrong move. He’s waiting for the structure to topple over. It doesn’t. “It’d be hilarious to me, but Jungkook would probably stew my innards that’ll last for three meals.” 

A sly look plays across Jimin’s face. “Won’t know until we try,” he sings under his breath as he slinks away to the kitchen. 

Seokjin’s dance with danger keeps him in the game for another turn. Taehyung sighs, leaning back against the leg of the couch in between moving a block during his turn and watching a couple of guys encounter a gruesome death on-screen.

“So how’s it actually been so far?” Seokjin decides to ask. 

With a finger, Taehyung scans the tower to pick out a different block. “It’s been good.” 

Seokjin has an amusing glint in his eye. “Just good?”

“I don’t know, I’m kind of tired dishing out the same answer five times in a row.” Taehyung takes out another one, the stack trembling slightly. He sets the block down next to him. “It’s honestly been good though. We’re getting along better. He’ll call me up when he’s out sometimes, asking if I need anything from the store.” 

“Oh?” That seems to interest Seokjin and Joohyun. 

“He calls you?” Joohyun asks. 

“Willingly?” Seokjin adds in, confused. 

Taehyung blinks between the both of them. “Yeah?” 

Joohyun ooh’s from her seat. Seokjin has a different reaction. He makes a flat noise in his throat. “How nice of him. How nice if he’d call me sometimes.” 

“Son. Call me Uncle Jimin,” says a solemn voice from the kitchen. It’s shortly followed by a sharp smack and a Fuck! Forget I said anything, you miserable gopher. 

“He seems to be doing well. Happier,” Seokjin acknowledges a little later. “You are, too.” 

Taehyung pulls out another block, causing the tower to tremble slightly. Seokjin makes a hissing sound, says so close. “Yeah. I guess so.” He is happy. Things have been good. Great, even. It’s funny there was a time he couldn’t stand the sight of Jungkook, and now all he looks forward to is seeing Jungkook’s face the first thing he wakes up. His lips turn upward. “Yeah.” 

Then Seokjin continues to break the moment with, “I’m sorry, did I say something? Looking at me like I’m good enough to eat. Disgusting. I don’t think I like that look.” 

Taehyung’s face morphs entirely. “I’m done playing Jenga.” 

Jimin re-enters the living area with a straight face, taking a seat next to Taehyung on the floor. “I think Jungkook enjoys me being his uncle.” When he moves around in place, his arm accidentally knocks into the Jenga tower, blocks tumbling down in a noisy clatter. For a moment, they all fall silent. 

Jungkook and Yoongi enter a few moments later with a handful of drinks when Seokjin, stunned into brief shock, bleats and sputters, before resorting to loud groans with his forehead resting against the edge of the table. “Are you kidding me—Jimin—”

Between Seokjin trying to rip Jimin a new one and Joohyun voicing her complaints to Yoongi over the lack of blood on-screen, he catches Jungkook’s eye from across the table, whose eyes are already on him. Taehyung smiles at him, raising his eyebrows up and down in question, teasingly. Jungkook presses his lips together, a smile suppressed in the motion, and doesn’t say anything else. 

—

“Jungkook,” Taehyung calls out. Curling his big toe over the brass knob, he opens the door to Jungkook’s room. “Jungkook.” 

Jungkook’s head pops out from his closet. “Yeah?” 

“Do you have any ointment on you?” 

“Ointment? You have a rash?” Jungkook makes a face. “Is it your—” he forms a circular gesture around his pelvis area. 

It would be like Jungkook to think he has a case of itchy dick. “I wish. Better to have that than this mosquito bite on my hand.” Last night he decided he was in the mood for a few drinks with a couple of people from work, and a mosquito decided it was prime time to leave him a swollen pinky as a token of their time together. Add that in with questionably-cooked barbeque squid at that same restaurant and it rolls out into a great fucking Saturday. 

“Where?” Jungkook takes a hold of Taehyung’s hand, examining each side. He taps on the bite. “Oh, sick. This one looks nasty, like it hurts.” 

“Man, don’t touch it so much, it’ll just get itchier.” 

“Make X’s on it. You want me to do it for you?” 

Taehyung’s about to give the green light to do so, but then rethinks his choice, knowing Jungkook will no doubt start butchering his pinky with several X’s. “Ointment might help. Do we have any around the apartment? Or some antacids? My stomach is about to burst.”

“Beats me. You were living here decades before I was.”

“Thanks for your help.” Stomach threatening to upchuck last outing’s squid again, Taehyung settles down in the chair by Jungkook’s desk. He looks around the space for the first time, a little out of his zone. He’s never been fully inside this room when it became Jungkook’s room. He’s had a couple of glimpses whenever he brought Jungkook his packages. Just as he is with everything else, Jungkook keeps his room neat. His room sheds a soft purple glow from the LED lights he remembers Jungkook installing the first day he moved in. In a white display shelf, there’s an array of items—music albums, anime figurines, some CDs from the 2000s, a couple of manga volumes. Little pieces of Jungkook speckled amongst the shelves. 

“Your room is nice.” 

Jungkook’s rummaging through his closet, looking for something. “Thanks. I had to detoxify everything that could’ve been touched or breathed on by Seokjin hyung.” 

“True, true. You never know. He’s gone through a lot of shit in this room.”

“I see that. You know there was a hole in the wall before I moved in? That wasn’t mentioned in your ad online.”

Taehyung stares at him and echoes, “There was a hole in the wall?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Never mind. You’re lucky it was me who moved in and not someone else who could’ve seen that hole and backed out of the lease.”

“Lucky me.” Taehyung grins with an ease. He continues to watch Jungkook clean out and organize some of his clothes from the closet until he realizes staring as long as he has will only come off as creepy and invasive. He swivels around in Jungkook’s chair to stop. “I’ve been wanting to know. What exactly happened with your other roommate?” A perfect segue into a non-creepy, non-invasive topic. 

Jungkook looks up and lifts an eyebrow. “All of a sudden an interrogation is placed upon me.” 

“I won’t poke around if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why curious now?”

“Just—” He stops spinning in place and decides on what he should say. “Bedtime story.” 

“Right,” Jungkook says, simultaneously baffled and amused. “At five in the afternoon?”  

“Somewhere around the world it’s bedtime. Again, no pressure.” 

“Nosy.” He doesn’t sound like he means anything by it. Jungkook scratches the side of his neck. “It’s nothing exciting. We just didn’t get along. Clashed a lot. Howon didn’t like it when I did some things around the place. I did them because it helped me—cleaning a certain way, showering late.” He puts some of his folded jeans back in a drawer. “Then there was the stress of not finding a job straight out of school, and that was something he never really got because he was already working. He couldn’t understand why I needed a few extra days to pay rent. Kept saying me being around the apartment interfered with his way of living.” Jungkook shrugs. “It’s whatever now. Guy’s a fucking shithole and I left so here we are. Before moving in here, I was prepared to dive into another Howon moment, worst-case scenario.” 

“So you projected Howon hate onto me.” 

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “Is that all you got from that?” When Taehyung smiles at him, Jungkook’s expression breaks off into a laugh, shy, embarrassed. “Kind of? I guess. Sorry about that. It wasn’t personal. I don’t feel that way living with you like I did living with him.” 

Hearing that admission makes Taehyung’s ears perk up, a straighter posture. “I’ll take it as a sign that we don’t hate each other’s guts then.” 

“We don’t?” Jungkook asks, raising his eyebrows. An impish look skips across his features as Taehyung stares back at him impassively. 

“We don’t.” 

“Sure we don’t.” 

“C‘mon. Jungkook.” 

“What?” 

“I like you.” Taehyung is adamant on this. He wants Jungkook to know. “I like you.” 

Jungkook’s mouth tilts a corner. “So insistent.” 

Taehyung waits, but once he sees Jungkook isn’t going to say anything back, he clears his throat. “You could say you like me back or you know, something.” 

Jungkook pretends to consider it, nodding. 

“Damn. Or something,” Taehyung presses. 

Jungkook sighs, extending his arms over his head. He’s done putting back his clothes. “I’m gonna go to the gym. Be careful with what you eat today. Hope to see you still alive later tonight.” 

Taehyung considers blowing up the bathroom five minutes before Jungkook comes back, but he lets up the idea. 

Later, when he’s out of the shower, a red towel draped over his shoulders, he finds Pepto Bismol, some ointment, and a brand new can of air freshener on the coffee table next to Sad Monty.  

A few minutes later, there’s a soft ping from his phone. 

Jungkook
air the bathroom out when you’re done
since you like me so much  

—

“Can’t help but notice you’re awfully cheerful these days,” Jimin observes when they’re sitting on Taehyung’s couch, plus Yoongi. Jungkook isn’t at the apartment. He’s at the gym, building up on his arms and thighs and partaking in other workout-adjacent activities to stay as fit as he is. 

Taehyung exhales out a sound that sounds like a yes sir, stretching his arms like a pleased cat, then folding them behind his head. “I can’t complain. It’s been pretty smooth-sailing so far.” 

“Any particular reason?” Jimin prods. “Going out more? Seeing some new bitches? And if you are, you should be taking me with you.” 

“I don’t think it’s that,” Yoongi smiles. “I think it has to do with a boy.” 

“Sex makes me a happy boy,” Jimin says, forlorn. Yoongi mutters a nobody asked next to him. 

Taehyung’s eyes dart to Yoongi, suspicious. “Are you trying to say something?”

“Nothing.” Yoongi looks back at him, seemingly void of deceit. “Just—been noticing a few things.”

“Uh-huh. What things?” 

“Just things. Non-skeptical things. Things with you and Jungkook.”

“There’s not,” Taehyung denies. And because he’s not curious, he asks, “What does that mean anyway?”

“Just. You know. A lot more physical contact between you and your roommate.” 

“Oh.” Jimin lights up. “A special boy.” 

Taehyung stares at Yoongi, poker-faced. “And?”

Yoongi shrugs, putting his hands up in defense. “Interesting, is all. You were never like that with Seokjin. Not to that extent.” 

“Seokjin would cave my nuts in if I tried to give him a hug.” And he’s tried, many times. 

“Oh shit,” Jimin cracks up, reminiscing. “Yeah, yeah, the nut killer.” 

He doesn’t see it as a big deal. Physical touch comes naturally to him with all of his friends: a hug around their waist, a sniff of their neck, a playful tap on the ass. Jungkook prefers to land thick, hard smacks—probably something he shouldn’t divulge to either Jimin or Yoongi, or worse, Seokjin. Point in case: he likes it, the physical affection. Jungkook is a recent entry in his pool of comrades, and Taehyung is in the process of navigating what he can get away with, touch-wise. 

Taehyung makes a show of shrugging. “Yeah, like, we’ll be touchy. A pat here and there. An arm around the shoulders. Sometimes we’ll hold hands and I’ll rub his thumb when we’re in the car, talking, getting groceries together, whatever. Nothing out of the ordinary.”  

Jimin looks appalled at what he's hearing. He goes, “That’s not ordinary, Taehyung.” 

“That’s what we as friends do, sometimes.” His response garners him no reaction. “I really don’t see the issue.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Yoongi laughs, finding it all hilarious. 

“So when I do this,” Jimin holds Taehyung’s hand, starts rubbing his fingers in slow circles, “it feels very friend-like. Not strange, not intimate. Not remotely sexual.” 

Taehyung looks down at their connected hands. “Do that again actually, I wasn’t paying attention.” Jimin pushes his hand back. 

“You don’t do that with me,” Jimin accuses, insulted. 

Taehyung shoots it back. “We went to the beach once and you said you didn’t want to take pictures with me during the sunset because that’s gay as hell.” 

Yoongi agrees. “That is gay as hell.”

Come to think of it, he has been touchy with Jungkook. Touchier. Runs a hand across his back in greeting, rubs his neck when he’s watching Jungkook cook from behind. But Jungkook has no qualms with it, if leaning into the touch is anything to go by. He hasn’t received an uppercut to the face yet.  

“Well shit, I still wanna get my thumb rubbed.” Jimin sighs, then lets it go. “I guess hand rubbing is off-limits to everyone except Jungkook.” 

“What’s off-limits?” 

Taehyung goes rigid, as if caught red-handed. He didn’t hear Jungkook come in. “You’re back early.” 

“It was a short leg day,” Jungkook replies. He’s in his workout clothes and back with a post-workout glow, a thin layer of sweat gleaming off his skin. He comes over near the couch to stand above Taehyung, and lets a hand brush across his neck, feather-light. Eyes shifting, Taehyung glances at the intrusive audience of two on the other side of the couch. “What’s off-limits to everyone except me?” 

Jimin and Yoongi, shitbags in a pod, turn toward Taehyung and patiently wait for him to respond. 

Taehyung shakes his head. Keeps it vague. “Nothing. Just talking hypotheticals.” 

Jungkook smiles a bit, eyebrows wrinkling. “Yeah? About what?” 

Taehyung shrugs, lips in a downward curve. Jimin, eyes curling in mischief, answers for him. “Access to Taehyung. You’re a lucky, lucky, lucky guy.” 

Yoongi makes a face. “Eh. Well.” 

Taehyung’s had a long day of being ragged on. “Jimin ate your last pudding cup.” 

Jimin’s face falls before he picks it back up with a nervous laugh. “Who would do such a vile—I have no idea what he’s—that’s not—what?” Eventually realizing he’s not going to get anywhere, he uses his HR voice to try and reason with Jungkook, who eyes him down. Yoongi sits cocooned in his seat, visibly enjoying Jimin’s verbal downfall. 

Taehyung watches them as he contemplates, and contemplates. There really is no issue. Jungkook and him have turned their status from something tolerable to something easy, something more—friendly. Of course there’ll be some changes, even if the changes are slight-ly physical, according to those who floss with bullshit pulled straight out of their asses. But at the end of the day, it’s nothing. It’s fine. They’re doing great, Taehyung reassures himself as Jimin tries to scramble away from Jungkook’s attempt in pulling him by the legs to plant his sweaty ass on Jimin’s back. No issues. Zero. A squeaky clean record. 

Nothing to worry about. 

—

On another rainy night, Taehyung comes home from work with bone-deep exhaustion burning down his spine. He shuffles out of his shoes at the front door. Eyes bleary, he puts the umbrella down and trips over the other shoes around him as he’s shrugging his coat off. Fucking Wednesday. 

As he’s crossing to his room, Jungkook emerges from the bathroom with steam trailing behind him. 

“You came home fast today.” He’s on the couch now, running his hands through his damp hair. “How’s your day been?” 

Taehyung groans, dramaticized for special effects, shoulders rolling. “Work is hell. I think the time has come for me to retire, take out my savings, and return to the cows in my homeland.” 

“Swell plan. Fertilizing the earth as you country bumpkins do.” 

Taehyung ruffles his own hair to shake out the rainwater. “Relax. This country bumpkin could fertilize your ass.”  

Jungkook’s eyes light up. Taehyung tries not to think about why he said what he said, how the words rolled off the tongue in a smooth turn. He’s so depleted of his energy that all he can think about is getting into bed under the covers, dirty wet work clothes intact. But before he can make it to his room, Jungkook asks if he wants a massage. 

“You look tired. Maybe I can help,” he suggests. He pats—pat, pat—the seat next to him. 

Taehyung would rather do it another time when he isn’t as tired, but his feet already find themselves walking toward him. A massage from Jungkook sounds nice. 

“I’ve been told I have magic fingers,” Jungkook tells him, making room for him on the couch. “They come in handy for work and for times like these.”

“Times like these? You think about massaging me often?” Taehyung laughs but soon eats it up when Jungkook starts utilizing the magic to knead into the tight kinks of his neck. 

“Just trying to help out. Don’t take everything so literally,” Jungkook says, pressing deeper into his sore muscles. 

Taehyung makes a content noise with his eyes closed, immersed in the feeling of Jungkook unwinding him down. “What were you up to today?” 

“Nothing much. I cleaned out our washer because there may or may not have been black mold in there.” 

“Black mold? Mold? What the hell? Should we tell Hansol?”

“It’s all good. I’ve already taken care of it, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep track of it. Don’t worry.” 

Taehyung doesn’t. Jungkook twists into the knots of his shoulders perfectly, as if he knows exactly where to press. Magic fingers indeed. 

They pass some time in silence. He lets out a soft grunt when Jungkook becomes firmer, strong hands becoming more thorough. He’ll give it to him—he knows his stuff. “Have you eaten already?”

“I made some kimchi stew. It’s still warm on the stove if you’re hungry.” 

Taehyung nods. He hasn’t eaten at all today. Did he? What time is it again? He can’t remember. Not when Jungkook is touching him like that. 

Jungkook presses again, this time dragging out a long sigh from Taehyung. “Is it good, hyung?” Jungkook is close, close enough for his warm breath to tickle against the back of Taehyung’s neck. Goosebumps form at the contact. 

“Yeah. S’nice,” he slurs, sluggish, winded down. Somehow it feels harder to move, as if Jungkook is thumbing the energy out of him. “Why are you so good at that?”

He raises his eyebrows, as if he doesn’t know what Taehyung is referring to. “Good at what?” 

“At,“ he exhales through his mouth, breathy this time, “that. It feels nice.”

“You like that?”

“I—yeah.”

“Good.” Something in Jungkook’s voice sounds different. Husky. Shivers crawl down Taehyung, skin prickling. “I want you to be relaxed, Taehyung. It won’t work if you’re not relaxed. Relax.”

As he says that, Jungkook squeezes his neck. Gently. Taehyung’s gut flips in warning. He feels strange. 

In the brief moment of clarity, he sits up and draws out, “Maybe I should go back to my room.” He makes a move to edge away. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem fazed by his reluctance. “I thought your neck was hurting.” There’s a hint of a pout hanging off his lips. “I can make it better, hyung. Let me try.” 

“I’m cured now.” His stomach clenches from the nerves. “Yay. Okay. I’m, uh, gonna go.” Because something’s weird. Something is—

Off. 

Jungkook’s expression changes.  

Taehyung’s not sure what’s going on. When it happens, it’s so fast that Taehyung almost trips over, but Jungkook steadies him with a hand against his chest. He’s still unsure until Jungkook swings a leg over Taehyung’s body to straddle him and push him back into the cushions. The firm hand on Taehyung’s chest keeps him in place. Once they’re situated, Jungkook smiles down at him, canines glinting under the dim ceiling lights. 

“This feels better,” Jungkook says, voice low. “Don’t you think?” 

Taehyung’s heart drops to his ass. “What the fuck.”

Jungkook disregards his shock. “I want to try something different.” 

A question rumbles out of Taehyung’s chest, and dies midway when he feels it—the first instance of Jungkook grinding down. He overwhelms Taehyung quickly, and the pressure feels similar to how he was massaging Taehyung earlier, not even two minutes ago. 

“What the fuck,” Taehyung croaks. 

“Does it feel good?” Jungkook asks. “I thought you might like this better.” 

At this point, Taehyung’s struggling to think. He’s having a difficult time trying to pinpoint when they transitioned from a friendly, nonsexually-charged massage to this. His rapid heart rate drown out his thoughts, an astronomical babumpbabumpbabump beating high outside of his chest. The feel of Jungkook’s plush ass against his clothed groin causes a shameful twitch. 

Jungkook looks down at him. Ba-bump. “This can feel so good, if you let me. Don’t you want to?”

“Jungkook—” He hisses when Jungkook grinds down again. Ba-bump.

“Try again.”

Babumpbabumpbabump. Now or never. Taehyung’s heart be damned. “Yes. I want this.” 

Jungkook is so, so mean. “Want what?” 

Taehyung sucks his teeth, shame, desire, anticipation, filling him. “You. I want you.”

A satisfied look spreads across Jungkook’s face. “Good.” 

In a series of movements, there’s less of everything. Most of their clothes are shucked off to the floor. All that’s left are the last shreds of Taehyung’s dignity. He sits in his seat, trapped by Jungkook’s body, his warmth, and feels a different sort of numbness: the one you get from sitting on the toilet for so long that your legs are no longer an extension of you, and you’re stuck on that damn toilet forever. This feels uncannily similar to toilet-numbness. 

Taehyung forgets if he’s breathing. He’s suffocating. No, he’s breathing. He’s good. 

And then Jungkook grabs his face and leans in. 

The initial contact is instantaneous. Taehyung groans against Jungkook’s lips, fingers digging into the swell of his hips. Jungkook’s lips are wet, smooth. Sweet. Jungkook hums in his throat, pleased with Taehyung’s reaction. He bites Taehyung’s lower lip, dragging it slowly, excruciatingly, before he fully pulls away. 

Taehyung’s hands ease, hovering by Jungkook’s waist. The air around them stands on its hairs, buzzing with electricity. 

“Keep going?” Jungkook asks.

Taehyung makes a small, sad noise. It sounds like defeat. “God, yes—yes.” 

Jungkook gives a closed-mouth laugh. “So easy.” 

Jungkook doesn’t keep him waiting for long. He dives back into Taehyung, kissing him with a fervor that collides with Taehyung’s dying heart. They go on like that for a while, with fingers pressing into each other, feeding off on each other's heat. Moaning against his mouth, Jungkook rolls down, letting his tongue devour Taehyung’s, a sloppy, wet exchange. The kiss breaks off, a string of saliva strung thin between them. Jungkook leans his forehead against Taehyung, noses touching. “Cute,” he mumbles, and Taehyung’s chest burns. “You’re gonna fuck me now.” 

Taehyung inhales sharply. Fuck what? Fuck who? “Don’t I have to—” He reaches around. 

“Prepped myself before this. You’re greedy, Taehyung. You want to touch me so bad.” 

Every word out of Jungkook’s mouth serves to humiliate him, shame crawling in his gut. The worst part is, Jungkook’s not wrong. The other worst part is, he likes it.

Jungkook chooses to murmur into his neck at that time. “For future references, I like it hard and wet.”

Taehyung feels hysteria bubbling up his throat but he expels nothing. With sheer will, he stops his hands from roaming down Jungkook’s warm, delicious back. He opens his mouth again and tries to yell. Nothing. He shuts his mouth, teeth clacking against each other. Something’s not right. 

Pulling back, he looks at Jungkook this time. Really looks. Jungkook smiles down at him, slow, syrupy, sweet. Taehyung sets his lips into a frown. Before he can delve into his thoughts, Jungkook has already gotten his hand on Taehyung, stroking him to his full length. Groaning, Taehyung is slightly surprised to see how little it took to get him hard. 

“Look at you.” Jungkook’s voice is smug. He squeezes the fat tip, unapologetic. Taehyung chokes. “So eager for me already.”

Taehyung stumbles around, flustered. “How…I mean, what…how are we going to…?” 

“Just like this,” Jungkook says, leaning forward so he could line up Taehyung’s dick against his ass. First he teases Taehyung, allowing the leaking tip to kiss his open hole, a shadow of a touch. Taehyung wants to laugh. He feels powerless, his mind beyond fried, a meatless burnt patty. 

Jungkook isn’t mean for much longer. Through the first shallow push, Jungkook’s hole flutters, eager to take in more. Taehyung chokes and shudders as the thick, swollen head of his cock finally slips inside. Jungkook sighs, adjusting himself in Taehyung’s lap and letting Taehyung fill him up. “Yeah, like that. Good boy. Wasn’t that easy? Not hard at all. But now it’s your turn, hyung. You have to fuck me like you mean it.” 

Fuck me like you mean it. The words click against Taehyung’s ears, a sharp sound setting off. What did he say? Good boy. Fuck me like you mean it. Good boy. Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me fuck me fuck me. 

Gripping the fleshy part of Jungkook’s hips, Taehyung listens—he thrusts up to fuck Jungkook in earnest. He slides in easily, reveling in how well his dick fits inside Jungkook’s tight, puckered hole. A perfect fit, as if he was made to relish Jungkook and his ass, please him, entertain him, worship him. A boing goes off in his head, a revelation set in place. 

“Look at that.” Jungkook smiles. “You do know how to fuck me well.” 

Taehyung pumps in and out at a steady rhythm, lost in how Jungkook just sucks him in. How his cock disappears into his hole, greedy and filthy. 

The pace doesn’t please everyone.  

Jungkook nips at Taehyung’s lips with his own, trailing a hand up Taehyung’s chest. “C’mon. Give me more.” 

Taehyung doesn’t relent this time. He keeps up the same slow strokes to get a rise out of Jungkook and he’s successful, feeling the annoyed huff of air against his lips, an impatient, beautiful boy. 

Taehyung gets tired of it himself. He goes a little quicker. Harder. He wants it to be good. For Jungkook, he wants to do it all. 

The new change in pace emits a soundless gasp from Jungkook, whose hands dig into the meat of Taehyung’s shoulders, still tender from Jungkook’s massage earlier. Taking advantage of Jungkook’s momentary shock, Taehyung spreads his plush thighs apart to find a better angle, gaining momentum through deep, hard thrusts. 

And Jungkook—Jungkook is extraordinary. He arches his back beautifully, and fucks himself so well on Taehyung’s dick, intense as he’s always been, ever an overachiever, while Taehyung tries to keep up. He can’t believe he has Jungkook scraping bite marks into his neck, panting into his skin. He can’t believe he’s with Jungkook. His dick’s inside Jungkook. 

When Taehyung presses deeper into him, soft moans rise out of Jungkook. His dick slides in and out between slippery asscheeks, and he’s enraptured by the feel of it. 

“You’re so good to me,” Jungkook says into Taehyung’s ear. Taehyung stops himself from groaning, opting to place his mouth on Jungkook’s nipple and lick him up.  

Jungkook is hot hot hot on him, cheeks flushed, dark curls matted. Taehyung tilts his head up from his place on Jungkook’s chest, eyes taking in Jungkook’s pretty expression. Gorgeous. 

Jungkook’s eyes flicker with a wicked coyness like he knows what Taehyung is thinking. 

At this point, it’s like Taehyung’s submerging deep into water. He feels the pleasure, feels Jungkook’s firm body on him, but something about it is all damped. Muted. A delayed disconnect from the movements. 

“Do you like it, hyung?” Jungkook murmurs. He grabs Taehyung’s hands and places them on his ass, urging him to squeeze. He rolls agonizingly slow, his hard cock, red, pretty, painted with precum. Taehyung’s mind is delirious, white from shock. “Me fucking myself on your cock? I like it. I like how easy it is to fuck you.”

He’s salivating. His mouth’s drying up. Taehyung struggles to find the words while he continues to fuck Jungkook through wet squelches. Yes. Love your heat on my lap. Love how you’re taking my dick. It’s hard to stretch his mouth open, to say anything. Something’s not right. 

Before he can think any further, he’s desperately climbing over the edge. The high starts to build as he burrows into Jungkook, now frantic, hips propelling upward. Taehyung’s own grunts are loud—pathetic, desperate, tears collecting at the corners. It feels so right. It’s so good. It’s starting to feel like he’s about to fucking die. 

“Mmm. You’re so big.” Jungkook rolls his hips down again to meet Taehyung’s thrusts, a natural gravitational pull. His curls cling to his forehead. Taehyung wants to taste them. “I want you to stuff me with your come. Can you do that for me? Keep me full.”

“I—” What the hell does he say? Jungkook’s so demanding. The thrusts are getting sloppy. He can’t think. All he wants to do is fuck into Jungkook’s deep, tight hole and cry about it. 

Jungkook makes sure to keep his attention, hands gripping his hair, pulling him in close. Taehyung groans at the sting. “Keep going. You’re so good, I knew you could fuck me so w—well.” He starts to stutter once Taehyung finds a certain angle, his composure showing a break. “Again, just like that. Good boy. Yes. Yes. Hyung. So good.” His nails dig into Taehyung’s shoulders, anchoring him down while Jungkook submits to the pleasure, mouth open. Taehyung wants to be good for him, so he goes harder, faster. He looks up at Jungkook, who’s starting to become a whining, needy mess. 

Jungkook’s eyes flutter, voice pitching. “Like that. God. Yes. Keep—just like th—ah—ah—ah—oh fuck, oh Taehyung—”

Taehyung gasps loudly as the orgasm hits him through a hot burst of stars. He startles himself to an upright position, heart at a buzzing pace. In a mindless frenzy, he touches his body, looking around. Sees he’s in his bedroom, not the couch. His sticky, damp shirt clings onto the wet of his back. It’s still dark, the city lights peeking through his blinds. Sounds of cars and trucks fly through the night. There’s no Jungkook. 

On the other side of the thin wall, Jungkook is revving up his snores, gone to the real world. 

Taehyung lets his heartbeat stabilize as he catches his breath. He glances down, cautious, reluctant. Realization creeps up on him and morphs into mortifying nausea when he sees the wet spot, feels the come coagulating in his sweats. 

His head thumps against the headboard. He’s still in the same position when early dawn peeks through the horizon, chirping birds flitting about in the trees, deep blues illuminating his room. He can’t fall asleep now, but he doesn’t touch himself. He refuses to do that. So he waits. And his mind starts wandering. A dam breaks, memories swallowing him up, and he’s back in his head again. 

The heat. The moans. A warm body pressing against his own. Wet kisses down the column of his neck. Ass bouncing in his lap, fingers gripping his hair, wet slaps resounding. His cock—the real one—betrays him again, twitching at the thoughts that replay in his head, over and over. Until a voice, teasing and charming, captures those thoughts in a snare. 

Just like that. You’re a good boy, Taehyung. I like it. I like how you fuck me. I like how easy it is to fuck you. 

Do you like it, hyung?

Shit. A sound wheezes out of Taehyung as he drags his hands over his face. He starts to laugh—a hoarse, disbelieving sound to his ears, until it chokes off into nothing. Of course. Fucking shit.

Notes:

perks of dream sex include being fucked raw but they won’t be doing that outside of taehyung’s head lmao. maybe

thanks for reading!!! i took some liberties in using parts of the apartment as “one setting” and i hope i did the prompt some justice. it took forever to crank out the first part god knows when the second one will come out, but until then!

a special thank you to jiah for beta reading this long chunk of word and helping me thank you thank you thank you i appreciate you lots ❤️❤️❤️

let’s talk!