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Tie Me Down

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“Guys, I just wanted to say that I—I love you guys, and I appreciate t—this so much.”

Yoongi stifles a snort, looking over Namjoon’s disheveled, crying form at Seokjin, jerking his thumb at Namjoon in a can-you-believe-this-guy kind of motion. Seokjin frowns, shaking his head slightly in a don’t-you-dare-say-a-fucking-word kind of way. Two minutes ago, Hoseok and Seokjin were snickering away at the snot bubble forming in Namjoon’s left nostril but the moment Yoongi tries to join in he’s suddenly the asshole.


Hoseok makes a soothing sound, patting Namjoon’s head, murmuring comforting words, and Yoongi watches, slightly incredulous, as Namjoon lets out another loud wail, fresh tears leaking out of his swollen, red eyes.

Oh, what a life Yoongi lives. 

Min Yoongi, at the ripe age of twenty-three, is currently sitting on the floor of an awfully decorated apartment, comforting said owner of awfully decorated apartment as he has some fucking existential slash quarter life crisis.

What the actual crisis is, Yoongi’s not actually sure of. There wasn’t a lot Yoongi picked up from Namjoon’s incomprehensible blubbering, just a lot of I love yous and fuck the systems, so Yoongi’s been on back petting duty, wisely choosing to shut the fuck up while Seokjin and Hoseok comfort an estranged Namjoon.

But it’s nearing 2AM and while Yoongi loves and cherishes Namjoon, he really loves and cherishes his beauty sleep, too. And when it gets past 10PM on a weekday, Yoongi’s body automatically shuts down. So right now, on this blessed Thursday night, Yoongi’s awake purely because he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of Seokjin’s wrath if he actually does happen to fall asleep—a possibility that is slowly becoming alarmingly close to reality.

Fortunately for him, Hoseok, bless, seems to be well aware of this and is looking at him with a concerned expression.

“Hey, Yoongi, you should go home. We can handle this.”

Honestly. Bless Jung Hoseok. Bless his beautiful, wholesome soul.

“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind.” Yoongi does mind. He’s lying through his teeth. Please send him home.

Namjoon blinks up at him, and god, he’s such a pitiful sight with tear-stained cheeks and that goddamn disgusting snot-bubble well and truly formed that Yoongi’s heart softens a little and maybe it’s not all that bad if he has to stay behind.

“Y—You should go home,” Namjoon sniffles. “You look like you’re going to pass out. Sorry for making you stay.”

“No, it’s okay, I can stay.”

“Yoongi, you’re literally halfway to the door already. Just go home.” Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Joon-ah,” Yoongi promises, shrugging on his coat. “I’m sorry I can’t stay here any longer.”

 “Get home safely, Yoongi,” Seokjin says, frowning slightly. “There are so many fucking weirdoes these days.”

“Jin, no one is going to mug me.”

Seokjin gives him a skeptical look, pursing his lips. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

“It’s ‘cause you look like a girl from the back,” Namjoon pipes up tearfully. “You’re so tiny and cute.”

“Yeah, the first time we met I nearly hit on you,” Hoseok sniggers.

Yoongi scowls. Seokjin smiles smugly.






It’s a ten-minute walk from Namjoon’s apartment to Yoongi and Hoseok’s shared apartment, but Yoongi’s already to call quits two minutes into the walk. There’s seriously no way anyone actually expects him to haul his dead-beat, emotionally drained ass all the way to his apartment.

He reckons by this point someone could club a fry pan over his head and he probably wouldn’t notice. Honestly, he’s just ready to go home, take a hot shower, put on his bed socks, and get the fuck to sleep.

(Apparently, though, Life has other plans for him. It’s always fucking him. Give Yoongi a break.)

It starts off as a small noise Yoongi chooses to ignore. A niggling feeling in his stomach. The strange feeling that he’s being watched.

Yoongi quickens his pace, and suddenly, he’s not so tired anymore, and he quietly curses Seokjin to hell and back for jinxing him. Suddenly, his ridiculous claims of mugging don’t sound ridiculous anymore.

There’s a noise that’s slowly gradually getting louder and it’s not until the sound is really fucking close does Yoongi realize that it’s the sound of someone running towards him at full speed.

Okay, cue panic.

“What the f—”

“I’M SOORRRRRY,” a loud voice, shrill with panic and adrenaline interrupts him, before something blunt hits him on the head, hard.

You know when he said that a fry pan could hit him and he wouldn’t notice? Min Yoongi would like to whole-heartedly retract that comment, because damn if that didn’t hurt like a motherfucker.


Ever so eloquent, Yoongi manages to catch a glimpse of what looks like a fucking watermelon hovering in his line of sight before the sharp throbbing in his head becomes too much and he blacks out.





There’s a dull, insistent throbbing in the back of Yoongi’s head that draws him from the depths of unconsciousness. The pain gets sharper and sharper and he lets out a little whine, hoping that Hoseok will come and shove a pillow under his head or something to make the pain go away so he can go back to sleep, but his limbs feel heavy and water-logged, the way one might feel after an entire day of working out. Which is unusual, considering Yoongi is basically allergic to any form of physical exercise.

He reaches up to rub at his eyes—well, he tries to anyways. Something’s binding him painfully to something that is most certainly not his extra cushiony king-single, and panic seizes in his chest as reality crashes down on him. Yoongi’s eyes fly open, his eyebrows automatically pinching together in fear and confusion.

Min Yoongi, at the ripe age of twenty-three, is no stranger to waking up in strange places. Hoseok might poke fun at him and tell him he’s got the soul of an eighty-year-old man, but Yoongi’s seen some crazy shit back in the day when he was Young, Wild and Free.

From waking up in an empty parking lot wearing nothing but a dirty cloth placed strategically over his Yoongi Junior and bright pink nipple tassels with no recollection whatsoever of what happened the night before, to waking up all the way in some fancy Gangnam apartment with some girl he’s never seen before telling him she’s going to introduce him to her parents, Yoongi feels like he’s seen—and been through—it all.

 So it’s really, really something, when Yoongi wakes up and is surprised. Honest to God, hand on your heart kind of surprised.

Because he really, really does not know how to react to being taped down with copious amounts of scotch tape to a rickety office chair in what looks like a fucking living room of who Yoongi is going to assume to be some college student, based on the half-eaten bowls of jjajjangmyeon and jjampong littered on a messy coffee table and the mess of twisted wires and consoles underneath a huge plasma TV.

Yoongi sits there in literal shock for a few seconds, trying to process what the everloving fuck is going on, when his eyes fall on a lamp—one shaped oddly like a watermelon. 

A watermelon. A watermelon had knocked him out.

And then it hits him—kidnapped.

Yoongi is fucking kidnapped. Someone had looked at Yoongi and decided to kidnap him. Someone had looked at his dead-ass, disheveled form and thought, ‘ah. This is the one. The one I’m going to fucking kidnap’. What the fuck.

When Yoongi thinks of being kidnapped, he thinks of being trapped, hopeless, in a seedy warehouse with faceless thugs surrounding him, blood dripping dramatically from his temple as he takes beating after beating heroically.

 Maybe he’s seen too many movies, but Yoongi really can’t help but feel underwhelmed. Because who the fuck thinks of sitting on a swivel chair, staring at a funky-looking cactus, nursing a headache that feels kinda like a hangover when they think of being kidnapped?

He’s waiting for the panic, the overwhelming sense of anxiety and dread, to kick in, but… nothing. Well and truly nothing. Maybe a little annoyance.

A timid cough sounds in the living room, startling Yoongi and alerting him to another presence. With difficulty, he slowly swivels around towards the sound, grunting with exertion. When he finally manages to turn around, his eyes immediately fall on a tall, slender figure standing on the other side of the room. When Yoongi drags his eyes up the kidnapper’s body, finally settling on his face, Yoongi is a little surprised to note that his kidnapper isn’t some deranged psychopath, but someone kinda… cute.

With soft-looking blond hair that falls over his eyes, pretty lips, and huge, doe eyes staring back at him, he looks like something out of a magazine. Yoongi’s kind of annoyed at this—if his kidnapper had been some old, balding man maybe it would have been easier to be scared. Or pissed. Yoongi’s just kind of annoyed and tired right now.

He starts to slowly approach Yoongi, holding something before him like a weapon, like Yoongi’s in any state to leap out and suddenly attack his kidnapper. Yoongi can’t help the snort that escapes him when he sees what the kidnapper is holding. It’s a butter knife. A fucking butter knife. He’s holding a butter knife threateningly towards Yoongi like it could actually stop him, if Yoongi ever happens to break free from his sticky bonds.

His kidnapper stops right in front of Yoongi, the hands holding onto the butter knife trembling. Up close he looks even younger than Yoongi had thought. And cuter. And Min Yoongi doesn’t just throw out the word cute.

But all of his cuteness goes flying out the window the minute he opens his mouth.

“Hello,” He says timidly. “How are you?”

Yoongi’s brain kind of just… breaks.

He’s tired, he’s emotionally exhausted, and now, he’s fucking tied down to a chair with some weirdo (who’s also unfairly cute and hot) asking how he is. How is he? How is he? He’ll tell him just how he is.

“Oh, I don’t fucking know,” Yoongi spits out scathingly. The boy takes a step back, his expression contorting into one of alarm and a tiny bit of Yoongi feels a little bad, but the majority of his sleep-deprived mind doesn’t even feel one ounce of remorse, and his kidnapped ass is not having any of it, cute boy or not.

“I’ve just woken up with a fucking splitting headache, to find myself fucking taped to an office chair in a fucking living room that smells like unwashed socks and takeaway food, with a fucking stranger pointing a fucking butter knife in my fucking face. How am I? How do you think I fucking am?”

Yoongi’s chest is heaving by the end of his mini-explosive rant. He glares fiercely at his kidnapper for extra measure. The kidnapper who had listened to his rant with huge, alarmed eyes, kind of looks like he’s about to pass out now. Yoongi’s not too sure how he feels about this.

“Wow,” The boy says in a tiny voice. “That’s a lot of f-bombs you’re dropping, hyung. Did anyone tell you that you need a healthy dose of positivity?”

Yoongi’s eye twitches.

Hyung? What the fuck, you don’t know me, don’t call me hyung! I don’t fucking need positivity in my fucking life, I need you to tell me what the fuck is happening! And—fucking stop pointing that goddamn butter knife in my face!” Yoongi is kind of pissed now, but he’s mostly super annoyed. Like. Super annoyed. Like, raising-his-voice kind of annoyed.

“Okay, chill, I’m sorry!” His kidnapper says hastily, hiding the butter knife behind his back. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t completely necessary, but it is! So I’m doing it. I’m broke, right? In fact hyu—”—his kidnapper shoots a nervous glance at Yoongi before continuing—“I’m so broke that I’ve had to resort to illegal means. So. I’m ransoming you, haha! So please tell me your details so I can contact your parents.”

Yoongi shoots his kidnapper the dirtiest glare he can muster. Which is quite dirty, if he’s being completely honest. “What the fuck is wrong with you. Are you on drugs or something?”

“Nope!” His kidnapper lets out a nervous laugh. “Only the adrenaline running through my veins. You know. From fear.”

“This is fucking fucked up, fuck you, fuck this, what the fuck.”

“Please stop glaring at me, Yoongi hyung. I’m already terrified as it is—I’ve never actually done anything illegal in my entire life. Unless you count that time I stole a cucumber from the mart when I was six, but you should’ve seen my grandmother when she fo—”

“Wait. Hold up. How the fuck do you know my name?”

His kidnapper stops in the middle of his rambling, looking distinctly like a deer caught in the headlights. He lets out a sheepish laugh. “Well. I may or may not have looked through your wallet, but I—”


The boy flinches, raising his hands defensively. “I didn’t steal anything!” He protests. “I’m not that kind of person!”

Yoongi arches an eyebrow. “Okay. You don’t steal, but you did kidnap me? That’s alright in your books?”

The boy giggles. He actually fucking giggles. This is no time for giggling. “But that’s like. Not as bad as stealing. It’s bad, yeah, but stealing? That’s a no-no.”

“How the fuck—are you hearing yourself right now?” Yoongi groans, rolling his eyes. He tries to sit upright, looking his stupid-ass kidnapper in the face. “Kidnapping is stealing, you fucking walnut! You’re stealing me!”

The expression that dawns on the kidnapper’s face is priceless. Yoongi suddenly doesn’t mind being kidnapped, because that expression, that absolute dumbfounded, shell-shocked expression on his kidnapper’s face is worth it. Well and truly worth it.

Yoongi’s not sure how, but even in this situation—tied up and unable to move—Yoongi still has the upper hand. He supposes it’s like, compensation for being kidnapped.

 “Holy fuck!” The boy shouts so suddenly Yoongi startles so hard he nearly flips the chair backwards, and wobbles precariously for a heart-stopping second before he regains his balance.  “I fucking kidnapped someone. I actually kidnapped someone. I’m Kim Taehyung, the boy who helps old people across the road, not Kim Taehyung the kidnapper! Oh my God, oh my God, I’m—I’m—fuck!”

Okay Yoongi’s a little worried now. And it’s not so funny anymore—not when it looks like the poor fucker is about to pass out. He’s hyperventilating, his face as white as sheet and as funny as it was to Yoongi maybe ten seconds ago, he kind of needs his kidnapper to be conscious if he wants to ever get out of these fucking bonds.

His kidnapper dramatically drops to his knees, facing the wall across from him, barely paying attention to Yoongi as he howls into his hands in what Yoongi supposes is intense regret. He would be kind of fascinated if he weren’t so worried, because it looks as though he’s reenacting a K-drama all by himself. It’s pretty impressive, actually.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yoongi says soothingly. He can’t believe he’s comforting his kidnapper, out of all people.

His kidnapper—Kim Taehyung—turns to him, his eyes as huge as saucers. “I’m—I’m a good person and I’ve fucking kidnapped someone! I was going to ransom your parents! Your parents, hyung! Oh my god, what would my parents say? What would your parents think?! How could I even think about putting them through that?!”

To Yoongi’s shock, Taehyung’s eyes are shining with unshed tears. Yoongi really feels like he’s trapped in a fucking K-drama. Only in a K-drama could it be so dramatic.

“Hyung,” Taehyung whispers, clutching at Yoongi’s tape-clad body tightly. Yoongi tries not to roll his eyes at the honorifics. “What should I do?”

“Here’s a fucking idea: let me go.”

But Taehyung’s already turning away from Yoongi, pulling out his phone, talking absentmindedly to himself. “My best friend will know what to do. He’s so smart, he’s studying medicine.”

Yoongi can see over Taehyung’s shoulder as he clicks on a name. Taehyung’s own face pops up on screen as he waits tearfully for his best friend to answer his FaceTime. After five long rings, Taehyung’s friend finally picks up and the screen opens to a sleepy-looking dark haired kid.

He looks even younger than Taehyung, from what Yoongi can make out, but he looks well and truly pissed at being woken up.

Kim Taehyung,” The dark haired boy groans down the phone. “It’s fucking 7AM on a Friday morning, are you seriously for real right now?”

The boy makes a loud rustling sound, turning his head, and Yoongi can make sight of a smaller, blond haired male lying in bed behind the dark-haired boy. The blond whines, snuggling up to the brunet.

“Sorry baby,” The dark-haired boy whispers softly to the other. “Go back to sleep.”

He turns around so he’s facing the camera again, his expression agitated. “You woke up Jimin, you shit.”

Jeongguk,” Taehyung bellows, seemingly uncaring for the fact that his supposed best friend’s boyfriend is sleeping. “I might honestly go to jail because I might get arrested, but you’re gonna bail me out right? Right? You’re not gonna let me rot in jail, right? You know what they do to pretty faces like mine!”

“Jail? What the fuck have you done this time, Kim Taehyung?!”

“I’ve done something really, really illegal. And I actually might go to jail, I’m not fucking kidding. And real-life jail, Jeongguk! Not fake-jail!”

The dark haired kid’s eyes widen and he reaches behind him to shake the other awake. “Hyung—Jimin, Taehyung might go to jail! Not fake-jail, but real-life jail!”

Fake-jail? Real-life jail? Yoongi is seriously dealing with a bunch of six-year-olds.

The blond’s eyes open groggily, and he reaches for the phone. “Tae? You okay? Why are you going to jail?”

Jimin,” Taehyung moans. “I fucked up so bad.”

“Couldn’t have been that bad,” His friend soothes him. “What happened, Taetae?”

“I—I fucking kidnapped someone, that’s what I fucking did! I honest to God kidnapped someone and I’m going to go to jail.” Taehyung’s voice is high-pitched with hysterical panic. “Look—look, I’m not kidding! Yoongi hyung, say hello!”

Taehyung angles the camera over his shoulder towards Yoongi, and Yoongi is met with an eyeful of Taehyung’s two extremely naked friends peering in shock into the tiny camera.

“Fuck off.”

His dark haired friend snatches the phone back, his eyes wide in shock, while the blond makes a disbelieving noise. “Taehyung why the fuck did you kidnap someone?!”

“Because you suggested it, asshole!”

“Dude, I was joking.”

“Well I didn’t know that! You need to distinguish your sarcastic voice and your normal voice better, they sound exactly the same!”

“You fucking idiot, I was joking, let him go right fucking now!”

Suddenly, his blond friend’s face is taking up the entire screen, an apologetic expression gracing his features.

“Sunbae, I’m so, so sorry,” He apologises smoothly. “I apologise deeply on behalf of our friend, please don’t call the police on him. He’s deeply misguided and extremely sleep-deprived because of his major, please understand. He’s probably running on less than five hours of sleep this entire week. And that’s a lot of sleep for our Taehyungie.”

“I don’t really care at this point, I just want to go home,” Yoongi growls.

“Yes, of course!” His blond friend agrees immediately. “Taetae, let him go and say sorry and then forget this ever happened, alright?”

“Okay,” Taehyung agrees easily, throwing an uneasy glance at Yoongi over his shoulder. “I gotta go. I’ll call you guys later.”

After hanging up, Taehyung eyes Yoongi warily. “Do you promise you won’t leap out and attack me when I cut you loose?”

Yes,” Yoongi says, exasperated. “Now let me go before I really get annoyed.”

Taehyung doesn’t hesitate after that, retrieving a pair of scissors and cutting through the scotch tape. Luckily, Yoongi’s wearing a long coat that covers his skin, so it doesn’t hurt when Taehyung rips the tape away, though he does wince a little when Taehyung accidently digs his scissors into the coat, ripping a small hole in the sleeve. Yoongi and Taehyung stand in front of each other for a short second, sizing each other up awkwardly.

Taehyung’s taller than Yoongi had initially thought—Yoongi barely comes up to his ear—and even though he’s still thin like Yoongi had thought, there’s definitely some kind of definition underneath the thin shirt he’s wearing.

Not that it matters at all. Yoongi’s not checking out the fucking weirdo who kidnapped him. Nope. Not happening.

“Hyung, I’m honestly so sorry, please don’t call the police on me,” Taehyung says earnestly, grasping one of Yoongi’s hands. “I honestly don’t know what came over me, I’m not usually like this, I swear.”

“Stop calling me hyun—you know what, it doesn’t matter,” Yoongi sighs, extracting his hand from Taehyung’s vice grip with difficulty. “Just… don’t kidnap other people.”

It sounds lame, even to Yoongi.

But Taehyung’s nodding along eagerly, his expression solemn. “Oh, yes. Don’t worry, I’m never doing anything like this again. I think the stress I felt knocked about five years off my life.”

Yoongi stifles another sigh at the honorifics. “This is the fucking weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Taehyung smiles sheepishly, guiding Yoongi towards the front door. “Sorry, again. Really. Also you swear. Like a lot.”

“Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all! Just an observation. My friend Jeonggukkie, he swears so much that I—”

As much as Yoongi would love to stick around and find out what happens when his friend Jeonggukkie swears so much, he doesn’t particularly feel like chatting with someone who’d smashed a watermelon lamp over his head.

“I should probably get going now.”

Taehyung halts mid-sentence, and his expression drops for a millisecond before he’s smiling brightly again, and Yoongi can’t help the little twinge of guilt prick his heart. Maybe he shouldn’t have cut him off. It was kind of rude.

(Not that he cares what weirdoes with ugly cactuses think. Yoongi was just brought up better than that.)

“Sorry,” He says quickly. “I’m just really tired and it’s been a long, weird day for me.”

“No, that’s alright! I tend to talk a lot, anyways, so…” Taehyung trails off, swinging his arms awkwardly. He offers Yoongi a smile. “See you around?”

“Um… sure.”

And that is how Min Yoongi from Daegu, aged twenty-three, experiences his very first kidnapping, complete with watermelon shaped lamps, a rickety office chair, copious amounts of shitty tape, and a hole in his favourite winter coat.

Min Yoongi has experienced a lot of strange things in his life, but he thinks that this might really fucking take the cake.



“Jin-ah, how many times do I have to say this,” Yoongi says, exasperated. “Stop trying to parent me. I’m twenty-three, not thirteen.”

“How can I not parent you, Yoongi?” Seokjin’s worried voice comes down the line. Yoongi can hear Namjoon’s obnoxious laughter filtering through the phone, a stark contrast to his uncontrollable sobbing a week ago. “Yesterday I tried cutting up a watermelon and you nearly broke my arm trying to throw the watermelon into the bin. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you act like that before.”

Yoongi wraps his coat around him more tightly as he hurries down the street, his breath coming out in white puffs. “I just…who eats watermelons this time of year, anyways? It’s stupid.”

“My point exactly! Why do you care so much about when I eat a fucking watermelon?!”

“Watermelons are stupid and pointless, that’s why!”

“How are they stu—okay, you know what? I’m not arguing with you about a watermelon. Where are you? It’s nearly midnight.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m on my way home from the library. Group assignment. Seriously, Jin, you need to stop parenting me.”

“Namjoon has a quarter-life crisis at least once a week, Hoseok thinks everything can be solved with a dance battle, and you have weird breakdowns when I cut watermelons. Someone needs to be the responsible one!” Seokjin protests.

Yoongi laughs in spite of himself, opening his mouth to reply when a large noise startles him. He jumps into the air, cursing quietly to himself, before turning around to locate the source of sound. He can hear Seokjin’s voice through the receiver, asking him what’s wrong.

When his eyes land on the source of the sound, his eyes widen in disbelief.

“Um—Jin?” Yoongi says distractedly, standing on his tiptoes, trying to get a better look. “I’m—I’m going to have to call you back later.”

“Yoongi? What—”

But Yoongi’s already hung up, scurrying forward for a closer view, crouching behind a flimsy sapling in the fucking freezing weather, not really believing his eyes.

It’s that fucking Taehyung kid again.

But this time, bless him, he’s not alone. Instead, he’s with a vaguely familiar looking dark haired kid who’s holding up his phone and filming.

Kidnapping is one thing, but seeing the very fucking same kid, not even a week later, standing on top of a cement block, belting out ballad lyrics at the bloody top of his lungs whilst simultaneously doing some odd interpretative dance, while his friend fucking films the whole thing kind of makes Yoongi wonder if he was lucky to escape that fucking apartment with his life intact.

“What the everloving fuck,” Yoongi mutters to himself, edging closer in spite of himself to get a closer look.

It’s nearing midnight on a Sunday night—it’s a wonder no one has lodged a complaint on him or told him to shut the fuck up, at the very least.

Yoongi’s not sure what it is, but it feels like he’s been rooted in his spot, unable to move, or wrench his eyes away from Taehyung’s booty-shaking form. He watches on, incredulous, as Taehyung continues to sing passionately, dancing way too vigorously in a manner that doesn’t match up to the slow pace of the song at all.

The dark haired kid who still looks somewhat familiar, films with a seriousness that Yoongi just can’t fucking comprehend, and the entire situation is just so absurd. The dark haired boy nods seriously adjusting his position every so often so that he has a better angle.

Yoongi thinks things can’t get any fucked up; he really does.

Like, c’mon.

But since Yoongi’s life is slowly devolving into a shitty K-drama, things, of course, get more fucked up. Of course. Taehyung seems to spy something in front of him, because he stops in his tracks, halting mid-song, before letting out a delighted whoop. He bends down, scooping up two large sticks and holding them above his head triumphantly.

Taehyung then proceeds to continue his soulful ballad singing (Yoongi will admit grudgingly that he does have quite a nice voice; one that sounds a little like liquid gold and dark chocolate), whilst banging the sticks against a fucking bin, creating even more of a racket than before.

Yoongi is just coming to the conclusion that this Taehyung kid is, in fact, fucking crazy, and he was indeed lucky enough to escape that apartment when a policeman pops out of nowhere. Amazing. Fantastic. Incredible.

This Taehyung kid is a riot and Yoongi can’t help but laugh in disbelief. Seriously? A policeman? At this time of night? What the fuck. Catching sight of Taehyung’s crooning and banging, the policeman lets out a shout, telling them to halt (he actually says halt and Yoongi is in amazement. Who the fuck even says that.) 

Yoongi can’t help but snort at the look of unconcealed panic on both their faces, like they actually thought they could get away with banging against steel bins and singing at the top of their lungs on a Sunday night without any consequences.

“Shit!” Yoongi hears Taehyung yelp. “Jeongguk, shit, shit, shit, run!”

Taehyung and his friend both leap down from the cement block, sprinting away, and Yoongi actually thinks they might make it. But of course not. Of course not. One minute, Taehyung’s sprinting like motherfuckin’ Usain Bolt and Yoongi thinks that they’re actually going to get away, and the next thing he knows he’s watching Taehyung trip over his own fucking feet, faceplanting brilliantly onto the cement ground.

Without even realizing Yoongi’s stood up from his semi-crouch, like he’s actually about to run out and help Taehyung because holy shit if that didn’t look painful as fuck. He can’t even bring himself to crouch back into his uncomfortable squat—partly because it was uncomfortable as fuck—so Yoongi just stands there, his mouth gaping wide open as he watches Taehyung shriek dramatically, flailing around on the floor.

Like he’s in some mediocre K-drama, Taehyung stretches out one hand dramatically towards his friend who stands a good fifty metres away, looking torn.

“Go, my friend, go!” Taehyung cries out (dramatically. So fucking dramatically). “Save yourself! I’ll be alright!”

Yoongi stifles his laughter when his friend starts backing away, jogging backwards, an apologetic expression on his face. Taehyung looks outrageously betrayed despite his previous dramatic urges to save yourself, his mouth wide open in shock, his hand dropping to his side.

“Sorry, Tae!” His friend shouts, backing away even faster. “I’m a fucking scholarship kid, I can’t get arrested! I’ll bail you out if you actually get arrested, I promise! I’m so sorry!”

Taehyung gapes. “You’re actually fucking leaving me? Oh my God, don’t you fucking dare—oh my god, he just did it. He just fucking did it.”

 “Did you just see that? My friend literally just ran off and left me here to fend for myself. What the fuck!” Taehyung points in his friend’s direction, shouting obscenities as the policeman hauls him up to his feet.

As if just realizing the dire situation he’s been left in, Taehyung suddenly laughs nervously, backing away from the police officer, his hands raised in defense.

“Sir—hyung, can I call you hyung?” Taehyung smiles charmingly at the policeman who merely looks at him, unimpressed.


“Okay—okay I’m sorry, sir. No to hyung, then. Duly noted.” Taehyung nods, frowning like he thought he’d actually be able to successfully sweet talk his way out of this clusterfuck. He backs away, alarmed when the police officer pulls out handcuffs and his eyes widen in alarm. “Woah—woah! No need for those handcuffs, this is all just a misunderstanding, please don’t arrest me—no! No, wait!”

Yoongi sniggers slightly to himself as Taehyung gets handcuffed. “I’m going to need your details, son.”

“Details? What do you need my details for? Sir, can’t you just let me off with a warning? Please, I’m doing this for my major, I major in music! C’mon, don’t be like that, huh! We can call my professor right now if you don’t believe me!”

Yoongi can feel a strange surge of satisfaction run through him. That’s right. Justice served icy cold.

People, he thinks to himself smugly, can’t just kidnap other people and get away with it. What goes around comes around, karma’s a bitch, et cetera, et cetera.

 Yoongi feels like he’s seen enough; he nods once to himself, satisfied. If he ever feels like he’s having a bad day, he’ll just think back to this great day and be reassured that his day, cannot, in fact, be worse than Taehyung’s.

In hindsight, everything could have been avoided. Had he not been so drunk with satisfaction, so full of pettiness and just plain old mean, the higher powers probably would’ve shown Yoongi mercy.

But with Yoongi’s life playing out like a fucking K-drama, what did he expect at this point?

Stretching once to get rid of all the kinks in his body from squatting strangely, Yoongi makes to leave, throwing one last look over his shoulder to engrain the image of Taehyung being handcuffed into his mind one last time.

Their eyes meet.

Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck.

Yoongi freezes dead in his tracks as Taehyung’s eyes widen in recognition, his mouth dropping open. He struggles enthusiastically against the police officer’s grip, attempting to wave with both arms at Yoongi.

What the—ahjussi! That’s my friend!” Taehyung screeches loudly. Fucking crap on a catapult, just let Yoongi die. Throw him into a ditch and leave him to die. “Oh—Oh my god, it’s actually my friend! Yoonjae! Or—or was it Yoonbin? Ahjussi, we’re actually best friends, call him over! My dude, my bro, my pal!”

Please, Yoongi closes his eyes briefly, praying to the based gods. Please don’t call Yoongi over. Please let him leave.

But of course not.

Of course not.

The police officer’s eyes narrow in suspicion before he beckons for Yoongi to come over. Yoongi contemplates making a run for it—he can probably make it if he runs fast enough. Maybe it’s because Yoongi’s tired and therefore his sense of rationality has gone to shits. Or maybe it’s because a tiny part of Yoongi wants to know just how Taehyung plans on getting out of this fucking mess. If he can.

Seriously questioning every choice he’s made in his life, Yoongi finds himself walking towards the handcuffed idiot.

Standing in front of Taehyung, he scoffs a little at the eager, excited expression on Taehyung’s face, like he actually thinks Yoongi is going to make up bullshit about knowing him. Honestly, he should be counting his lucky stars that he’s not outing Taehyung for the law-breaking, kidnapping hooligan he fucking is.

“So,” The police officer starts, looking at Yoongi skeptically. “You know this kid?”

Yoongi’s going to say no. He really is. He even got his name wrong—Yoonjae? Seriously? That’s not even fucking close—and he’s going to walk away coolly and leave this idiot to fend for himself. Because he has to learn the hard way that life can’t be solved by cracking watermelon lamps over people’s heads and demanding ransoms.

Yoongi’s going to say no, and Taehyung must’ve realized this, because his face drops from a goofy, excited smile to a pathetically sad face, his lips twisted down like those Greek tragedy masks.

Yoongi’s going to say no, but Taehyung looks like a kicked puppy—so sad and little and pathetic, even though Yoongi knows for sure that Taehyung is a whole lot taller than him.

Goddamn it.

Goddamn it all to fucking hell.

“Yes,” Yoongi sighs. God-fucking-damn. “I know him. We—we were in the same class.”

Taehyung’s face breaks into a huge grin, his eyes sparkling in the darkness with something Yoongi can’t quite pinpoint. Yoongi’s mouth feels dry. It’s cause he’s nervous. Who wouldn’t be? Lying to the police. Jesus, the things he’s doing for this kid. Honestly.

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees fervently. “Tell him, Yoojung.”

Yoongi glares at Taehyung, who shrinks back a little, smiling sheepishly. “He’s a good kid, sir. A little weird”—he ignores Taehyung’s protests—“but a good kid. He’s always been a model student, so if he said he was doing this for a project, he’s telling the truth.”

 When the police officer looks skeptical, Taehyung turns his puppy dog eyes onto him, pouting cutely. “Sir, I’m so, so sorry. Please let me go, my parents will be so ashamed of me if I have to go down to the police office. Think of my parents, sir! Weren’t you ever a kid, sir? Can’t you show me a little mercy? I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

Yoongi suspects that the little fucker might actually be enjoying himself, and is really fucking milking it for all that it’s worth. 

The power of puppy eyes, Yoongi thinks dryly to himself as he watches the police officer visibly melt and fall prey to Taehyung’s aegyo. Even the strongest will fall.

Yoongi restrains himself from snorting when the officer sighs, unlocking the handcuffs. Taehyung rubs his wrists, smiling brightly at the police officer.

“Son, I’m letting you off with a warning. If I ever catch you causing a scene or a racket, I’m going to take you straight to the station, is that understood?”

Taehyung nods solemnly. “Yes sir, I appreciate this so much. Thank you so much, have a great night!”

After Taehyung’s waved the police officer off (literally stood there for a fucking minute waving enthusiastically at the police officer’s retreating form), he turns to face Yoongi, a bright smile on his face.

“So. That went pretty well, didn’t it?” 





And that’s how Yoongi finds himself sitting at the campus diner at 1.28AM in the morning, with the fucking weird ass kid who tried to kidnap him, watching in disbelief as he slurps loudly on a strawberry milkshake. The milkshake, by the way, that Yoongi fucking paid for. 

After Taehyung’s taken a long, satisfying slurp, he pushes the milkshake a little to the side, resting on his elbows and leaning forward, his lips quirking up into a smile.

“So. Yoo—”



“Yoongi. My name is Yoongi. Not Yoonjae, not Yoonjin, Yoongi.”

Taehyung shoots him a strange look. “You’re so odd, Yoongi hyung.”

“Wha—I’m weird? You’re fucking weird!”

“Well I’d rather be weird and memorable than boring and forgettable,” Taehyung says, shrugging cheerfully.

Yoongi opens and closes his mouth. Can’t argue with that logic.

Yoongi clears his throat awkwardly. “Were you really doing that for your major?” He asks gruffly.

Taehyung perks up at that. “Yeah! I actually major in music. This semester we’re learning about music production, so we have to produce a few of our own songs.”

“Why were you banging around on the bins and singing for?”

“Well… I’ve been trying out new styles to see what fits me best. I’ve heard that a lot of people actually use sounds that they hear out and about in their songs, so I’ve been trying to figure out what kinds of sounds I should use. It’s a whole new world to me! So far, I’ve tried to record myself gurgling underwater, the sound of glass breaking, and I tried banging on bins as a replacement for drums, but I still think—sorry, I’m boring you, aren’t I?” Taehyung breaks off mid-sentence, wincing. “People tell me I tend to ramble too much.”

Actually, Yoongi doesn’t mind. He usually doesn’t like it when people talk for too long—seriously, it’s just asking for a headache—but Taehyung talks with such an excitement and passion, it’s hard to get annoyed. Which is weird because Yoongi can get annoyed at anything. It’s kind of a gift.

“No, I don’t mind,” Yoongi says, but Taehyung’s already moved on to another subject.

“I’m sorry for kidnapping you last week,” Taehyung says sincerely. “Desperate times call for desperate measures!”

Taehyung’s chortling away but Yoongi doesn’t really find it that funny (his head is still fucking throbbing).

“It’s not that funny.”

“C’mon, it kinda was! You should’ve seen the look on your face, it was hilarious. I wish I had taken a photo of it.”

I looked hilarious? You were the one about to shit their fucking pants! I’ve never seen anyone’s facial expression drop that fast my entire life.”

“I wasn’t scared! I was just”—Taehyung waves his hand around, searching for the right word—“nervous.”

“You were so scared, stop lying to yourself.”

“Fine, I was scared. But who wouldn’t be scared? You were glaring at me like you wanted to kill my firstborn child.”

“Wouldn’t you glare at someone who fucking smashed a watermelon-shaped lamp over your head, taped you down to a chair and then ripped a hole into your favourite winter coat?”

“Well actually, I didn’t technically smash the lamp over your head because it’s still intact and as for tape I couldn’t find any rope, even though I did watch several YouTube tutorials on how to do a proper sailor’s knot.”

Yoongi glares at Taehyung, before reaching for his bag and standing up. “Okay, well I’m gonna go then.”

Taehyung makes a noise like a kicked puppy and reaches out for Yoongi, tugging him back down into his seat. “Ah, hyungnim! Don’t be like that, c’mon I’m sorry, don’t go!”

“Fine. But don’t call me hyung anymore. It’s giving me weird flashbacks I’d rather not have.” Yoongi sits back down warily, eyeing Taehyung with trepidation. “Just call me Yoongi.”

“But that’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Why’s that weird?”

“Because… you’re my hyung.”

“Then as your hyung, you should listen to what I say to you, and I’m telling you to call me Yoongi.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to speak, before snapping it shut in resignation. “Can’t argue with that logic. Okay. Yoongi.”

Taehyung fiddles with his straw for a moment before he sets his drink aside and looks up at Yoongi, his eyes wide and sincere. “Anyways. I’m so glad I bumped into you again. Don’t you think that it’s fate?”

Yoongi makes a face. “No. I don’t believe in fate and that kind of bullshit.”

“Oh come on hy—Yoongi! Out of all the places you could’ve been, you just happened to be passing by where I just so happened to be filming, and you just happened to stay while I just happened to get arrested.”

“It was a coincidence.”

“In the wise words of Einstein, the ‘stars don’t lie’,” Taehyung says smugly across the table, shrugging. “Sorry, Yoongi, but we’re obviously just meant to be friends. I don’t make this shit up.”

“Einstein did not fucking say that.”

“He’s said a lot of smart things during his life, I’m sure he said something along those lines at one point. Besides, you’re missing my point—and my point being, obviously, the stars want me to make it up to you. It’s just fate. You can’t fight these things.”

“Make it up to me?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you didn’t call the police on me and then you saved me from the police. It’s the least I can do; don’t you think? I’ll buy you dinner!”

“Aren’t you broke? That’s why you fucking kidnapped me, isn’t it?” Yoongi deadpans.

“Oh! I’m not actually broke. My boss forgot to pay me, that was all. But he’s already paid me!” Taehyung says brightly before dropping his voice to a raspy whisper and winking greasily at Yoongi, beckoning for him to come closer. “Just call me Daddy Warbucks.”

Yoongi recoils, jerking back like he’s been burnt. Who the fuck even says shit like that. “That’s fucked up, man.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Are you going to say no to free food, though?”

Yoongi thinks about this for a second. Taehyung does have a valid point there. Even Yoongi isn’t below free food. “True.”

“Give me your Katalk details! I’ll text you soon.”

Yoongi hands Taehyung his phone and watches as Taehyung types something rapidly into the search bar, before clicking on his name when it pops up. “Cool. Well, I gotta jet. Jeongguk’s probably wondering whether I’m rotting away in jail right now. I’ll see you soon, Yoongi! Ciao!”

And for the second time in two weeks, Min Yoongi is left wondering what the fuck is going on. 


Yoongi represses the urge to sigh for what feels like the umpteenth time, his pen tapping against his notepad in irritation as he stares at the algorithm on his page with pure, unadulterated hatred.

He’s a fucking idiot for picking mathematical economics, he supposes. He’s not even good at math.

Yoongi’s in the midst of wondering if he can ask someone in his class give him the answers when his phone vibrates, startling him.



where u at!!!!!

I’m at the library

what floor u on homie g

Wait why do you want to know




What the hell does that even mean


it means you’ll regret it if u dnt tell me kekeke



5th floor

The little one next to Taehyung’s name disappears signaling that he’s read it but doesn’t reply after that, leaving Yoongi wondering what the hell that was about. But the algorithms are calling his name, and alas, Yoongi doesn’t really have time to wonder why Taehyung is asking him random questions.

Taehyung’s taken to bombarding Yoongi’s Kakaotalk at a time when no one—Yoongi repeats, no one—should be awake. From random song recommendations to pictures of trees (look how pretty this tree looks!!!!!!!!!! im swooning!!! over a tree haha can u believe!!), Yoongi feels as though he’s now somewhat accustomed to Taehyung’s complete disregard of Yoongi’s sleeping schedule and, as well as his atrocious grammar.

However, these goddamn algorithms aren’t going to solve themselves, so Yoongi tosses his phone aside, grits his teeth, clicks his pen a few more times out of irritation, and tries to get the questions done (preferably before the sun starts to rise).

Yoongi’s not expecting anything—he’s really not. He’s just pegged Taehyung’s seemingly random question to be one out of a long, long list of random questions he’s going to be asked since Taehyung’s deemed that they’re buddies (Taehyung’s words, not Yoongi’s). So it’s kind of saying something when he gets the fright of his life approximately thirty-seven minutes later when he’s glaring down at his paper in frustration one minute, and then looking up straight into Taehyung’s smiling face pushed way too close to Yoongi’s own face for comfort.

Yoongi jerks back, stifling the shout climbing up his throat—because he’s in a fucking library and has something called decency, unlike assholes (read: Hoseok and Namjoon) who think the library is a place of socializing—hand flying up to press dramatically against his chest. He can feel his heart galloping around in his chest in like fucking horse and he’s twenty-three years way too fucking old for this shit. Taehyung seems to have developed the habit of popping up (quite literally) to Yoongi in the most inconvenient of times. Maybe it’s a gift he has.

“What the hell,” Yoongi hisses once his heartbeat has slowed down considerably. “You gave me a goddamn heart-attack.”

Taehyung merely grins as he plops himself down on a spare chair, shoving Yoongi’s carefully alphabetically organized papers to the side before dumping two huge plastic bags onto the table.

“I would say sorry,” Taehyung says, reaching into the bags and pulling out plastic containers stuffed to the brim with food. “But I’m not. And my parents didn’t raise a liar, so.”

Yoongi frowns, surprise coloring his features. He’s not too sure why Taehyung’s suddenly bringing food, but then again, it’s Taehyung. But still.

Yoongi leans back on his chair. “What’s all this?”

“What does it look like? I’m fulfilling my promise. I’ve brought you dinner, because God knows you could use it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat. How can I live, knowing that my friend is withering away like some sad, unwatered flower?”

Yoongi ignores the bullshit of him being some unwatered flower because, well, it’s bullshit. “That’s because the two times we met you were either trying to kidnap me or sweet-talk your way out of being arrested.”

Taehyung pauses, frowning for a second. “Oh shit. Yeah, I forgot about that.”

 “How can you forget about kidnapping someone?”

“In the wise words of Ghandi, ‘live for the future, not the past’.”

“Stop making up quotes! You’re turning historical figures into trashy teen romance novels.”

“I’m offended. How dare you.”

Someone has to set you straight.”

“Well you can insult me as you eat. The food’s getting cold,” Taehyung says, passing Yoongi a pair of chopsticks.

Yoongi  stops dissing Taehyung to appraise the food. From fried chicken to jjajjangmyeon to jjigae, it looks as though Taehyung’s went and bought everything Yoongi might possibly like. Yoongi doesn’t really think much about food—especially when he’s studying, but suddenly he’s ravenous and he digs into the food like he’s been starved.

He’s gotten two mouthfuls of chicken and some noodles in when he remembers his manners.

“Thanks Tae,” He says through a mouthful of food.

Taehyung stabs a piece of chicken with his chopstick. “That’s alright. What are you working on?”

“Equations and shit.” Yoongi swallows his food, taking a sip of the Milkis Taehyung’s produced from the plastic bag that reminds Yoongi of Doraemon’s endless pocket. Seriously. How does he keep producing food like this. “They’re dry-pounding my ass.”

“Equations? Do you study math?”

“Close,” Yoongi says, picking up his chopsticks again. “Mathematical economics.”

Taehyung winces. “Ooh. Sounds rough.”

“Yeah, I’d much rather be doing music. I envy you.”

“Oh?” Taehyung swirls the jjajjangmyeon around and around on his chopsticks. “You like music?”

“Yeah, I—I produce my own music in my spare time.” Yoongi’s not too sure why he’s telling Taehyung this. It’s a private part of his life that even Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin had unintentionally found out about only recently, so he’s not too sure why he’s blurting this out to a near stranger.

Maybe it’s because the black paste has smeared itself all around Taehyung’s mouth and he just looks so harmless slurping away at his noodles. Or maybe it’s because Yoongi’s frazzled, burnt-out brain is just blurting out random shit at this point, and his brain to mouth filter has just gone to shits.

But for what it’s worth, Taehyung looks genuinely interested, perking up instantly and looking at Yoongi with bright eyes. “What? That’s so cool, what the hell! What kind of music do you produce?”

“Oh, like a bit of this, a bit of that,” Yoongi waves his chicken around vaguely. “Mostly rap.”

“Rap?” Taehyung breathes, leaning towards Yoongi on his elbows. “Will you show me sometime? I would love to hear your work.”

Yoongi flushes, rubbing a hand across the back of neck awkwardly. “I—I mean, I guess, if you want. Like it’s really lowkey. Not that big of a deal.”

Taehyung smiles at that, returning to his noodles. “Still. I’m a firm believer that all music should be appreciated. I mean, the artist has gone into the effort of finding a beat, and then a melody, and then writing lyrics on top of that. Who knows how many minutes, hours, days, weeks, they’ve spent on that one piece. The least someone could do is listen to it.”

Yoongi’s a little stumped by the sincerity and seriousness of Taehyung’s words. He blinks.

“Anyways,” Taehyung continues, like he hasn’t just thrown Yoongi off. “How come you’re doing mathematical economics?”

“Uh—parents. My parents wanted me to do something… practical,” Yoongi sighs.

Taehyung frowns. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. That sucks.”

“Nah it’s alright. They made a deal with me—if I can finish my degree and get a proper job, then I can come back and do music here part-time.”

“Oh swag!”

And just like that, the moment is broken.

“Did you just seriously say ‘swag’.”

Taehyung shrugs happily. “I thought it fitted the moment well.”

Yoongi doesn’t even bother answering, focusing on the jjigae. A little voice in the back of his head tells him that eating in the library is probably worse than talking in the library—if the glares he’s receiving from the neighboring table are any indication of that—but he hasn’t been kicked out yet, so he supposes it can’t be that bad. Hoseok’s been kicked out a grand total of seven times just for talking, so it’s probably better that he’s eating and not talking (too much).

Taehyung leans back on his chair having finished his own bowl of food, patting his stomach contently. He frowns for a second and just as Yoongi is about to ask him if anything’s wrong he lets out a loud burp, earning him a spectacularly loud shh! from the neighboring table, accompanied with a lethal glare. Taehyung looks far too relaxed for someone in a library smiling sleepily at Yoongi, before his eyes wander down to the weathered leather watch on his wrist.

Taehyung’s eyes widen and he jumps up from his seat so violently it knocks backwards and he lets out a panicked shout that has everyone on the entire floor glaring at him venomously. Yoongi sinks a little in his seat.

“Shit—oh my g—fuck! I’m gonna be la—I gotta jet—shit!” 

“What?! Where are going?” Yoongi whisper-shouts after Taehyung, who’s already started to make his way towards the elevator.

“Zumba class! I completely forgot Jimin wanted to do Zumba with me! I’ll call you, Yoongles! Don’t be a stranger!” Taehyung calls back, stepping into the elevator, pressing furiously on what Yoongi assumes is the close button.


What the fuck.



Yoongi’s lying on the sofa, flicking aimlessly through the channels on the television when Hoseok approaches him with an expression that means he wants Yoongi to do something. Which means Yoongi will have to physically get up from the sofa. Which automatically means he isn’t doing it.

“Hey. Let’s go get bubble tea.”


“C’mon! I even made you coffee this morning, how can you say no to me?”

“Easy—you’re annoying and you want me to get up. I haven’t had a day where I can do absolutely nothing in like, a month. There’s no way I’m getting up from this couch.”

Hoseok pouts, plopping down on the sofa and turning on the puppy-eyes. “Please?”

“No. Now go away before I pinch you. I’m small, but deadly.”

Hoseok laughs like Yoongi’s words hold no real threat to him, eyes curving up into crescents, dodging Yoongi’s weak attempts at pinching. “C’mon, my treat.”

That makes Yoongi pause in his pinching conquest. Free bubble tea? Yoongi’s not a cheap-ass nor is he particularly broke, but even he can’t resist the alluring charm of free bubble tea. He supposes that thirty minutes there and back won’t hurt anybody. Especially if free bubble tea is thrown in.

He heaves a huge sigh, before stretching his arms towards Hoseok, who laughs some more, pulling him up from the sofa. “Fine. But as soon as we get our bubble tea we’re coming straight back here.”





Luckily, there’s a Chatime that’s close enough to Yoongi and Hoseok’s shared apartment that Yoongi doesn’t complain too much on the way there. He opens the door, the bell jangling welcomingly as he steps into the warm shop. It’s completely empty, save for the two employees behind the counter.

Yoongi glances over at the two employees, letting his eyes wander away when his mind catches up to what he’s just seen. Doing a double take, Yoongi stops dead in his tracks, letting out a small noise of surprise. Hoseok bumps into Yoongi, but Yoongi doesn’t even seem to realize, his eyes fixated on the two employees. Well, one more than the other.

Lo and fucking behold, Taehyung’s standing behind the counter—looking goddamn fucking adorable in a printed purple uniform that should look hideous on anyone—balancing an empty cup on his nose with surprising agility while the same fucking kid who had been filming Taehyung the night he’d almost been arrested (Jeonghan? Or was it Jeongguk? Jeong-something, Yoongi’s sure of that) is filming Taehyung’s valiant attempts yet again, laughing hysterically.

Taehyung?” Yoongi can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

Both Taehyung and Jeong-dude turn at the sound of Yoongi’s voice. Yoongi takes a small step back—bumping into Hoseok once again (who makes his displeasure known by pinching Yoongi’s arm, but Yoongi doesn’t really notice—or care—at this point)—when Jeong-dude steps towards Yoongi, because he has the body of a fucking weight-lifter, and despite his cute, non-intimidating face, he kind of looks like he could bench press fifty Yoongi’s without breaking a sweat.

“Yoongi!” Taehyung exclaims at the same time Jeong-dude says, “hey, it’s that guy you tried to kidnap!”

 “Tried to kidnap?” Hoseok repeats. “Am I missing something here?”

Taehyung’s made his way around the counter and has walked up to Hoseok, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “I’m Taehyung!”

“Hoseok,” Hoseok replies, smiling despite his confusion. What a trooper. Yoongi, on the other hand, can feel his expression darkening. Once Hoseok knows, that means by default Namjoon and Seokjin will know, which means Yoongi’s life is basically over. “Kidnapping?”

“Oh yeah. I tried to kidnap Yoongi,” Taehyung grins. “I was getting desperate because my boss missed payday and my bank can’t keep up with my lavish lifestyle, so I had to resort to drastic measures.”

“Oh my god,” Hoseok chokes.

“Don’t worry!” Taehyung reassures Hoseok like he was worrying in the first place. “We’re all Gucci, we’re practically joined at the hip, right Yoongi?”


“See? Best friends.”

Hoseok’s laughing loudly now—the one that sounds somewhat like a fire alarm and Yoongi knows he’s in deep shit. Namjoon and Seokjin are definitely going to know within the hour.

“Wait ‘til Jin hyung and Namjoon hear about this.”

Yep. Certified death.

“Can we get our bubble tea now?” Yoongi waves his hand impatiently, trying to lessen the amount of time Hoseok has to extract more information he can use to blackmail the fuck out of Yoongi. “We’re running on a strict schedule.”

“Oh, sure! Jeongguk!” Taehyung calls to Jeong-dude—Jeongguk—who’s dutifully waiting for them behind the counter. “Can you help them out? This is Jeongguk, by the way! He’s my best friend.”

Jeongguk grins at Yoongi. “Hi hyung—can I call you hyung? I feel like we’re already friends. I mean, you saw me half-naked, and I saw you taped to a chair.”

Yoongi can feel himself aging ten years. All this trouble for bubble tea. “No.”

“Ooh, I like him already Tae,” Jeongguk says to Taehyung, who’s made his way back behind the counter. Taehyung grins.

“See? I told you he was a keeper.”

Yoongi splutters indignantly.

“So. What can I get you today?”

Yoongi’s still incoherently sputtering to himself, so Hoseok nudges him out of the way and rattles off their orders to Jeongguk, who dutifully keys it into the cashier, before accepting their money and bustling off to make their orders.

“Taehyung, aren’t you going to help Jeongguk?” Yoongi asks once he’s managed to get a hold of himself—which was actually a lot harder than he thought. He’s still in disbelief.

“Oh, Taehyung’s fucking useless. Didn’t even show up to training,” Jeongguk says, measuring out the syrup expertly. “The only reason why his ass is still hired is because our boss has a soft spot for him.”

“Hey, I resent that! I’ll have you know that I’m literally an expert at pouring shots now because of Chatime.”

Jeongguk snorts. “Alright. Speaking of shots, you’re coming to Jimin’s party on Friday, right?”

“Duh. Is that even a question.”

Hoseok perks up. “Party?”

“Yeah—hey, you guys should totally come! My boyfriend’s hosting the party. He’s known for having the best parties ever,” Jeongguk says, preening.

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees fervently. “Jimin’s parties are no joke.”

“Wait—wait, is this by any chance Park Jimin? Does he study biology?” Hoseok looks way too excited now and Yoongi can see the wheels in his head turning. Oh god. Yoongi tries to backtrack.

“Actually, we’re not free this Fri—”

“Yeah, how do you know him?” Jeongguk looks suspicious.

“We used to be in the same dance club! His parties are insane,” Hoseok gushes. “Once I woke up on the other side of campus dressed in a nappy and a bib.”

Taehyung laughs at that. “Sounds like one of Jimin’s parties.”

“You know, actually, Jimin always talked about his boyfriend, but I had no idea it was you,” Hoseok says. “Count me in, I love Jimin’s parties.”

“Yoongi?” Taehyung turns to Yoongi, holding out his finished drink for him. “What about you? You’re going to come, right?”

“Nup. My wild party days are over,” Yoongi says.

But then Taehyung pouts, his eyebrows pulling together and looking so distinctly like a kicked puppy Yoongi wants to cry. He can do this. He can resist. His mama didn’t raise a little bitch.


“Nup. Nope. Zero chance. Nada. Zilch. Not happening.”




 “I seriously can’t believe I got talked into going,” Yoongi grumbles, twisting around to check out his back in the reflection.

“Oh please,” Hoseok says from his position on Yoongi’s bed. “Don’t act like you didn’t melt three seconds into your tough guy façade.”

Yoongi ignores his comment. “How does this look? Should I tuck it in or leave it out?”

“You know, I’ve never seen you give so many shits about your appearance. Is it because a certain someone is going to be there?”

Hoseok sounds so smug Yoongi wants to smack him. He didn’t even answer his question. He leaves it untucked.

“No, I just don’t want to look like a slob. Is there a problem with that?”

“Nope. None at all,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in defeat. “Gosh, so touchy.”

“I will kick your ass.”

“On that happy note, let’s go! Time to get fucking hammered.”

Well, at least they agree on one thing.





By the time Yoongi and Hoseok arrive at the apartment, the party is already well and truly in full swing.

The party has extended all the way to the hallway, with people drunkenly swaying to the obnoxious EDM music playing loudly, to the point where it’s hard to see where one person ends and another starts. Edging past a couple kissing, Yoongi and Hoseok walk in through the open front door.

Inside the apartment, it’s packed to the brim and Yoongi can barely take a step forward without getting jostled. There are disco lights swiveling around crazily, momentarily blinding Yoongi as he makes his way through the crowded apartment. On top of the dining table, three girls are dancing in bikinis, each clutching a bottle of tequila and pouring some of the liquid into the waiting people’s mouths below. Yoongi’s also pretty sure there’s a guy wearing nothing but his underwear and a cowboy hat dancing crazily next to another guy wearing a rainbow colored wig.

“Hey!” Hoseok shouts into Yoongi’s ear. “Look, it’s Taehyung.”

Yoongi turns to the direction Hoseok’s pointing at, catching sight of Taehyung who’s making his way through the crowd and kind of just. Freezes.

Yoongi reckon he fulfils the three C’s: cool, calm, and collected. There isn’t really much that gets to Yoongi, nor is he particularly wowed by anything. He’s very much a neutral party.

So there’s a lot to say about the fact that he feels like his heart is about to burst forth from his chest and flop around on the floor (and probably get trampled on), with his mouth drying up in less than two seconds.

And there’s probably also a lot to say about the fact that he feels like he’s in a K-drama, because everything seems to narrow down to Taehyung, and he can only vaguely hear Hoseok asking him if everything’s alright when, well, it’s not really. Everything is most definitely not alright.

Because someone, god knows who, decided to let Taehyung out looking like a fucking god in the most goddamn tightest leather pants in the world—there is a high possibility that they may, in fact, be spray painted on—as well as the lowest v-neck shirt. His eyes are smudged around the edges with kohl, his lips an alluring red and holy shit Yoongi is shook right down to his very core. Yoongi watches, offended, as the shirt slides to the side to reveal Taehyung’s sharp collarbones.

Suddenly, it’s too hot. Like, a sauna in hell kind of hot and Yoongi fans himself, turning to Hoseok with a nervous chuckle.

“Did someone turn on the heating or something,” Yoongi mumbles, laughing awkwardly. “It’s getting hot in here, am I right?” 

Hoseok’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Are you feeling okay? It’s not that hot.”

Yoongi doesn’t really pay any heed to Hoseok. Taehyung’s nearly reached the pair and Yoongi’s Not Ready. He needs at least another week and three shots before he’s ready to face Taehyung and his spray painted pants. “I need a drink. Or seven. And someone really needs to lay off the goddamn heating.”

“I think that’s just you being thir—”

“Yoongi! Hoseok hyung!” Taehyung calls over the loud music once he reaches them. Holy shit. Has his voice always been so low? Yoongi swears that just yesterday Taehyung’s voice still hadn’t cracked. “You made it!”

“I made it,” Yoongi says unnecessarily.

“C’mon, lets get you a drink.”

Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s hand and pulls him through the crowd, and Yoongi is suddenly painfully aware of the fact that his hand is probably clammy and sweaty and the fact that Taehyung’s hand is clamped down over it isn’t making things better. At all.

He tries to wiggle his hand subtly out of Taehyung’s grip, but Taehyung looks over his shoulder and shoots Yoongi a grin like nothing’s wrong, tightening his grip on Yoongi’s hand and making it basically impossible for any further attempts at escaping his grip.

They eventually make it to the small kitchen and Yoongi thanks the gods for small mercies when Taehyung finally lets go of his hand. The kitchen, luckily, isn’t crowded at all, with two people standing near the island counter, talking and giggling with their heads together.

They look up when Taehyung enters and Yoongi recognizes Jeongguk, who lets out an excited shout, his hand coming up in a wave. The other, a smaller, blonde haired male with cute smiling eyes, looks curiously towards Yoongi, his lips curving up into a welcoming smile. He catches sight of Hoseok and his eyes light up in recognition as he lets out a surprised noise, immediately making his way over to Hoseok.

“Hyung!” He says in a lilting voice. “You made it!”

The blonde hugs Hoseok tightly who laughs, patting his back fondly. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss your parties for the world, Jiminie.”

Ah. Jiminie. The famous boyfriend.

Jimin diverts his attention to Yoongi, smiling widely—if not a little smugly. Why that is, Yoongi isn’t too sure.

“Yoongi hyung! I’m Jimin. I’ve heard a lot about you from Taehyungie.” Jimin giggles when Taehyung punches his arm. “I’m glad I could finally meet you! Thank you for not calling the police on Taehyung.”

“Uh, nice to meet you, too. And you’re—you’re welcome, I guess?”

“Hyung, you look good,” Jeongguk says, coming up behind Jimin and resting his head on Jimin’s shoulder. “Tae, tell him he looks good.”

Taehyung flushes. “You—you look good, Yoongi. I like your shirt.”

“Thanks. You look good, too.”

More like drop-dead fucking gorgeous, but Yoongi’s not about to say that.

Yoongi can see Jeongguk whispering something into Jimin’s ear, who giggles. Taehyung, who seems to have overhead, blushes furiously and flicks Jeongguk on the nose.

“Hey, asshole. You wanna go?”

“Fuck yeah,” Jeongguk says, stepping away from Jimin to puff his chest out. “I’ll take you out with a hand tied behind my back.”

“Okay boys, time to break it up,” Jimin laughs, pushing the two apart from where they’re standing nose-to-nose, before turning around and picking up two shot glasses filled to the brim with an ominous looking blue-black liquid. “Anyways, Yoongi hyung! This is a welcoming gift from yours truly. Think of it as an… initiation gift.”

“Initiation gift?” Yoongi wrinkles his nose. “Initiation for what?”

“My parties, of course! Anyone who’s been to my parties has had at least one of these in their life. It’s called the Jimin Shot and it’s scientifically proven to get you absolutely fucked. Trust me, I’m a science major,” Jimin winks.

“I’m pretty good at handling my alcohol though,” Yoongi says skeptically.

“No, oh my god Yoongi, that drink is literally certified death,” Hoseok says, shuddering. “I swear that shit is half poison.”

Jimin, Jeongguk, and Taehyung are all wearing identical shit-eating grins as Jimin holds out the shot invitingly, and in all honesty, it’s a little intimidating. But Taehyung is looking at him so expectantly, with a fucking gorgeous grin that lights up his entire face and how can he, a weak mortal, say no to that? How can Min Yoongi resist a smile that is probably carved by angels? The answer: he doesn’t.

Maybe Yoongi wants to prove himself to Taehyung. Maybe he wants to impress him a little. And maybe it’s the adrenaline rushing through his veins that makes him do this. Yoongi’s not sure the sane part of his mind decided this is a good idea, but some part of him thought it is. Maybe it’s a #TBT to the good old glory days of Party Animal Min Yoongi.

That Yoongi takes one look at Taehyung’s excited, expectant expression, blurts out a, “I can drink two easy”, grabs both shot glasses from Jimin’s waiting hands and downs them in quick succession, one after the after.

Hoseok was right, though. There is probably a decidedly illegal substance in the shots because there is no way that the mix was just pure alcohol.

There’s a shocked silence. Yoongi sways unsteadily on his feet for a second and four pairs of hands shoot out to steady him, before he regains his balance and slams the shot glasses onto the counter with a bit more force than necessary.

“Like I said,” Yoongi says, repressing a burp. “Easy.”

Jimin hoots, slapping him on the back, while Jeongguk makes a surprised noise. Hoseok shakes his head in disbelief, muttering an unbelievable.

“Oh my god, you are definitely my kind of friend,” Jimin says, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You, hyung, are welcome any time at this apartment.”

Taehyung stares at him with an unreadable look in his eyes, his lips twitching in amusement. “You are something else, Min Yoongi.”

Maybe it’s the fuzziness in his brain, or maybe it’s the liquid confidence. But there’s something in that drink that makes Yoongi grab Taehyung’s hand and pull him towards the door.

“Let’s dance.”





Somehow they find themselves right in the middle of the throng of sweaty people, swaying in time to the heavy beat. Yoongi’s never been bad at dancing, per say. With all those weekends spent grinding up against a stranger, he feels like he knows how to move his hips just right to get the other person flustered.

Yoongi’s not bad at dancing but Taehyung is on another level. It’s like a switch has been flipped—from a cute, bumbling Taehyung to a Taehyung that looks at Yoongi with a hungry, seductive light in his eyes. Taehyung has a tight grip on Yoongi’s waist, almost guiding him as they grind against each other.

Yoongi turns around, bringing his arms up and looping them around Taehyung’s neck, bringing his face close to Taehyung’s, close enough so they’re breathing the same air.

“You’re—you’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” Yoongi breathes. He can feel Taehyung all around him to the point where it’s almost overwhelming, but it feels right, so fucking right.

Taehyung laughs softly. “You’re so drunk, hyung.”

“I’m sober enough to know what I’m doing when I do this,” Yoongi says, eyes blazing, before he yanks Taehyung down and crashes his lips against his.

Maybe it’s the impact of the Jimin Shot, but Yoongi feels like he’s on top of the world. Maybe Yoongi will regret it in the morning. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But right now, with liquid gold in his veins and stars in his eyes, nothing feels more right than this.