Medium Rare Flounder

by MissCeeEmBee

Summary:

Three months ago, Seokjin's apartment burned down and he turned up at Yoongi's place with a suitcase full of cookware and some opinions about counterspace.

Three months later, Seokjin is still crashing at Yoongi's apartment and does not seem eager to change that.

Notes:

• For anpanmoon.

Thank you so much, dear giftee for such a fun prompt. It was a delight to write Seokjin worming his way into every room in Yoongi's apartment. I hope that you enjoy!

Yoongi stared at the cheerful, unblinking face of the orange plastic mushroom toothbrush holder and just (only just) stopped himself from exiting his bathroom as quickly and quietly as he could, and hurtling himself into the sun.

The sun was Yoongi's lifelong personal nemesis (one-sided), always trying to scorch his delicate skin and bleach his vinyl album covers. He’d been hiding from it since he’d burned the top of his head and ears playing basketball by himself in the court outside his apartment on a Sunday and had barely survived the humiliation of coming to school for the rest of the week with his eomma’s white medicinal goo slathered over the part in his hair (middle school boys were merciless). At least the sun would absolutely welcome him in its fiery embrace, the final victor in their war.

It would be fitting, poetic even. Namjoon could probably wring a song or two out of it – not a lead track but one of the moody yet catchy B-sides that inevitably turned into a sleeper hit that he was famous for.

It would be sad, of course. His parents would weep and his little niece would grow up only hearing stories about her uncle Yoongi, who due to sheer inexpressible emotions, had briefly become the first man on the sun.

What are you doing, Min Yoongi? he scolded himself, avoiding making eye contact with the judgmental mirror Yoongi. That guy was a real hardass. Heartless. Merciless. But he didn’t need to look at the Yoongi in the perfectly cleaned surface to know that he was blushing up to his hairline. What have you become?

The orange mushroom toothbrush holder held nothing but despair.

Yoongi delicately held the aggressively joyful mushroom as if it were a ticking bomb and he was a much less suave Korean James Bond. He rubbed a thumb against the bottom where he’d pulled off the paper label (and cleared the residue with a generous helping of Goo Gone because he wasn't going to give Seokjin a sticky toothbrush holder, that would be rude).

Something so small, and yet, so heavy.

Not because of the manufacturing – it was cheap plastic, specifically polypropylene if he wasn’t mistaken (He wasn’t; Yoongi knew his plastics and was a great recycler: he could tell a high-density polyethylene from a polyvinyl chloride any day of the week. They’d drunkenly tested it once over dinner at Namjoon's. “Nerd,” Jimin had accused as a blindfolded Yoongi had identified a polyethylene terephthalate by touch alone).

“Stop it,” he hissed to himself. “It’s a toothbrush holder. It’s not important.”

It was a good thing that Seokjin couldn’t hear him disparage the toothbrush holder to its face through the bathroom door - he firmly believed that inanimate objects had feelings and opinions. He’d once turned around his Mario action figure to face the wall before Yoongi added a heaping tablespoon of gochujang to spaghetti sauce (“He’s been through enough, Yoongichi. He doesn't need to see you desecrate his culture.”). Yoongi wasn't even sure if Mario was really Italian. 

Though, inanimate or not, Yoongi wasn’t even sure if mushrooms could hear. Some plants could hear acoustical vibrations and could respond to sound, but he wasn’t sure that fungi could. With a frown, he patted down his sleep shorts for his phone to check.

Wasn’t there.

Because it was in his bedroom.

His bedroom where Seokjin was. Waiting. No doubt thinking that he was taking a suspiciously long time to wash up.

Seokjin, with a surprisingly muscular tackle. Seokjin, who would be angry if he knew that Yoongi had impinged the honour of the orange mushroom toothbrush holder. Seokjin, who had yearned for the mushroom holder like a lovesick cowherd.

“It’s a special edition!” Seokjin wailed repeatedly shoving his phone in Yoongi’s face. It was Monday and Yoongi was just trying to enjoy the jjajangmyeon while it was still warm as Seokjin attempted to use his nose as a dojang seal. There were Yoongi nose prints all over Seokjin’s screen now – served him right. Although, knowing Seokjin, this was all a strange ploy to steal his DNA.

Yoongi lifted his chin to better see the screen, scrunching his nose so that his glasses slide down enough that the picture came into focus. “It’s a toothbrush holder.”

“No,” Seokjin yowled, withdrawing his phone and cradling it to his chest. “Not just a toothbrush holder."

Yoongi took the opportunity to stuff more noodles in his mouth. He couldn’t be sure how long the reprieve would last.

“It’s so much more then just a toothbrush holder.”

Yoongi tapped his chopsticks on the bowl, gesturing for Seokjin to eat. He'd had a long day at work and needed the protein. There was a big presentation coming up and Seokjin had been looking sub-optimal (Not haggard or tired - Yoongi wouldn't dare say that, let along think that). “Sure. I’m sure that it can hold many things: mouthwash, approximately 5000 won worth of coins, a tube of toothpaste, dentures.”

“Are you implying that my bite is anything but ideal? Let me get my dentists on the phone. He once described my smile arc as ‘perfect.’ You think my teeth are falling out; why don’t we test that theory?” Seokjin snapped his very white, very strong-looking teeth at Yoongi a few times in a passable impression of a rabid Pomeranian.

Yoongi was not afraid of Seokjin. Fish were afraid of Seokjin. Amusement parks were afraid of Seokjin. A chocolate soft serve was afraid to see Seokjin coming. Yoongi was not afraid of Kim Seokjin.

Because Yoongi knew that the ridiculous man in front of him doing a so-so shark imitation in his direction for insulting a toothbrush holder, was a marshmallow. A slow, summer morning of a man. A floral kimjang vest of a man.

Not a pushover: Kim Seokjin was firm and goal-focused like a comfy, Posturepedic pillow. His boundaries were like the Seoul City Wall (not a perfect simile because a lot of people walked all over the wall, but it was more a tribute to their enduring quality and impeccable masonry) and he was eerie polite even in the worst of circumstances.

The first time that he’d met Seokjin, they had been at Lotte World for a special Pokémon event for Namjoon’s birthday seven years ago. Despite being two times the size (and age) of most of the attendees, Namjoon was giddily rushing from ride to ride.

“Hurry! Hurry! The Pikachu parade is starting!” Namjoon bounced up and down, his Psyduck hat bobbing frantically.  

“Hyung is almost here!” Jungkook plead with them, eyes glued to his phone and missing the look of total despair crossing on Namjoon’s face. Jungkook had invited his work friend to Namjoon’s birthday party as the older man was apparently desperate to attend the Lotte World special event but was worried about going by himself.

Namjoon, a golden retriever of a man trapped in the body of strapping lumberjack, agreed happily with Jungkook’s plan when he’d introduced it at their standing Friday night barbeque night in the small restaurant they'd been going to for years.

“He’s just out of the military and none of his friends are cool anymore,” Jungkook explained with a scowl. “He really wants to go but through that it might be weird for a single guy to be wandering around alone.”

Yoongi could sympathize – after he came out of his service, he felt like he’d slept through a hurricane; everything around him had changed but he still felt the same. His old friends had all moved on: married, had kids, moved abroad. When they went out for drinks, they almost had nothing to say to each other.

“You’re the same old Min Yoongi,” they joked. “The encyclopedia with legs.”

They talked about diapers and investments and complained about their wives (to the point where Yoongi wondered if they even liked their spouses).

Yoongi mostly played with his phone, taking small sips of his drink to give him something to do with his hands, and felt very young and very old at the same time. He had nothing to add about potty training (he had done some research but didn’t feel like his contributions would be appreciated) and they didn’t follow sports or bands anymore (“We don’t have time for stuff like that.”).

Eventually, the invitations stopped coming, the texts went unanswered.

Yoongi had been dangerously close to becoming a hermit until Namjoon had decided to adopt him at work.

“You like Epik High?” Namjoon’s eyes went sparkly and wide. “Then you need to come to Friday dinner. It’s just a few guys – all friendly. My boyfriend, Jimin, will be there. You should meet him. You’ll love him, everyone does.”

Yoongi did not immediately love Jimin. They had bickered the entire night about everything from the ideal chopstick material (obviously 18/10 stainless steel. “You can’t taste metal!” Jimin had protested. Wrongly.) to Pluto (“Only monsters believe that Pluto deserves to be kicked out of the solar system,” Jimin hissed. “Namjoon hyung cried when it happened. Cried!” Yoongi was not a monster but Pluto had coasted by for far too long).

It had been one of the best nights of his life.

He’d met Hoseok and Taehyung and Jungkook at the same time. He was comfortable with them and they were happy to let him sit back, grill meat, and pipe up when he felt like piping up. There was no pressure to talk or make conversation when the rest of them were talking over each other at the same time.

And so when Jungkook had suggested adding a seventh member to their expedition, Yoongi had been game. He was thankful to Namjoon (in a silent, unspoken way) for bringing him into his friend group and ensuring that he got the bare minimum of socialization. It seemed that Jungkook's coworker was a little like he was before their Friday night meals. But then this stranger, this interloper was running late, and Yoongi was going to have to murder him if Namjoon missed the Pikachu parade.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” A flapping, sprinting crow of a man rushed towards them, somehow bowing and running at the same time. “I’m so sorry.”

“Seokjin hyung!” Jungkook leaned over and lovingly slapped the older man on the arm. A few of the people passing by turned their heads in shock at the sound of it.

When Seokjin straightened, Yoongi was struck silent.

Despite the hair askew from running and the flushed face from the embarrassment, Seokjin was the most handsome person that Yoongi had ever seen. The eyes and the lips and the face… The face. Yoongi wrote lyrics for a living but looking at this face, he lost all of his words. If asked to describe Seokjin, he would have to resort to hand gestures or gurgled vocalizations.

“I am so sorry!” Seokjin bowed again to the entire group. “You must be Namjoon-ah. I am sorry that I held everyone up, but I was waiting in line for the VIP tickets for the meet and greet.”

“The meet and greet?” Namjoon whispered with almost religious awe looking at the tickets in Seokjin’s hands.

“With the exclusive photo op,” Seokjin said with a smug grin. He flourished the tickets, fanning then out and presenting them to Namjoon. “And the exclusive Pikachu watch.”

Watching Namjoon practically implode with excitement, the gift card for their favourite lunch spot that Yoongi had in his pocket suddenly seemed a bit pathetic.

“We have a reserved spot for the parade. There are chairs because I’m not 20 anymore.” Yoongi’s heart was immediately aflutter. “We should hurry.” Seokjin checked his watch. “They’re going to do a special birthday ceremony at the start.”

Yoongi then watched all of Namjoon’s dreams come true (he got to throw a Poke Ball surrounded by ten dancing Pikachus) and graciously looked away when Namjoon wiped away his joyful tears as envious elementary school students shot daggers at him. He also watched as Seokjin waved away any thanks or praise from the rest of their group.

Seokjin spent more and more time with their group, smoothly moving into the role of the hyung of their group, usurping Yoongi’s position – much to his relief. Seokjin seemed to naturally take care of their friends. Loudly ordering them to drink water between their shots and wear scarves. He teased Namjoon out of his existential funks, flirted shamelessly with Hoseok, accepted Taehyung’s hugs, teased Jimin, and fought with Jungkook endlessly.

He was infinitely adaptable to each member of their group – always being exactly who they needed him to be, while still being himself.

But he was always a little distant with Yoongi. Maybe it was because there was some lingering awkwardness between them because Seokjin was now the oldest.

“Your money is no good here. Put that away,” Seokjin would scold when Yoongi tried to pay for anything. “Hyung will get it. Do you need some spending money, Yoongichi? An advance on your allowance?”

Seokjin was unfailingly kind and polite and strange.

But he wasn’t dangerous.

Yoongi knew that he was not in danger of becoming Seokjin’s chew toy because despite looking like an action hero rolling out of a Netflix action series, Kim Seokjin was actually a coward. Not two hours before his breakdown about the mushroom toothbrush holder, Yoongi had been forced to protect him from: an alley cat, an “overly aggressive” crab at the market, and a phone call from his banker.

Just to be safe (because rabies was on the rise) Yoongi did curl his fingers under his chair to move it to the left to avoid Seokjin’s exemplary chompers.

“Anyways, it’s a special edition MapleStory toothbrush holder.” Seokjin went back to looking at his phone, cannibalistic agenda differed. “Only 200 of them are being made.”

“So, get one,” Yoongi suggested because he was a Practical Man Who Did Not Understand MapleStory. 

“’So, get one’ he says,” Seokjin said with a withering stare cross the dining table. He then rolled his eyes, crossed his arms and huffed. Then decided that the crossed arms weren’t conveying enough disdain, so he uncrossed them and threw them in the air.

“Yeah?” Yoongi was unbothered (delighted) by display. “You have a phone, a top-of-the-line internet connection, and a decent credit score. How much can a toothbrush holder be?”

Yoongi had been pressganged into a long, involved conversation with Seokjin's banker and knew for a fact that he was doing surprisingly well for a man with an expensive, punishing plushie addiction.

“I can’t.” Seokjin went boneless and slithered himself under the table. “It’s only at Lotte World for Maple Island on Saturday morning. And I can’t. I have that stupid work presentation.” He slithered himself back up to look pleadingly at Yoongi. “You think I should quit my job?”

“Quit your job and collect MapleStory toothbrush holders fulltime?” Yoongi took a thoughtful bite of noodles, chewing them at least 20 times to help with digestion. “I’m sure your parents would be thrilled.”

“They would be happy for me,” Seokjin shot back venomously. “They want me to be happy – unlike you. You want me to be miserable, a crushed cockroach under capitalism’s wheels.”

Yoongi held up his hands in surrender. “Drat. You finally got me. I’ve been on capitalism’s side the entire time.”

“Knew it.” Seokjin reached over and stole a slice of pork from Yoongi’s bowl. “You strut around Seoul like an angry little Marxist, but you happily sold your soul to the man to afford those trendy glasses without frames.”

Yoongi unconsciously touched his new, very trendy glasses that he’d been quite proud of (“They make you look younger,” the eager, stylish salesperson had promised/lied).

“Weren’t that expensive,” Yoongi muttered, curling into himself like a pillbug. They hadn’t been cheap but his insurance paid for half of them! They were an investment! He was a music producer. He needed to look stylish, that was just good marketing. They were practically a business expense!

Seokjin chuckled to himself, fondly observing Yoongi’s discomfort. “You put the petit in the petit bourgeoisie.”

Seokjin approached the language of love with a blunt hatchet, chopping it with the finesse of a crazed toddler. It was unfairly attractive.

“Hard to seize the means of production when I can’t see them.” Yoongi shrugged. He blinked at the smiling mushroom face still staring at him from Seokjin’s phone. He had a vague sense that Seokjin was one of the only people still playing MapleStory. Surely there weren’t 201 of them? “Can’t you just buy it later?”

“Later?” Seokjin forcibly breathed out through his clenched front teeth. “There are only 200 of them.”

“Aren’t there only like 10 people playing MapleStory these days? You and that one kid from the PC Bang that you have an ongoing feud with.”

“Hajoon is a menace to society.” Seokjin gripped his chopsticks and stabbed them into the bowl of noodles. “He doesn’t appreciate the lore.”

“You’re just bitter because he cheated you out of that sparkly armour and taught you a very important lesson about trusting strangers on the internet.”

“Teach him a lesson with my kicks. A kick-based lesson,” Seokjin muttered. “Does he not have a mother? Does he not have a father? Some sort of adult that should be keeping him in line and teaching him about ethics?”

Yoongi had actually met Hajoon’s mother when they’d both been waiting for their children to finish up some special MapleStory event at the local PC Bang. She was a very kind lady who spoke of her son with exasperation and a hint of pride. Yoongi knew the feeling.

“That’s my Hajoon. So full of energy. Which one of yours?” she asked sweetly pointing to the rows and rows of gaming computers mostly being used by children.

“The old one,” Yoongi said dryly. He set down his iced Americano (decaf because it was after three and he was pretty sure the PC Bang used ground-up shoes for their espresso) and pointed at Seokjin who was slamming his fists on the desk and shouting to the delight of the surrounding children.

“Oh.” Hajoon’s mother frowned as her son stood up and did a pointed victory dance in Seokjin’s direction, mostly butt based. “That’s Seokjin hyung? Seokjin oppa, I guess. Aish, my son is so rude. I thought that he would be…”

“A child?” Yoongi supplied as they both watched Seokjin pull at his hair, roaring like he was auditioning for the role of Godzilla in a low-budget remake that could not afford a costuming department. “He is very childish.”

Hajoon’s mother watched them carefully but seemed satisfied that a grown adult was watching over Seokjin to make sure that he didn’t throw any pint-sized gamers through the window. After learning that Yoongi was a volunteer teacher part-time at the nearby music school, they’d exchange numbers in case of an emergency.

She’d even texted him to ask some gaming questions. Some of which he’d been able to answer. A few days ago, she had asked whether Hajoon was too young to play the new Resident Evil game.

Yoongi didn’t know much about video games. He played a little League of Legends but didn’t play much after Seokjin started hunting and murdering him in-game when he didn’t take his advice to “help him learn.”

But Seokjin loved video games and Yoongi was still having nightmares from the gyrating bodies from when Seokjin had played Resident Evil on the tv in the living room. He was shocked that Seokjin was even playing a horror game but then he’d seen the lovingly rendered ones and zeros that made up Leon and immediately understood the appeal.

"Ohh," Yoongi said with a knowing smirk as Leon gallantly mowed an entire village and then grunted through a cut scene. "I get it now."

"Get what?" Seokjin was sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the couch like the bestest boy.

Yoongi gestured to the television. "He's hot."

"Who's hot?" Seokjin looked around as if there were other people in the apartment. "Me? Yeah, obviously. But why bring it up now?"

"The Brad Pitt guy. You have a type."

Seokjin squinted at the screen and turned back to Yoongi, eyes owlish. "I don't have a type.”

"Tall, blonde and muscular." Yoongi crossed his hands over his stomach and leaned back. "Is there a button to make him flex?"

Seokjin stopped playing the game out of principle as it was "making Yoongi too horny" as if he hadn't spent hours massacring the blameless working-class to get Leon a new coat.

But Seokjin had spent the most hours on MapleStory. “Other than Hajoon, who is not so much playing as he is desecrating, there are about 10,000 players of MapleStory - who are all going to want their own toothbrush holder. Not to mention the collectors that will all be there.” Seokjin groaned, slumping across the kitchen table. “There’s no chance that there will be any left by Sunday after I am finished selling my body for capitalism.”

Yoongi knew what he meant and there was no one else in the apartment, so he let Seokjin have his moment instead of making fun of him. Now was not the time for teasing.

Seokjin had gracefully moped for the better part of a week; bringing up the Instagram post to gaze upon with yearning and sighing periodically.

Yoongi was not a monster. He understood that being a fan of something was important in this life. He made encouraging and sympathetic noises as Seokjin expressed his disappointment.

And come Saturday morning at 5 am, Yoongi was patiently queued in line outside Lotte World with a greasy breakfast sandwich in a paper bag and an iced Americano, freezing his ass off behind a 40-year-old man who’d kindly brought jellies to share, and a gangly 16-year-old who was absolutely skipping cram school. They mostly talked games stats, ignoring Yoongi until, through very specific questioning, they realized that Yoongi knew nothing about MapleStory and had only just learned that the ‘s’ in MapleStory was capitalized.

“Are you a reseller?” the 16-year-old probed, eyebrows drawn. He looked ready to throw hands which was a bad idea since it looked like a stiff wind would send him into The Conquistador ride.

“What? No. I’m…” Yoongi paused. He wasn’t even sure what he was anymore. “I’m buying it for someone else.”

“You’re a jobber? A line holder?” the older man looked disgusted. He crumpled the bag of jellies shut. “How dare you take the place a real fan!”

“No! It’s a surprise. A surprise present,” Yoongi corrected wearily. He didn’t deserve this. There was no good reason why he should have someone’s finger in his face this early in the morning as the liquid in his cells slowly iced over. He didn’t even understand why he was here.

Seokjin would live without this toothbrush holder. There would be a new gimmicky toy to buy next week.

But he’d looked so sad.

“Oh!” An ajumma had crept up behind him clapped him on the shoulder and Yoongi nearly spilled his coffee over his favourite (but totally inadequate to the weather) bomber jacket. “A present for your girlfriend. How nice! What a good boyfriend you are!”

“Girlfriend?” Yoong frowned. “No. Just… a friend. A roommate? I guess?”

“You’re not sure?” The teenager raised an eyebrow as if he fully understood the vagaries of human relationships and the whirling mesh of emotions in Yoongi’s heart.

“It’s complicated,” Yoongi explained badly. The rest of the early morning weirdos did not seem reassured. “I mean, he’s living in my house.”

“A freeloader,” the ajumma said, turning on Seokjin immediately. In a tall office building in Gangnam, his ears were no doubt itching. “A leech. You need to pour salt on him and throw him out the window.”

There were times in the last three months that her proposition would have been very tempting. It would solve the problem of someone who insisted on rinsing dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. What was the dishwasher for then? It washed dishes. No need to do the job for it – it would undermine the machine’s confidence.

“No. He has a job.”

Seokjin had a very nice job (according to his banker) doing market research for a big firm. He was very in-demand – hence why he was not here freezing his own ass off on a Seoul street watching the sun slowly rise on a Saturday morning when he could be cozy in his bed, enjoying Seokjin’s leftover body warmth.

“Then why is he at your apartment?” the jelly man asked. “And how is he not your roommate?”

Why was he at Yoongi’s apartment? It was a great question.

Yoongi had no answers.

Three months ago, Seokjin had appeared on Yoongi’s doorstep at three o’clock in the morning, pressing the doorbell repeatedly and then pounding the door.

“Yoongichi! Wake up! Your doormat is unwelcoming!”

Yoongi hadn’t exactly been asleep. Working from home, his sleep schedule was increasingly erratic as they neared release day. The notes from the artists kept coming despite the songs being (in his professional opinion) perfect. But someone needed to calm down the powers that be and write a business-style email response of: Fuck off. Keep your fingers off my masterpieces.

And that’s why Yoongi could afford a front door with a camera with an app where he could see each strand of hair falling in Seokjin's eyes, even in the dark.

“Yoongichi! Let me in!”

Yoongi put his phone down slowly and considered calling the police. It would serve Seokjin right. He always took the concept of private property a little too lightly for Yoongi's taste. He'd lost several scarfs and shirts to Seokjin's communal approach to clothing since they'd become friends.

Instead, he rolled himself to his feet, shuffled over and opened the door a crack. The door was immediately flung open with gusto.

Seokjin, holding two large suitcases, breezed past him and started to fling off his shoes, his loafers hitting the walls with a sharp slap. “I’m going to need my own house slippers,” he said by way of greeting.

“Why?” Yoongi automatically helped to lift Seokjin’s giant suitcases up the step to the living room.

"I can’t just wear the guest slippers every day.” Seokjin grimaced at Yoongi’s modest collection. They had been a hasty purchase after he realized that he’d made enough friends to need guest slippers. His middle school counsellor would have been shocked that he spoke to enough people that one pair of slippers was not enough.

But unfortunately, Yoongi now had friends. One of whom was in his living room wearing a full suit and smelled strangely of a campfire.

It was doubly strange because Seokjin never let anyone see him when he was tired.

Their friend group had gone to Jeju together for a weekend to celebrate an album release and Seokjin had bodychecked them all out of the way when they’d arrived in the rental house to get the only single room, forcing Yoongi to share a room with Jungkook as “no one gets to see this face until it is good and ready.”

Sleepy 3 am Seokjin was still beautiful. His face was puffy and his eyes were smaller. His nose seemed more pronounced, and his lips were impossibly large. He looked more human when he was tired – less intimidating gorgeous. Which was probably why Yoongi wasn’t calling the police; he always was a sucker for a pretty face.

“You’ll be wearing guest slippers every day?” Yoongi frowned. He was not totally sure that this wasn’t a dream. It had all the hallmarks of his favourite dreams: Seokjin in his apartment at night. Seokjin in a suit. Seokjin looking at him, unblinking and intense with his dark, sparkly eyes.

“Yeah, every day. I’ve brought my cookware. We can compare it piece by piece to see which is best but I’m pretty sure that it’s mine.” Seokjin kicked his suitcase with Yoongi’s perfectly fine Daiso brand guest slippers. The suitcase clanged suspiciously.

“Why are you here with your cookware?” Yoongi eyed the suitcases, beginning to believe that this was not a bit. There was no audience and Seokjin seemed earnest, almost deadly serious in a way that Yoongi had never seen before. His eyes were wide as he scanned Yoongi's apartment, fingers twitching in his pockets and head swerving from side to side. “Wait. Why are you here at all? It’s late.”

“I am aware. This is really cutting into my beauty sleep. My face is puffy. If you take a picture and sent it to the group chat, it will be the last message you ever send.” Seokjin paced around the kitchen, opening cupboards and glaring at the insides. “When’s the last time you went grocery shopping?”

“Yesterday,” Yoongi answered obediently.

“Good, good. You get your produce at the market?”

“Yeah.”

Seokjin nodded in approval, his wild hair bobbing along with him. “Good. I think you have most of what we need. We can go shopping tomorrow morning for the rest. Eh. Maybe tomorrow evening. We’ll see how I’m feeling.”

“Rest of what?” Yoongi was started to get dizzy.

“Spices.” Seokjin shut the cupboards carefully (so he could respect Yoongi’s sleeping neighbours but not Yoongi’s sleep) and marched into Yoongi’s bedroom. Or at least he started to.

“No, no, no.” Yoongi barricaded the door with his body. He flung up his hands and lifted his chin in defiance, making himself into an x. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your thread count,” Seokjin explained patiently as if this were a normal thing to do after showing up unannounced with a suitcase full of spatulas.

“Why do you need to know?”

“I can’t sleep on anything less than 200.”

“That cannot be true,” Yoongi retorted, trying to brace himself as Seokjin nudged Yoongi’s limbs to find his weak points. “You can’t really tell.”

“I can.” Seokjin started to pick Yoongi’s fingers off the doorframe one by one. “I’m a princess.”

This was undoubtably true. He even had a tiara and scepter that they’d bought him for his last birthday.

“Wait. They aren’t silk sheets, are they?” Seokjin wiggled his eyebrow. “Yoongichi, you sly dog.”

“They are not silk.” Yoongi’s neck was getting hot. “They are totally normal sheets for an adult.”

Seokjin sniffed the air. “They’re from Muji, aren’t they?” Guilty. “I’ll order us some. Better ones.” Seokjin whipped out his phone from his breast pocket and started typing. He pushed his glasses up his nose. There was a little bit of fine dust on the glass – something that Yoongi had never seen before. Seokjin always looked perfect, even ten drinks deep at the noraebang. This imperfection was out of character.

“Us?” Yoongi blinked. “Some?”

“Sheets, Yoongi-ssi. Keep up.” Bamboozled, Yoongi lowered his defences for a moment and suddenly Seokjin was barging past Yoongi and jumping on his bed. The bed where Yoongi slept and sometimes did other activities. The bed where Yoongi had often imagined that Seokjin would be - but usually in these daydreams he was wearing significantly less clothing. Yoongi was too distracted by the way that parts of Seokjin bounced in his suit as he flopped around on the mattress like a caught tuna to be angry that Seokjin was wearing his outside clothes on his bed.

“Good mattress.” Seokjin nodded in satisfaction, bouncing a few times and sending Yoongi’s pillows tumbling to the floor. “I should have known.”

“I spent a lot of time here.”

Seokjin raised his eyebrows provocatively

“Sleeping, hyung. Sleeping.”

“Sure, sure.” Seokjin did a complicated kick and then he was back on his feet, all business. “Now, how much counterspace can you spare in the washroom?”

He was off again and Yoongi was scrambling after him. He had very long legs, legs that looked very good in those pants.

Must be hard to get work done around those pants, Yoongi thought absently as he slid on his socked feet.

Seokjin was staring at the bathroom with barely disguised distaste as Yoongi entered. “I’ll buy you some shelves.”

“Shelves for what?”

“For your things. You really need a new razor. And a better moisturizer.” Seokjin clucked his tongue. “It’s fine. I’m good at organizing. And buying moisturizer.”

Yoongi could feel himself start to lose it. This was a very disconcerting version of some of his more risqué daydreams and he was dangerously close to picking Seokjin up and flinging him against the wall like a spaghetti noodle to see if he was real. “Hyung. Not that I’m not happy to see you at any time. But I am slightly less happy to see you at 3 am. Why are you here?”

Seokjin flapped the shower curtain with distaste. “I live here now.”

“Here? Now?” Yoongi wasn’t sure which question he wanted answered first. This felt like one of those hangover-fueled dreams where eventually Seokjin would turn into his nineth grade math teacher and start nibbling on Yoongi’s toes. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes. Yes. No.” Seokjin’s phone buzzed and he stared at it with a frown. “I’ll need your door code. I’ve got a few packages arriving this afternoon. I’ll also need your address as apartment the delivery company won’t accept ‘fancy apartment in Hannam, penthouse’ on their system. Rude.”

Yoongi grabbed an old takeout receipt from his pocket and scribbled down his address with the pen that he kept in the shower for when inspiration struck. “Am I allowed to ask why you are living here?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes, fingers moving fast. It was unfair how beautiful someone could look with only the whites of their eyes showing. “You can ask, I suppose.”

Yoongi took a deep, calming, meditative breath. “Why are you living here now?”

Seokjin’s fingers didn’t stop. “My apartment burned down.”

Yoongi blinked. “What?”

Seokjin tapped the screen a few times, finger bending unnaturally in a way that made Yoongi wince. He was sure that it hurt to have joints at a 90-degree angle. “Burned down. Well, not completely. But definitely the unit underneath mine, parts of mine, and a fair chunk of the staircase. But the staircase had it coming. Always hated it.”

Yoongi reached out (to do what? Hug him? Pat him like a worried dog?) but thought better of it. “Are you okay?”

Seokjin seemed confused by the question. “Yes? Of course. Look at me. I look great.”

He did. Slightly puffy but undeniably great.

“That must have been very scary,” Yoongi said patiently, trying to remember his training from the music school of how to approach students in distress.

“More annoying then scary,” Seokjin sighed. “I was almost finished beating the final boss when the alarm went off. I had to stand in the street in my pajamas. Several people oogled.”

The training did not cover this particular scenario. “I’m sure that it was very upsetting.”

“The real trauma was when I realized that the sprinklers were on.” A glimmer of emotion finally pierced through his façade. “My PC is fried. Fried, Yoongichi.”

Yoongi, a considerate and good friend, did not ask if everything was backed up on the Cloud because now was not the time to be asking. Instead, he gestured for Seokjin to sit down – except that they were in a bathroom and there was nowhere to sit but the counter and the toilet.

Seokjin glared at him. “Really? I’ve just suffered a terrible loss, and you want me to sit on the toilet in front of you? Sex weirdo.”

“W-what?” Yoongi stuttered, unsure what to do with his hands. He settled with tucking them under his armpits. “N-no. I just wanted to make you more comfortable.”

“I’m plenty comfortable. What I need to do is order some shelves for your tiny bathroom. Is it tiny because then your guests are forced to sit on the toilet to satisfy your weird kinks?”

Seokjin had just lost his apartment. Yoongi’s eomma would be so disappointed in him if he threw this poor, traumatized man off the balcony (mostly because she loved polite, mannered Seokjin in contrast to her know-it-all son).

“My sex stuff is very normal and does not involve toilets,” Yoongi said, mustering all the dignity that was left. He realized that he was wearing sleep shorts with dinosaurs on them. If he didn’t draw attention to them, it was possible that Seokjin would be too upset to notice.

“You sure that you’re not a domina-T-rex?” Seokjin asked with wide eyes and innocent. He reached out to gently fondle the cuff of Yoongi’s sleep shorts.

If Yoongi buried the body, his eomma would never need to know and could continue to be mid-level disappointed in him.

“Yes,” Yoongi growled slapping Seokjin’s hand away. He needed to steer this conversation away from… whatever Seokjin was trying to do. Was he one of those people that was turned on by fires? Huh. That could be interesting to - “Is your apartment very…”

“Burned?” Seokjin furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. “I would say that its medium rare in certain parts. Medium well in others? I have to stay out of it so that the insurance people can assess. They let me go back and get some essentials.”

“The suit?”

Seokjin looked down and sighed. “Well, I couldn’t very well be walking around Seoul in my pajamas, could I? People don’t get a look at these legs for free. I had to take the bus because my car is crispy from the smoke damage.”

Yoongi was practically bursting with the effort it took not to ask if Seokjin had taken anything really important like his passport and birth certificate and not just a collection of his favourite slotted spoons. This was Yoongi's instinct - to cover the practicalities, to ensure that everything was in place. But Seokjin's wound was still raw and Yoongi needed to focus on his emotional needs.

“Are they going to put you in a hotel? That seemed the bare minimum of what we pay insurance for." Yoongi winced as the words left his mouth. The instructor of the trauma-informed education seminar at the school was no doubt frowning in her sleep.

Seokjin observed Yoongi’s row of shampoos. “They did. But I said that I had somewhere to stay. Somewhere with the ugliest bathmat I have ever seen.”

Yoongi felt the need to defend his bathmat even though he’d grabbed it out of the bargain bin at IKEA. “Hey. My grandmother knit that bathmat.”

“Your grandmother is a kind, resilient, colour-blind national treasure. She was also, according to the tag, made in China?”

“I don’t know what great-grandma and grandpa got up to.”

His great grandparents, as far as he knew, had never left the country. They considered Daegu an excellent place for all generation of Mins, past and present - especially after one of his ancestors had met a messy end in Seoul.

“Well, there is nothing wrong with the bathmat that a short stay in the incinerator won’t fix.” Seokjin suddenly launched himself forward. “Now, we need to talk blinds. When’s the last time you had them replaced?”

Yoongi sleepily trailed after Seokjin, mumbling his responses as a flood of messages came in through their friends group chat. He assured them that Seokjin was safe and that yes, he really had been close to beating the final boss.

“You tell Jungkook-ah that I was seconds away. Seconds away!” Seokjin dictated over his shoulder. Yoongi dutifully typed out a response that was met with disbelief from Jungkook who was awake enough to argue because he didn't need sleep.

“Minho’s in the same building,” Jungkook typed out. “He’s at a five-star hotel. What’s hyung doing at Yoongi hyung’s place?”

“Yoongi-ah's place will be better than a five-star hotel when I’m finished with it,” Seokjin typed out, assessment of Yoongi’s apartment complete. He’d thrown himself on the couch to defend his choices against Jungkook - something that he approached with the seriousness of an accountant at tax season. “A six-star hotel.”

“Stars have to do with amenities,” Yoongi yawned as he curled himself into a couch cushion that would probably be gone tomorrow. He wanted to be supportive, but he was also exhausted. “They aren’t always a reflection of quality.”

“We don’t need to tell Jungkook-ah that,” Seokjin said softly. He set down his phone. “Yoongichi. Is it… it is okay if hyung stays here?”

Yoongi wrinkled his nose. As if Seokjin needed to ask. Anything that he wanted, Yoongi would give – including his limited bathroom counterspace.

“I thought so.” Seokjin bunched his cheeks in contentment. He shifted on the couch to lean close to Yoongi, his lips almost brushing against Yoongi's ear. “Now, loan hyung some underwear.”

That was three months ago. Seokjin eventually bought his own underwear (and stored it in Yoongi’s top dresser drawer. “Underwear besties,” he said with satisfaction looking at the two straight rows of matching black briefs) and did go back to his apartment to retrieve a few more key essentials (read: action figures and functioning gaming consoles untouched by flame and sprinklers).

His insurance company issued him a temporary settlement to cover expenses that meant Yoongi’s fridge was bursting with unforeseen levels of grade A Korean beef.

“We’re eating my bathroom window right now,” Seokjin explained with a satisfied smack of his lips.

“Let’s not talk about your bathroom right now,” Yoongi complained. But he did thank Seokjin’s bathroom window as he chewed.

But the apartment was still not habitable (“How long does it take to replace a stairwell?” Yoongi grumbled when Seokjin received another email from the building manager that sent him into a sulk for a full 20 minutes. “A long time,” Seokjin tutted and then got that sly, smug look on his face that immediately made Yoongi clap his hands over his ears. “They have to do it step by step.”) and so Yoongi quietly rearranged his office for Seokjin’s new desk, fancy chair, and gaming computer (“The wifi is better here,” Seokjin protested and continued to whine until their desks were side by side).

He also invested in the most expensive pair of noise-cancelling headphones on the continent to block out Seokjin’s pornographic sounds when his character was flung off a cliff for the 27^th time.

“I’m in a client meeting,” Yoongi hissed, one Saturday when he’d been forced into overtime. “Can you stop moaning? They're going to think that someone’s jerking me off under my desk.”

Seokjin had tapped the spacebar primly and eyeballed Yoongi’s desk for a beat. “Seems ergonomically unadvisable.” He huffed and put his headphones back on. “Surely with that desk setup HR would prefer you to be getting a blow job.”

Yoongi had thought it would be painful to have someone in his space (not to mention tugging his blankets as he slept) but he found that he didn’t mind the company. Seokjin was loud and brash and ridiculous, but he was also introverted and quiet and a good cook. He brought leftovers from his office almost every day and thanks to Yoongi’s schedule, they often ate together on the couch and complained about their coworkers before going to bed. It was nice to have someone nod along with his stories and tandem loathe Produce Yang.

Yoongi had always imagined that he would live his life alone. From the moment that he’d left Daegu to pursue music, he’d been on his own. He’d lived on his own, learning how to cook and clean, how to argue with a landlord, and identify black mold.

Focused on his career, he hadn’t really dated. Didn’t have the time. He didn’t mind the idea of sharing his life with someone (preferably someone tall to help him get the things down from the high shelves at the grocery store). He’d harboured a small, shy hope that maybe there would be someone who wouldn’t mind spending time with the “world’s most boring man.”

“What do you do?” Jimin said with despair one night when they’d been discussing trying to set Yoongi up on a blind date with one of their friends. They’d run through Taehyung’s friends and dismissed them one by one. The pickings were getting slim as Namjoon knew no one else outside of their joint workplace and Seokjin refused to comment.

“Minjun likes to travel,” Taehyung said with a sigh. “Yoongi hyung is a homebody.”

“Traveling takes him away from his work.” Seokjin took a drink, winking at Yoongi’s over the bottle.

“Jong Su likes tiny men,” Jimin suggested dubiously. Yoongi’s growl was ignored.

“Jong Su likes to go dancing,” Jungkook reminded him with a shake of his head. “I can’t picture Yoongi hyung at a club.”

“Does Jong Su like to work?” Seokjin asked. “Maybe they have that in common.”

“Duri? Duri likes to drink coffee?” Namjoon mentioned their coworker in another department.

Seokjin nodded encouragingly. “They could drink coffee and work together.”

“How can we find someone who likes standing still in the middle of his room and staring at the walls?” Jimin cried with despite, burying himself into Namjoon’s beefy forearm.

“And work!” Seokjin pipped up.

“I don’t do that,” Yoongi scowled. “And I don’t work all the time.”

“What do you do, then?” Hoseok asked, more curious than judgmental.

“I… I read books.” Yoongi tried to think of what else he did with his time. “I read books and watch videos. I like to eat.”

“And work,” Seokjin added.  

“Yoongi hyung is already married to his job,” Taehyung said, shuffling over to Yoongi. He was always perceptive, always the first to pick up people’s mood. And Yoongi knew that they were just teasing, just trying to help him, but it was churning up some feelings, some thoughts that Yoongi would prefer to let lie.

He knew that he was boring. He knew that he was quiet and shy and worked too much. He was aware of these things. Most days, it didn’t bother him. There was nothing wrong with a quiet life. But every once and a while, especially when the conversation turned to relationships (and he appreciated that Namjoon and Jimin just wanted everyone to be as happy as they were), he had the creeping sensation that he was missing out on something and that he was missing out because he wasn’t… enough.

He was boring. He’d always been boring. His contribution to most conversation was looking up things on his phone and reciting facts. His friends seem to find it endlessly funny, but most people found it annoying.

It seemed impossible that someone would find it… charming. Or tolerable enough that they would want to live with him.

This strange sort of cohabitation with Seokjin was a taste of what that life could look like – having someone in his space, sharing his days, someone to come home to. It was nice to have someone to share silly stories about his day with and to listen to Seokjin reenact all of his office hijinks. It was nice.

There were a lot of benefits.

But then there was the cuddling.

Yoongi didn’t know how to bring it up.

Seokjin was clearly very sad about losing his apartment (or he said that he was sad with a melancholy pout when Yoongi asked him to stop wasting hot water by taking 45-minute showers. “I need to open my pores!” Seokjin protested. Lies – Seokjin had no pores that Yoongi could see). His mental health was apparently delicate from the suffering (According to Taehyung who was forced to wait at the finish line so that Seokjin could scoot past him to take the MarioKart trophy).

It was hard to bring up the cuddling because maybe it was a result of the trauma.

“Do people get… clingy after they experience an upsetting event?” Yoongi asked Namjoon at work one day when he was working in the office. Even though he preferred to work from home, it was important to show his face and make excruciating small talk with his managers. Contracts were supposed to be handed out based on merit and skillsets but that was only in an imaginary utopia on the company’s hiring site. In reality, Yoongi knew that those in management’s good graces got first swing at the best songs, the best groups.

He didn’t have to like the game to win the game.

“Mmm.” Namjoon tapped his green cactus pen against his notepad. “Well, toddlers who have separation anxiety or don’t know how to express their feelings are often clingy or have difficulty sleeping.”

Seokjin slept like a log. A hot, snuggly log.

“Mmm. Anything else?”

“They also wet the bed.” Namjoon stopped his tapping. “I assume that hyung isn’t doing that?”

Yoongi walked away.

Assured that the cuddling was just a symptom of Seokjin’s unfathomable subconscious dealing with his apartment fire, Yoongi resolved to just endure it.

But it was getting harder and harder.

Well, Yoongi was getting harder and harder.

Every night as Yoongi shuffled to bed, Seokjin would be playing some game on his phone with a sheet mask. They would exchange a few barbs and then shut off the lights. Yoongi, sandwiched between his blankets and some very nice sheets (he wouldn’t go as so far to say that he could feel all the threads of the count, but he felt like a silky seal swimming in the ocean when he shuffled in his bed), would scroll through the news for a little while until there was movement from his right.

In a motion that could only be described as “inchy-squinchying” Seokjin would caterpillar his way to Yoongi’s side, throw a toned leg over Yoongi’s hip and then hug him to his chest like an oversized koala.

“Maybe I can get him a body pillow?” Yoongi muttered into his hands after a fretful morning of making sure that Seokjin didn’t knee him in his very interested dick. He was having dinner with Namjoon who had already shared Yoongi’s problems with Jimin, who had wriggled it out of Namjoon because he was a gossip-seeking missile.

“Hmm.” Jimin shoved a towering spoonful of stew in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It was incredible how wide he could stretch him mouth when food was involved. Jin had a small mouth and a small throat that he complained about often while trying to swallow multivitamins every morning. It made Yoongi wonder about –

“Are you thinking sexy thoughts about a body pillow?” Jimin narrowed his eyes, his sensed homed in on Yoongi.

“No!”

“You are.” Jimin shook his head, long blonde hair falling over his eyes.

“No. I’m just trying to think about” – Yoongi tried to scrub all thoughts about Jin’s neck from his brain – “Solutions. I am solution based. This is a solutions dinner. That’s why I’m paying. I am paying for your expertise.”

“You’re paying because you are the hyung and you always pay.” Jimin gently called over the waiter for another round of soju for the table. “Wouldn’t it be weirder for you to come home with a body pillow for hyung? Would you wrap it? And would a Princess Peach body pillow even fit in bed with you and hyung?”

Yoongi was an adult and had an adult Queen-sized bed with plenty of room for body pillows.

“Maybe he thinks that you’re one of his stuffies that he lost in the fire,” Namjoon suggested.

Yoongi was suddenly teary-eyed at the thought of Seokjin yearning for his stuffie in his sleep.

“I’m human sized though.”

“Are you?” Namjoon asked skeptically.

Just because he was the size of the Árbol del Tule, Namjoon thought everyone else was a gnome. Probably because he was dating Jimin who, despite being 174 centimeters, seemed dainty and fairy-like.

“Seokjin hyung has some very large stuffies,” Jimin added. “Well, had. How cruel that you want to take away his sleeping aide.”

“He’s suffocating me.” Yoongi crossed his arms in defiance. “He needs to stop.”

At least Namjoon was taking Yoongi’s plight seriously. “Put a pillow between the two of you.”

“Tried it. Didn’t work.”

Seokjin had encountered the goose-down barrier in his slither across the mattress, wrinkled his nose in distaste, and then flung the pillow across the room with his eyes still closed. It had just missed Yoongi’s small and tasteful collection of vintage NBA trading cards. He couldn’t risk Seokjin pillow fighting his autographed Kobe Bryant.

“Separate blankets?” Jimin said.

They already had separate blankets after Seokjin complained that Yoongi’s comforter was “too comforting”.

“Already have ‘em.”

“Hun.” Namjoon seemed stumped. He took a drink of soju and turned to Jimin for support.

“Sleep naked,” Jimin suggested seriously. “He’ll wake up and be so weirded out that he won’t do it again.”

Yoongi was too ashamed to say that he had already tried it – inadvertently. The weather turned hot and he was too lazy to turn on the AC, so he’d just stripped off his shirt, forgetting that there was someone sleeping beside him.

It hadn’t bothered Seokjin at all.

That morning, Yoongi woke up with Seokjin nuzzling his right nipple like a fuzzy kitten looking for milk. Yoongi had frozen, unable to move, until Seokjin came to. Eyelids fluttered, he smacked his lips a few times, hummed as he stretched and then slowly rolled out of bed. But not before giving Yoongi’s left nipple a few patronizing pats (as if to reassure himself that Yoongi was still there or fluff him like a pillow) and then scratched his stomach with a yawn.

“Coffee?” Seokjin asked over his shoulder, fully aware that Yoongi was awake since he was staring at the ceiling, frozen.

“Sure,” Yoongi croaked out, right nipple all wet and exposed to the world.

“Coming right up.” Seokjin shot him two finger guns and wiggled out of the room to let Yoongi expire in peace.

“Wait!” Jimin, expert Yoongi-reader said, lunging across the table. “You did?”

“Just the top half,” Yoongi muttered. “But it didn’t seem to bother him.”

Jimin slumped in defeat. “Well. That’s all I’ve got. Is it affecting your sleep? You should tell him. Seokjin hyung would be upset if it was affecting your health and you didn’t say anything.”

Yoongi had actually been sleeping better than normal. He occasionally did wake up when Seokjin rearranged him in his sleep so that he could shove his nose in Yoongi’s clavicle, but it was easy to go back to sleep immediately after. Seokjin’s breathing was hypnotic.

“No. I guess not.”

“Maybe you could just… talk to him? Or get an air mattress?” Namjoon suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Yoongi snapped. The idea of talking to Seokjin about that was… no.  The idea of poor Seokjin hurting his back by sleeping on the floor – Yoongi could never. And he didn’t want to sleep on the floor either. They were both too old for that shit.

“Well, I guess you’ve just got to suck it up until Seokjin hyung moves back. I mean, he’s not staying at your apartment forever.”

The problem was that after three months, Seokjin didn’t seem in any hurry to reclaim his apartment. There were emails that he received from the insurance company that he let Yoongi reply to in the first month. But since then, Seokjin had been rather cagey about the state of the other apartment while he was entrenching himself in Yoongi’s apartment.

He’d found Yoongi’s label maker and had terrorized Yoongi for a week by putting a “Property of Kim Seokjin” sticker on everything in the apartment – including one on Yoongi’s forehead while he was sleeping.

Most of mugs were Seokjin’s now. They had a very intense (and weirdly enjoyable) Saturday going through all of Yoongi’s cupboards, comparing crockery.

“That’s a very nice wok.” Seokjin turned it around to check the label. “Expensive. New?”

“Last year.”

“Passable. Passable.” Seokjin had separated them into two neat piles. Then he started boxing the rejects.

“Wait. Where are you going with those?” Yoongi plead as Seokjin toed off his custom embroidered slippers with his initials and put on his outside shoes.

“Away.” Seokjin jostled the box towards the door. “Get that for me?”

“But what if I need them later?” Yoongi whined. He was not attached to any of his crockery that’d he’d purchased online but Seokjin had taken all of his bowls.

Seokjin’s laughter echoed down the hallway.

It was clear that what was Yoongi’s, was Seokjin’s. And what was Seokjin’s, was Yoongi.

The morning that Yoongi went to get the plastic toothbrush holder and lose every last shred of dignity left in his possession, he came home and found Jungkook, their youngest and hungriest friend, leaning up against their door.

“Seokjin hyung is at work,” Yoongi reported, moving his shoulder so that Jungkook couldn’t memorize the door code. Although, for all he knew, Jungkook had x-ray vision because he seemed to be able to do everything else. The toothbrush holder was safely in the non-descript shopping bag as he’d stopped to pick up something from lunch on his way back from Lotte World.

“Forgot.” Jungkook walked in because apparently Yoongi was opening a shelter for mislaid manchildren. “Can you feed me?”

“Sure. Sure.” Yoongi handed him guest slippers and Jungkook bounded into the living room to turn on some game console. But when he stepped into the living room, he stopped dead.

“Huh.”

“What?” Yoongi said nervously. It wouldn’t be above Seokjin to plaster the walls with unflattering photos of Yoongi sleeping in revenge for some slight.

“Hun,” Jungkook repeated.

“What?” The walls seemed normal.

“Just interesting.” Jungkook put his index finger into the mouth of the talking fish hanging on the wall. Yoongi had taken the batteries out and hidden them. Seokjin had found them, of course, using Yoongi’s face as his compass as he moved around the apartment asking whether he was hot or cold, but Yoongi currently had the upper hand as they were safely stashed in his bedside table which Seokjin at least seemed to respect his privacy there.

“What’s interesting? Did you know that all trout are not actually trout?” Yoongi started a conversational gambit in a vain effort to distract Jungkook from the Princess Peach figurine in the cabinet behind him. “It actually refers to a large variety of prize game and food fish that are in the salmon family.”

“Hun.”

“And brook trout are not actually trout at all! They’re char!” Yoongi laughed, hysterically.

Jungkook stared at him.

“And rainbow trout and steelhead trout are… actually… the same… species.” Yoongi conversationally limped to the end of the sentence and collapsed on the couch.

“Hun.”

Jungkook walked away from him and started to paw through the kitchen cupboard. He immediately found the “Kiss The Master Chief” apron and examined it with all the confusion of an archaeologist finding a Mayan calendar buried on a Busan beach.

“Hun.”

“It’s… Seokjin’s,” Yoongi explained weakly.

Jungkook did nothing, said nothing, as he folded the apron and put it back in the drawer. The click of it was as final as the swing of a coffin.

Jungkook leaned on the kitchen counter, fingers steepled. “So, when did you and hyung get married?”

Yoongi took a deep breath. “Two months ago, I think?”

“You should be sure. Just so that you’re ready for the anniversary. Hyung pretends that he doesn’t care about that stuff, but he secretly loves it.” Jungkook picked up a slotted spoon in the shape of a cat’s head. It was very impractical, but Seokjin had won that argument. “So do you.”

“I would prefer to keep the mystery and surprise in our relationship.”

Jungkook didn’t do bits in the same way that Seokjin did bits. He was a brutal impressionist (somehow nailing Yoongi’s dad in a way that made his own father giggle - a sound that Yoongi had never heard in his entire childhood) and knew every meme floating around the internet, but he never joked about his hyungs – especially his favourite.

“Hmm. I think that you’re surprised that you’re married.” Jungkook swung around and sat down on the couch, his leather jacket squeaking against the couch fabric. “But only you.”

“You’re not surprised that Seokjin hyung is just squatting in my apartment? Throwing out forks like he has rights?”

“Your spoons suck. The mouthfeel is all wrong. I’ve said that for years. Finally, Seokjin hyung did something about it.” Jungkook nodded with satisfaction. Yoongi conceded that Jungkook did have a point about the spoons. He’d been enjoying his stews so much more with Seokjin’s spoons.

“Well, you’ll never see my offensive spoons ever again because Seokjin hyung has thrown them into the void somewhere. He went through the entire house and just minimalized.”

“I think he’s maximalized.” Jungkook gestured to the shelf of action figures for games that Yoongi didn’t know or recognized. But now their beady, painted eyes followed him everywhere he went in his own home.

“He spread. Like a fungus.” Yoongi crossed his arms. He didn’t like the way that Princess Peach was looking at him. Judging him.

“He seems to have made himself right at home.”

“Well, his place did burn down,” Yoongi explained, suddenly feeling defensive.

“Yeah but it’s fixed now. I mean, it still smells like paint but it’s fine.” Jungkook waved his hand dismissively and then seemed to freeze mid-gesture. “Or… so I hear?”

Yoongi was not an idiot. “How do you know this, Jungkook-ah?”

“Just look at the time!” Jungkook launched himself up, wrists naked. “Tell hyung that I had to go.”

“Go to do what?” Yoongi asked dangerously.

“Poop!”

Yoongi was taken aback just enough that Jungkook was able to dodge past him and was in the doorway waving goodbye before Yoongi could interrogate him further.

Well. Well. Well.

Seokjin had said that he was gaming with Jungkook all Friday evening. Yoongi had assumed that it was at Jungkook’s dank cave but it would seem that it was at Seokjin’s recently renovated, perfectly habitable apartment.

Yoongi chewed on the question for the rest of the day – after his long, hypothermia induced nap. When Seokjin came back with two bags of takeout and a hilarious story about how the vice-president openly wept at Seokjin’s presentation, Yoongi laughed at the right moments while only paying half attention.

While they watched the episode of the new IU drama, he focused on his phone. His search of “Why would someone pretend that their apartment burned down and move in with you?” did not yield any results.

The state of the internet today.

Later that night in the bathroom, Yoongi stared into the soulless eyes of the cheerful mushroom toothbrush holder, looking for answers and tried to figure out his next move.

“Don’t suppose you know what he’s up to?”

The mushroom was unhelpful.

Yoongi sighed and placed the toothbrush holder on the counter, nudging it with the tip of his finger towards Seokjin’s electric toothbrush.

“The hell?” Yoongi stared at his bathroom counter, half of it filled with skincare products and pyramid of Mario loofas.  

Seokjin had an electric toothbrush.

It had a plastic charging base that plugged into the wall. It wouldn’t even fit in the toothbrush holder. There was no way.

“What are you doing Kim Seokjin?”  

He sighed, flicking off the light and going towards bed where his trespasser, his human virus was waiting.

“What took you so long?” Seokjin patted Yoongi’s side of the bed. “I really have to pee.”

“All yours,” Yoongi sighed.

Seokjin growled a little, swatting Yoongi’s bicep as he rushed past and slammed the door shut.

Yoongi lay down on their bed, pulling his blanket over his head, enjoying the darkness. The world was muffled and far away there.

What was he doing? Seokjin was lying to him because… Yoongi struggled to come up with an answer. What it a bit – a joke? Was he cheating the insurance company (something that Yoongi agreed with on principle but would have preferred being let in on the con)? Was this some sort of bet he had with Jimin to see how long he could invade Yoongi’s space before he cracked?

A squeak came from the bathroom. A door was flung open and then Yoongi was suddenly blinded by the light and Seokjin’s radiant face. He had yanked off Yoongi's protective blanket and leapt onto the bed, straddling Yoongi between his thighs.

“Yoongichi! What is this?”

Seokjin was shoving the soulless mushroom in his face.

“You know better than I do,” Yoongi grumbled, wrestling to take back control of his blanket.

“Yoongichi. This is a special edition.”

“I am aware. You told me several times.”

“There are only 200 of these in the entire world. The entire world!” Seokjin insisted.

“Yes.”

“To get one of these, you would have to get in line. For a whole day.”

5 hours, actually. Not that Yoongi had been counting.

Another lie. But a small lie compared to Seokjin who had been lying about his secretly unburnt apartment.

“You did this.” Seokjin looked at the toothbrush holder as if it could actually hold toothbrushes. “You did this for me.”

“Didn’t say that. Maybe it’s for me,” Yoongi said sulkily. “Maybe I picked up one for myself.”

“You don’t even know what this is.” Seokjin rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have your sad little plastic cup. This is… this is like the holy grail. And you waited outside for it. Wait! It was so cold this morning.”

It had been cold. But Yoongi and his new best line friends had shared hand warmers and the ajumma had lent him a scarf that she’d knit herself.

“What a good friend you are,” she cooed as she tied it around his neck despite his protests. Yoongi, who recognized the familiar, determined look in her eye, just stood still and accepted the well-meaning strangulation.

“I guess.”

“Getting him a special present that will make him happy.” She smoothed out his jacket, pursing her lips at its thinness. “We need people in our lives that make us happy, hm?”

“Yes?” Yoongi wasn’t feeling very happy right now. He was miserable. He was cold and tired and the 16-year-old was sizing him up and looked like he had enough zeal to do some real damage to Yoongi’s spleen. He was considering giving up and offering someone an obscene amount of money to someone in line to pick one up for him. But he was stubbornly determined to do this himself. For Seokjin.  

“When we find the people that make us happy, we should try to hold onto them as long as possible.” The ajumma touched the scarf again, fussing with the ends. “We need to hold onto them and never let go.”

Yoongi got the sense that she was not talking about Seokjin. There were tears gathering in her eyes, that she wiped away with the back of her wrinkled hand.

“Have you played MapleStory for a long time?” he asked softly.

“I have never played,” she said with a sad smile. She shrugged, her shoulder high against her white hair. “But I knew someone that did.”

Yoongi didn’t ask. She didn’t have to tell him.

“I won’t let him go.” Yoongi smiled softly at her, bowing his head. “I will hold on.”

“Good.” She bobbed her head. “Good boy.”

It was almost worth it for the awed expression on Seokjin’s face as he stared at the mushroom, sitting himself down on Yoongi’s legs, crushing them.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Yoongi said, trying to turn away. “It’s not such a big deal.”

“It is!” Seokjin protested. “I can’t believe that you…” Seokjin lowered his face, pressing his chin down. “Actually, I can believe that you did this. Thank you.”

Then he leaned down and kissed Yoongi on the nose.

Seokjin had kissed him on the nose. Not the forehead (that was a free zone – even Namjoon agreed. And he famously did not allow kissing unless it was Jimin and no one was watching). But he had kissed Yoongi on the nose.

What did that mean?

If he searched it on his phone when Seokjin went to sleep, it would be in his search history forever. And somehow, Jimin would know.

Yoongi blinked as Seokjin nodded at him, surprised. And then he flopped on the bed beside Yoongi and held up the toothbrush holder as if he were recreating the opening number of the Lion King.

“Is something wrong? You’ve been weirder than normal today. Did you catch frostbite?”

“You don’t catch frostbite,” Yoongi corrected automatically. His brain had ground to a halt. His nose was tingling – probably not frostbite. He crossed his hands over his churning stomach. He needed to know what he was holding on to. “Jungkook-ah stopped by this morning.”

“Understood. He is a professional menace. I’m not even sure what his real job is.”

Yoongi gulped, examining his ceiling. “He mentioned that you two had been gaming last night.”

“Yeah. I told you that.” Seokjin traced the mushroom’s smile with his crooked index finger. Seokjin looked at it in wonder as if it were precious or made of gold. It was plastic and made in China, probably by underpaid workers. “Ignore anything that he said about beating me. He is a known liar and cheat.”

“You taught him everything he knows,” Yoongi retorted. “He noticed the fish.”

Seokjin immediately knew what he was talking about. “Yes, well. You can hide those batteries for as long as you like, I’m going to find them. You can’t hide anything from me, Yoongichi.”

It seemed that he couldn’t.

“You won’t,” Yoongi said, “but he mentioned that you hung out at your apartment.”

The mushroom froze in the air. Yoongi risked a glance and Seokjin was blinking rapidly.

“He said that your apartment is fine.”

Seokjin breathed in through his nose. “Well. It doesn’t have any cookware.”

Yoongi sighed a little, wrestling back the blanket easily this time as Seokjin seemed to have stalled. “Because your cookware is here, hyung.”

“It looks good here. Your countertops are nicer than mine.”

This was untrue. Seokjin’s apartment was sleek and modern with black slate countertops that whenever their friends group gathered at his place, Yoongi spent most of the night stroking them.

“Seokjin hyung. What is going on?” Yoongi didn’t like to psychoanalyze his friends, but he felt like something more was at play. “Are you afraid of going back to your apartment?”

“No,” scoffed Seokjin. “I’m afraid of nothing.”

“Really?”

“Well, I’m afraid of Jungkook-ah but he can never know.” Seokjin rolled over onto his side so that Yoongi couldn’t see his face.

“If you aren’t afraid of moving back, why are you still here?”

Seokjin’s voice was very small. “Do you want me to go?”

Yoongi considered. He had always through that he was a person who was meant to be on his own. He was introverted and prickly and quiet. He preferred silence to mindless conversation; he was territorial with his space. His sleep was sacred.

But then there was Seokjin, worming his face into his life. Seokjin who could be quiet but was loud in a way that made Yoongi feel bubbly and warm. They talked about important things and silly things and far into the night. He liked cooking for Seokjin and liked Seokjin cooking for him.

And – though he would deny it to Namjoon and Jimin until he was blue in the face – he didn’t mind the cuddling at all. In fact, it was… rather nice.

He liked staring at Seokjin’s face.

He liked the way that the top of his head smelled. He liked the way that Seokjin kneaded his arm muscles with his long fingers. He liked the weighted blanket of Seokjin across his chest because it calmed him down and the world seemed a little more bearable when Seokjin was his human shield.

He liked having Seokjin close to him.

He liked Seokjin.

He liked him a lot and he wanted to hold onto him and never let him go.

“No.”

Seokjin wriggled around to face Yoongi, his eyes huge.

“Really?”

“I want you to stay.” Yoongi shuffled onto his side to look at Seokjin. Or at least his nose since he was far too close.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi twisted further down the bed so that he could look Seokjin in the eyes.

“Hun. I wasn’t sure but…” Seokjin put the mushroom toothbrush holder between them. “This really clinches it.”

“Clinches what?”

“I think… I think that you love me.”

“Of course I love you.” It was Yoongi’s turn to pout. “I love all of my friends.”

“Yeah.” Seokjin tapped the mushroom’s face. “I know. You are a sweet mushroom of a man with a heart as big and deep as Sea of Marmara.”

Yoongi was not impressed. “That’s the smallest sea in the world.”

“See? You know all these things. It’s very sexy.” Seokjin’s shoulders sagged and his rolled onto his back.

Yoongi had never given much thought to Seokjin’s sexuality. He was very happy to praise the handsomeness of their friends and Tom Cruise. Yoongi had never known him to date anyone. He was always too busy with work to worry about that. He declined matchmaking dates from his parents with a firm politeness that Yoongi was envious of.  

Seokjin was a private person. He was always happy to share a story about work or poke fun at himself but he didn’t share much of his inner thoughts.

It had taken him two years until Yoongi had learned that he had a brother.

Yoongi was the same. He preferred to show people how he felt about them. He tried to take care of people and take care of them. It was harder for him to express in words what he felt in his heart that was apparently comparatively tiny.

But maybe… Seokjin was the same.

Seokjin took care of people. He ensured that Jungkook saw the sunshine at least once a day, gifted Namjoon with jewelry, went to fancy restaurants with Taehyung who loved fine dining, and always commented on Hoseok’s Instagram fashion posts.

He always showed people how he felt.

Yoongi, had stood in line and lost two toes to frostbite watching the sun rise over Seoul through the mist of his breath, wanted to show Seokjin that he cared, how much he cared.

Seokjin, who had moved in with Yoongi and turned the apartment into their little space to be together despite having a mildly singed apartment of his own, was showing Yoongi how much he cared. He was stating his objective through merging their plate collections.

Yoongi breathed in evenly. “Seokjin hyung. Do you know that the largest sea is the Sea of the Philippines?”

“I did not,” Seokjin breathed out.

“It’s one of the best places to see whale sharks. There are also seven species of pygmy seahorses in the whole world and six of those are only found in the Philippines Sea.”

Seokjin rolled back over, holding the mushroom toothbrush holder to his heart. “Min Yoongi, are you trying to seduce me?”

Min Yoongi was.

“Male seahorses, along with pipefish, are some of the only animals were the males become pregnant. They even give birth.”

“Can we be sure,” Seokjin snaked his hand across to grip Yoongi’s shirt, “that seahorses are the only species?”

“Well,” Yoongi said carefully reaching out his hand to gently paw at Seokjin’s checkered pajama top. “There have been some experiments with rats but they’re actually pretty horrifying and bring up some bioethics issues that I feel like with really kill the mood.”

Seokjin bit his lip, shivering a little bit. “Should we test the theory?”

“As attractive as you are, parabiosis is off the table.”

Seokjin smiled mischievously. “Oh, kinky.”

“It really, really isn’t. Don’t look that up,” Yoongi warned. “Can we stop talking about the rat horrors?”

“You’re right,” Seokjin said simply, releasing Yoongi’s shirt. “It did kill the mood.”

Yoongi did not whimper because he was a strong person. But he did grip Seokjin’s top so that he couldn’t wriggle away. “Are you sure?”

“Very. I am tired and you are tired. We need our beauty sleep.” Seokjin flicked off the light as if they had not just confessed… something? Yoongi wasn’t exactly clear on what was happening.

“But,” Seokjin whispered in his ear, “we can pick up this discussion tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“We can test the theory about male pregnancy, because I support the scientific method, and then we can discuss the colour of the walls in the living room.”

They were white. It was a practical, neutral colour. Yoongi growled. “We are not painting the walls.”

“We are painting the walls if I’m moving in.”

Yoongi reached out, flicked out the flashlight app on his phone and shone it in Seokjin’s face.

“Aish! What are you doing? Are you a cop?”

“Maybe? Yes.” Yoongi set his phone between them. The shadows were deeply unflattering and it helped Yoongi concentrate. “Seokjin. You already live here.”

“Yes,” Seokjin agreed. “But I was going to officially move in and sell my apartment.”

“Are you insane?” Yoongi knew the answer to that question.

“This is a perfect plan. It will save us so much work a year from now.” Seokjin angled the flashlight away from him as if he instinctually knew that the shadows were giving him a double chin.

“What work?”

“When I move in.” Seokjin was rolling his eyes so much that they were going to stick. “It would inevitably happen after we were dating for a year. That’s a good anniversary present.”

“When did we start dating?”

“The day that I moved in? I thought that I was being pretty clear. I moved into your house – isn’t that how your people do it?”

“My people?”

“Cats.” Seokjin blinked innocently.

“Your apartment burnt down! I thought that it was temporary.”

“I mean, the apartment was well done. Yoongichi, when I stumbled out onto the street and watched the flames roaring out of the windows, my windows, I realized that if I hadn’t heard the alarm I could have died. And I would have died without telling you how cute and sweet your nose was.”

Yoongi touched his nose. The nose that Seokjin had kissed with his pink, plush lips.

“I decided right there and then, in my pajamas in the middle of the street being ogled by everyone – men, women, dogs - that I wasn’t going to wait for anything anymore.” Seokjin set his mouth in a resolute line. “So, I packed my bags and staked my claim. I wasn’t going to wait for you a moment longer.”

Yoongi’s brain was spinning. He understood that Seokjin had faced mortality (or at least his action figures had) and was dealing with it in the most Seokjin way possible.

“I didn’t realize that you were waiting,” Yoongi said faintly.

If he’d known, he might have given him the door code a little earlier.

“Of course you didn’t. You are too good and humble to believe that a perfect 10 would be interested in you, you perfectly adequate 6.5.” Seokjin tapped him on the nose. “How long have we known each other?”

“About six years? Six years and two months?”

“And why did you never make a move on me? I was very open for moves.” Seokjin fluttered his eyelashes. “I was very clear.”

Seokjin did bits with him and cooked with him and could sit side-by-side with him in silence (which Yoongi did think was deeply sexy but he didn’t realize that Seokjin felt the same way). If anything, Jimin flirted with him the most aggressively to fluster him.

“I didn’t realize that. I guess… I guess I could make a move now?” Yoongi was unsure exactly how he would make a move on Seokjin. There was a lot of territory to cover.

Seokjin groaned. “As much as your butt and round face make me delirious with desire, I just worked a 70-hour week and gave a rousing but exhausting presentation this afternoon. On top of declaring my intentions towards you and discussing my feelings, I’m exhausted. The best I could manage would be a limp hand job.”

That still sounded pretty good to Yoongi.

“Sex freak,” Seokjin purred, noting Yoongi’s interest. He then barrel rolled around in bed and snuggled himself deeper into Yoongi’s side. “But, if you can wait approximately 72 hours for me to recover, I will have my wicked way with you with rose petals and candles and the whole thing.”

“Don’t need rose petals,” Yoongi said, bidding a melancholy farewell to the limp hand job. “Seems like a waste. Also, a little weird to be fucking on the dismembered body parts of a plant.”

“That’s my eternal romantic that I want to live the rest of my life with,” Seokjin crowed.

The rest of his life. Yoongi could sing.

“And we don’t have any candles,” Yoongi said. The ‘we’ made a very pleasant buzzing feeling in the bottom of his stomach (lower intestines even).

“Yet,” warned Seokjin. “Why do you think we’ll need 72 hours? We’re spending all tomorrow on a smell quest for the sexiest candle.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

“I guess we will.” Yoongi laid on his back with Seokjin warm against him and stared at the ceiling. The rest of his week (rest of his life!) started to map out in front of him.

“I want to get a cat,” he said.

“Has one of your cousins has fallen on hard times?” Seokjin inquired in a sweet voice. Yoongi reached down to whack him, but Seokjin was lower in the blankets than first thought. Instead, Seokjin caught his hand and wrapped their fingers together.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early to be discussing children?” Seokjin said. “We haven’t even kissed.”

“Well, whose fault is that?”

“Aeun in accounting,” Seokjin said darkly. “Hate her and her stupid hair and incomprehensive pivot tables.”

Yoongi leaned over and pecked Seokjin on the cheek. His eyes were so big up close. His skin was still frustratingly perfect. Tired and exhausted, his face was puffy, and his skincare taste strange.

It was the happiest that Yoongi had ever been.

“Maybe we burn down her apartment?”

“She doesn’t deserve nice things,” Seokjin said primly. He wriggled over and latched himself around Yoongi’s chest with a satisfied grunt.

“Good night, Yoongichi.”

“Good night.”

Before he let himself be lulled to sleep by Seokjin’s even breathing and the warmth of his hand, Yoongi thanked Aunty Oh’s faulty space heater for bringing Seokjin here.

*

Yoongi was snoring. 

Seokjin groaned into Yoongi's absolutely not drool-stained Fear of God t-shirt. He spent a moment in-between Yoongi's shrieking water deer snores wondering whether his nipple was getting wrinkly like fingers or toes. Seokjin couldn't remember if his (perfect) nipples got wrinkly in the bath.

They would just have to test that by taking a very long shower in the morning. 72-hour recovery period be damned. He’d waited long enough.

Yoongi's breath hitched again, his mouth open revealing his very straight teeth. 

A sleepy kitten of a man. A marshmallow puddle of man.

Seokjin carefully shifted his weight so that he was propped up on his elbow and then took the other hand to gently close Yoongi's gaping maw. The pale moon of a man swallowed, smacked his lips and then smiled a little bit.

The snoring stopped.

Seokjin resisted tracing the smile with his fingertips. But why restrain himself?

He poked Yoongi’s bready cheeks and tapped his lips that were curled in a shy smile, even in his sleep.

He looked just like the little orange mushroom, the twin of the toothbrush holder sitting on the bedside table. They'd always looked the same to Seokjin - especially when Yoongi had the rounded blonde haircut that looked like his mom had smacked a plastic bowl over his head and just went for it with the shears.

They were both his now. Both special editions, rare.

He really was the most successful Mapler of all time.