Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tuesday.

Yoongi stares up at the ceiling in his bedroom, smooth white paint that’s a little damp in one spot. A water droplet builds up slowly, wobbling slightly before it drips onto the wood besides his foot.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He stares for a moment longer, arms folded tightly across his chest, lips pressed in a frown. Another droplet falls and the growing puddle leaks onto his sock.

“Namjoon!”

Footsteps thud against the stairs quietly, then his door creaks open.

“Yeah?” Namjoon comes to stand next to him. He notices Yoongi staring and looks up. “Oh, fuck me.”

“Yeah.”

They both stare at it, the ceiling, the puddle on the floor, Yoongi’s wet sock. Yoongi could start crying. He doesn’t.

“I’ll call a builder,” Namjoon says eventually.

“Will they come in my room?”

“Probably. They need to know what the problem is.”

Yoongi frowns. The thought of someone in his bedroom makes his skin crawl. The thought of interacting with someone makes his skin crawl. His bedroom is supposed to be his safe place.

“Can I not be here when they come?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

The ceiling drips again, two drops only a second apart. It’s getting worse already.

Yoongi sighs, swings his bedroom door back open. “I’ll get a bucket.”

“I’ll find a builder,” Namjoon says, following him out the room.

———

Friday.

“Right,” Namjoon leans against his door frame, fully dressed. Yoongi’s still in bed, boxers and t-shirt on, phone in his hand. “I’ve been called in at work, but—”

“You’re leaving?” He sits up.

He can’t leave. The builders are starting their work today. It’s a roof problem apparently, Namjoon said they went up to the attic and found the same wet patch on the ceiling. It makes sense, they just had three days of monsoons last week. They’re just lucky the bad weather ended, can’t make it worse.

“ But ,” Namjoon says again, “they don’t need to come in again, so don’t worry. They’re just working on the outside of the house. You won’t even see them.”

Yoongi frowns.

“He said they’ll be here any time from ten to twelve, so. Don’t worry.”

He’s not worried. Yoongi’s not scared of people. He just doesn’t like talking to strangers.

“He’s a nice guy, I swear. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Yoongi says, “go, I’ll be fine.”

Namjoon smiles, “call me if you need me.” He closes the door behind him and Yoongi’s stomach clenches with dread.

He’s not scared of people. They just make him unbearably uncomfortable.

———

The door knocks an hour after Namjoon leaves. Yoongi glances up from his laptop, raises an eyebrow. He’s not expecting anyone, the builder doesn’t need to come in. Namjoon promised him. He glares at the door.

It knocks again a few seconds later. His stomach clenches with anxiety, but he gets up, grabs his keys to unlock it.

He opens it slightly and peers out from a tiny gap. There’s a man stood there; tall, black hair, pretty smile. His clothes are scruffy, covered in plaster and paint.

The fucking builders.

The man raises an eyebrow when Yoongi doesn’t open the door more, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “Hey, um. Would you mind moving your car into the garage?” He says, sweet voice.

Yoongi blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Your car,” he nods towards the car in the driveway, “can you move it?”

“Why?”

He looks surprised at that, cheeks blush a little. “We uh, we need to park there. We have heavy stuff to carry and it’s just easier if we park here instead of down the street.”

Yoongi looks behind the stranger, sees a truck parked in the middle of the road, driver still in the seat, waiting.

He frowns. “Sure.”

“Okay, thanks,” he says, turns and walks towards the truck.

Won’t have to see them, his fucking ass. Namjoon’s an asshole. Namjoon’s a fucking twat.

Yoongi grabs the car keys and garage remote, steps outside slowly. The weather is bright, sun shining, temperature high, like it hasn’t just rained like God himself unleashed the oceans of the sky. He opens his car and sits inside it while he waits for the garage door to finish opening.

The builders are already starting to unload from the truck, tall black haired builder joined by another, skinnier, brown haired builder. Black haired builder carriers a ladder, brown haired builder carries two toolboxes. The driver’s still in the seat, but Yoongi can’t see him.

The garage is open, finally. Yoongi drives in slowly, and the truck follows behind him, parks where he was before.

His hands shake as he steps out, sweat between his fingers that isn’t from the heat, it’s from the nerves. But he’s not scared of people. He just doesn’t like being around them. He locks the car, stands outside the garage while it closes and tries to will his heart beat to slow the fuck down.

The two builders walking to the truck are chatty, in their own world. They each take long pieces of scaffolding, carry it back to the front of Yoongi’s house. Yoongi thinks they’re like robots, grabbing heavy items, carrying them to his window, then returning for more. They’re not even talking about work, they’re talking about sports, as if they don’t even know they’re working.

The truck door opens, and Yoongi glances over before he can stop himself. Another builder steps out, shorter than the others, black hair, snapback, muscles.

Muscles .

Yoongi doesn’t take his eyes away from him. His jaw is sharp, moving like he’s chewing gum. He closes the truck door, looks over at Yoongi and nods to him casually. The brief acknowledgement makes his cheeks burn and his heart race. He watches as he walks to the back of the truck, lifts more scaffolding.

Muscles . Muscle-fitted t-shirt, too. It’s dirty, covered in plaster like the rest of them, but it shows his arms off so well. Yoongi can’t help but stare, mesmerised by his plump lips and strong arms. Muscle builder is exactly his type.

The garage clangs next to him as it closes, makes him spring on his toes in fright. No one notices, too busy carrying things. Muscle builder stays at the house with brown haired builder, starts building the scaffolding while black haired builder keeps bringing more of what they need.

Yoongi slips inside his house again, shuts the door and locks it quickly.

———

He’s holding three coffees on a tray, staring at the front door, anxiety filling his lungs with dread, making him sweat in every crease of his fucking body. Hospitality is more Namjoon’s thing. Talking to strangers is more Namjoon’s thing. Getting people’s attention when they’re on the roof is more Namjoon’s thing. All of this is Namjoon’s thing, not Yoongi’s.

How can he get their attention on the roof? Is he supposed to shout? Wave? What if they don’t hear him or see him? Then what?

He looks at the coffees, hot, steaming. What if they want iced instead of hot? What if they don’t like coffee? Was he supposed to ask before he made them?

Deep breaths . He opens the door, steps outside before he can stop himself.

He stares up at the scaffolding, fully built, no builders on it. There’s a quiet sound of chattering from up on the roof.

Yoongi wants to go back inside, but he doesn’t. He’s braver than that.

“Excuse me,” he calls, walking to the driveway so that he can see them. God, he hopes that was loud enough. If he has to call again then he’ll die.

Black haired builder looks down, waves at him. The other two look busy. Maybe this is a bad time. He should come back later. It’s too late now.

“I brought coffee,” he calls, blushing. His voice shakes a little bit.

Black haired builder taps muscle builder’s shoulder, “he’s got coffee for us. Can we take a break?”

Muscle builder looks down and Yoongi blushes more. He mumbles something and black haired builder grins, stands up. Brown haired builder puts down the hammer in his hand and wipes his forehead with the back of his palm. He looks relieved, like he’s been overworked and Yoongi just saved his life with coffee.

There’s a ladder leaning against the scaffolding, and black haired builder steps on, starts climbing down. Brown haired builder waits for him to climb down a few steps, then climbs on too. He expects muscle builder to follow, but he doesn’t, he walks to the other side of the scaffolding.

Yoongi squints. There’s no ladder there, what’s he going to do? Climb down without a ladder?

He does.

He crouches down and lowers himself slowly to the next bar below him, steadily at first, but then he’s swinging down the bars almost as fast as the men on the ladder.

Yoongi’s jaw drops. Parkour. That’s fucking hot. That’s so fucking hot. And irresponsible. He could probably hurt himself. But it’s hot.

Black haired builder arrives first, grabs a coffee and grins. Brown haired builder grabs one too, mumbles a thank you. He’s quite cute, tall and lanky, freckle on his nose. They both take a sip and muscle builder arrives too, takes the last coffee and thanks him quietly. Yoongi’s not sure what he’s supposed to say or what he’s supposed to do.

“Um, I didn’t know how you take it so I-I put three s-sugars in,” Yoongi says, cheeks still a little blushed.

Muscle builder sputters into the coffee. He reaches over to brown haired builder, snatches the cup fast enough to make the coffee spill over his hand.

“Hey!” Brown haired builder yells. His voice is deep, loud.

Muscle builder places the cup back on the tray and wipes his hands on his shirt. It looks red but he doesn’t seem to notice he’s burned himself. “Sorry,” he says to Yoongi. His voice is higher than he imagined, there’s a slight lisp there too. “He’s bad enough now, I couldn’t handle him on a sugar high.”

Black haired builder giggles into his coffee.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi says quietly. He’s messed up but no one seems angry at him.

“Three sugars, though,” he says, sips his coffee slowly, “isn’t that too much?”

“I usually take four.”

He hums into the coffee, licks his lips. Hot . “You’ll get diabetes.”

Yoongi blushes.

“Can I have some water?” Brown haired builder asks, “with ice if you have any.”

“Mm, me too, actually,” black haired builder says, placing his coffee on the tray.

Muscle builder smirks, seems hesitant but places his coffee back too. It’s a disaster. “I’ll take coffee but can I have less sugar? One is fine.”

“Sure,” Yoongi says. He’s still blushing. Making coffee for strangers is more Namjoon’s thing.

“Thanks, sugar,” muscle builder says, still smirking.

Sugar. He really called him sugar. Yoongi feels his dick twitch. Oh, God Jesus fuck. He takes the tray inside without saying anything else.

———

Namjoon comes home at eight, throws his bag on the sofa and sighs.

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate. “Hey, where did you find these builders?”

“Why, did they do something?” Namjoon asks, takes his coat off.

“No, no. I’m just asking.”

“Hoseok recommended him. He’s friends with the owner, said we could get a discount because he owes him or something?”

“Hoseok knows builders?”

“Yeah, they used to do parkour together, like. Climbing around and shit. I don’t know if they still do it.”

Parkour? Holy shit. He’s the owner?

“He looks a little young to be the owner of a business, doesn’t he?”

Namjoon shrugs. “I guess. How’d it go toda—”

“What’s his name?” Yoongi asks.

“What?”

“His— the owner guy. Parkour guy. What’s his name?”

Namjoon laughs, licks his lips. He’s amused. “Oh, Yoongi.”

“Fuck off.”

He’s still laughing. “You’re so transparent.”

“What’s his fucking name, Namjoon.”

“Jimin.”

Jimin. He can see himself moaning that.

“You like him?” Namjoon sits down next to him.

“Namjoon, there’s no clean way to put this, so I’ll just say it. I want to drop my fucking ass on his dick. I’m on a mission to fucking, suck his dick before he finishes this fucking roof job.”

Namjoon laughs. “Fair enough. They should be done in a week so make your move fast.”

Yoongi’s determined. He’s got six days, and by day six, he’ll be riding Jimin's cock. He’s absolutely certain of it. It’s the mission of his fucking life.

He swallows. He’s never been good at this, though. Finding guys on grindr to hook up with is his thing. But trying to hint to people he’s already met that he wants them to absolutely pound him into next week? It’s probably Namjoon’s thing.

———

Saturday.

“Where are you going?” Yoongi asks, watches Namjoon slipping some shoes on.

“Hospitality,” Namjoon says, slips out the door but leaves it open. Yoongi can still hear him outside, loud and clear. “Hey, I’m gonna make some coffee, do you guys want any?”

So that’s how you do it.

“Alright, you want iced or hot? Any sugar? Milk? I think we have vanilla?”

Pause.

“Okay, I’ll bring it out,” he walks back in, closes the door.

Yoongi leaps up from the sofa, follows him to the kitchen. “Hey can you like. Find out if Jimin’s gay? And single? Can you do that?”

Namjoon doesn’t even look at him, just starts making coffee. “And risk him thinking it’s me who likes him?”

“Please,”

“Yoongi, you can do this. I believe in you.”

Deep breaths. “Okay. Do I just ask? Like. Do I just ask if he’s gay? How do you find that out? Should I try and find him on grindr?”

Namjoon shakes his head as he pours the coffee, “actually, I don’t believe in you." He fills a glass with water and grabs ice from the freezer, “I’ll handle it. Come help me with these drinks, will you?”

Yoongi presses his lips together, grabs the water while Namjoon carries two coffees. Namjoon’s better at handling this than he is. He trusts Namjoon.

Jimin’s already waiting when they step out, two builders next to him chatting to each other. He smiles when he sees them, holds his hand out for the coffee. Black haired builder takes the other coffee, and brown haired builder takes the water.

“Did sugar make this or did you?” Jimin asks, smirking, and Yoongi blushes.

“Sugar?” Namjoon asks, squints. Jimin nods towards Yoongi, and Namjoon looks at him, raised eyebrows, slightly amused smirk. “Sugar, huh?”

“I call him that because he takes four sugars in his coffee,” Jimin laughs. Yoongi bites his lip to stop a smile breaking across his whole face. Feels like butterflies under his skin.

Namjoon chuckles, pats Yoongi’s back hard enough to make him step forward involuntarily. “I made the coffee, so you’re fine.”

Jimin sips his drink. Yoongi doesn’t know where to fucking look.

“This is Yoongi, but keep calling him sugar, he’ll like that,” Namjoon says, and Yoongi feels his ears ringing. Jimin chuckles. “And this is Jimin, and uh,”

“Taehyung,” brown haired builder holds his hand out, grins. Yoongi takes it and shakes.

“Jeongguk,” black haired builder says, nods his head. Less touchy than Taehyung. Yoongi appreciates that.

Jimin’s watching him, Yoongi can feel it. He’s too shy to look at him, just smiles, sweats. He’s not good at this. Maybe he should just go inside, never come out again, wait a few weeks and find Jimin on grindr coincidentally. That’d be easier.

“How’s the roof coming?” Namjoon asks, and a conversation breaks out.

Yoongi just stands there, half listening, not knowing where to look. He glances at Jimin a few times, takes in everything that he can. The piercing in his ear, crooked tooth at the front, plush and plump lips, adam’s apple that bobs every time he takes a sip of coffee. Jimin looks back, makes eye contact and smiles, and Yoongi looks away as fast as he can, feels his cheeks heating up. He’s really not good at this.

The conversation comes to an end after ten minutes, Yoongi feels so awkward he could fucking die. He hasn’t said one thing, just stood there next to Namjoon looking like a fucking rabbit caught in a fence, surrounded by wolves.

“Alright, break’s over,” Jimin says suddenly, and Yoongi looks up again. Taehyung and Jeongguk give their cups to Namjoon and head for the ladder. Jimin sticks around. “Thanks for the coffee,” he says, hands the cup to Yoongi.

“No worries,” Namjoon grins.

Yoongi blushes, feels Jimin still looking at him. He wants to look at him, too. At least make eye contact. God, he wants to say something, wants to flirt, wants to do something. He’s fucking useless. He can’t even look at him.

“Oh! I just remembered something, wait there,” Namjoon says suddenly, heading back into the house.

Yoongi panics. Is he supposed to follow him or stay here? Is this part of some plan Namjoon has to get Jimin and Yoongi alone together? What the hell is he supposed to do now? He looks at Jimin, smiles awkwardly.

“Um,”

“You okay?” Jimin asks, tilts his head.

“I’m fine!” he squeaks. He’s really nervous, hands shaking around the mug he’s holding. He’s not good at talking to people he doesn’t know.

Namjoon comes back in a minute, sprints like his life depends on it. He’s holding Yoongi’s peonies candle and Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “We got this candle a few days ago but we hate the smell of it, do you want it?”

What the fuck. What the fuck . That’s Yoongi’s favourite fucking candle. He wants to grab it back but Jimin’s standing right there and it feels awkward.

“Um?”

“It’s peonies scented, flowers and shit. You can give it to your girlfriend as a gift,” Namjoon says.

Asshole . That’s his favourite fucking candle that he’s giving away. He didn’t even fucking ask him.

Jimin smiles, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh. Then, boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Namjoon exchanges glances with Yoongi and they know. It was smart going on Namjoon’s part. Subtle.

“But it’s my mom’s birthday soon, I think she’d like it,” Jimin says, taking the candle. Yoongi’s already mourning it.

“It’s only been used a few times,” Namjoon smiles, “I’m sure your mom will love it!”

“Are you sure I can take this?”

“Please, take it. You’ll be doing me a favour.”

“Alright, thanks,” Jimin says, smiles. He opens the truck door and places it under his seat.

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon says, stepping back towards the house. Yoongi smiles, follows in Namjoon’s footsteps.

They go back inside, Yoongi closes the door carefully.

“My fucking candle? Really? You went in my room to get my candle?”

Namjoon plops his body down on the sofa, pleased with himself. “God I’m so happy I don’t have to smell that again.”

“I like it!”

“It stinks out the whole place, gives me some kind of placebo hay fever attack and makes me smell like I work at the fucking florist.”

Yoongi pouts.

“But hey, now you got what you wanted, I got what I wanted, my work here is done, sugar,” Namjoon teases.

“Don’t. Do fucking not . Don’t call me that again.”

Namjoon laughs.

“Don’t! I will be jacking off to that tonight and I don’t need you ruining it for me.”

———

Monday.

The trickle of urine breaks the silence of the bathroom. Yoongi’s tired, wants to go back to bed, but he can’t. The fucking builders woke him up climbing the scaffolding, banging on the roof. They might be hot but they’re fucking annoying when Yoongi’s trying to sleep.

He yawns, finishes his piss, taps and tucks himself back in his boxers. His toothbrush is waiting for him besides the sink and he brushes his teeth quickly, stares at his reflection in the mirror. He’s got bed hair, messy and a little greasy. He’ll shower soon. There’s a bruise on his hip that he doesn’t know how he got, and another on his shoulder from when he walked into the door frame.

Two minutes, spit and rinse. He needs to shave but he’ll do it later after a shower. He’ll shower after breakfast.

He opens the door, looks at himself one last time before stepping out, smiles at his reflection. He doesn’t expect to see Jimin waiting outside the bathroom door.

It scares the shit out of him.

“Jesus!” He squeaks, toes springing him a few inches from the floor.

Jimin smirks, eyes him up briefly, “morning sugar.”

Yoongi’s cheeks are burning. He covers his boxers with his hands. “What— what are you doing?”

“Namjoon said I can use the bathroom,” Jimin says, walks up to the door. Yoongi’s frozen, scared to move. “You getting dressed?”

His breath smells like the spearmint gum that he chews all the time. Yoongi nods, steps out the way so that Jimin can get in the bathroom. This might be the most humiliating thing that’s happened to him this week, and the week’s only just started.

The door closes, Yoongi sprints to his room and closes the door. God, what a fucking disaster. Can he not even roam his house in his underwear anymore? Can he not like someone without making a dick out of himself? Jesus, Jimin probably thinks he’s a fucking idiot.

He sighs, grabs some clothes from his floor. The day just started and it’s already gone wrong.

———

“I’m bringing drinks, you coming?” Namjoon asks, holding a tray of drinks, two coffees, one water.

“After this morning’s disaster? Fuck no,” Yoongi says from the sofa.

Namjoon shrugs, “alright. Can you open the door for me, then?”

Yoongi sighs, hides behind the door as he opens it just in case Jimin’s there. He watches Namjoon slip out, closes the door behind him.

Namjoon’s gone for nearly twenty minutes, Yoongi hears laughter occasionally from outside. He’s curious, but not curious enough to join them. He asks about it the second Namjoon walks back through the door.

“Nothing, really. We were talking about Hoseok,” Namjoon says, sitting down with him. “He asked about you, you know.”

“Huh?”

“He asked where you were.”

“Really?” Yoongi can’t believe it.

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?”

“I told the truth. You’re embarrassed about this morning.”

“Namjoon!” Yoongi whines.

Namjoon laughs, “he said don’t worry about it. He’s already forgotten. No big deal. In the past.”

Yoongi sighs.

“I’m at work tomorrow, so it’s just you. Go out, give them drinks, chat with them for a bit. They’re nice guys, Jimin’s really friendly. You wouldn’t even think he’s their boss, they’re all really cool guys. Just talk to them.”

“I’m not good at that kind of stuff. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just make conversation.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Talk about the weather, even. Anything you say leads into a conversation,” Namjoon smiles. Reassuring. But it’s not that simple. Talking to people comes easy to Namjoon, but not to Yoongi. “You’ve gotta talk, Yoongi. He said they’re probably gonna finish this by Friday.”

The window of opportunity is closing. He’s determined to be riding Jimin’s dick by the end of this.

———

Tuesday.

Deep breaths . He can do this.

He opens the door, steps outside. His heart is racing, anxiety pulsing in every fucking cell of his body, but he can do this.

“Hey, I’m making coffee, do you want any?”

The three of them look down from the roof. They don’t answer straight away like they do with Namjoon.

“Are you making it?” Jeongguk asks.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have water,” Jeongguk says.

Yikes.

“I’ll have water too,” Taehyung says.

Yoongi looks at Jimin.

“Water,” Jimin says, smiles like he’s trying not to offend him.

Jesus Christ. That’s bad.

“Alright, water it is,” he mumbles, walks back inside. They’re already climbing down.

———

“Thanks, sugar,” Jimin says, taking the drink. It still makes him blush, butterflies in his tummy, twitch in his cock. Jeongguk and Taehyung take a glass of water too, sip it quickly.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. He’s so bad at this, so fucking bad. He wants to talk, Christ , if he’s going to be choking on Jimin’s dick by the end of the week he needs to fucking talk.

Every second that passes gets more awkward. Yoongi remembers what Namjoon said yesterday. He takes a deep breath.

“So,” fuck, “the weather’s nice today.”

Fuck. Fucking fuck. That was bad.

Jimin smirks, looks like he finds this amusing but he’s trying not to show it. Jeongguk and Taehyung glance at each other, raised eyebrows.

That was bad. Bad . Yoongi’s never taking Namjoon’s advice again.

“Yeah,” Jimin says, looks at him, “it’s supposed to get hotter by the end of the week.”

They’re really talking about weather. Yoongi genuinely, in all seriousness, wants to fucking die. He doesn’t even know how to respond to that. He just doesn’t say anything. He just wants to die. His cheeks are burning.

A minute passes in silence, Yoongi’s not sure if he should just go inside. If Namjoon was here they’d be in full conversation mode by now.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do?” Jimin asks suddenly. It catches Yoongi by surprise.

“Huh?”

“Do you work? It’s just, Namjoon’s been out at work but you’ve been in every day.”

“Oh, I work from home,” Yoongi says.

“Doing what?” He’s being friendly. Yoongi appreciates it. It’s easier when someone else takes the lead.

“I’m a music producer.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Wow, really?”

The others are interested too, now.

“Are you famous?” Jeongguk asks.

Yoongi smiles, blushes, “no, not famous. I just make the music, write a few songs.”

“What songs?”

“Mainly for myself or local bands, not usually famous people. You ever heard Wine by Suran?”

“Yeah,”

“I made that.”

It stuns all three of them.

“Did you meet her?” Taehyung asks.

“Once or twice.”

“Holy shit,” Jeongguk grins.

“Language,” Jimin warns. Fuck, his tone of voice. Bossy. Dominant. Yoongi’s cock absolutely does jump in his pants. He wonders if he’ll tell Yoongi off for bad language. Fuck.

Jeongguk apologises, and he and Taehyung start talking about the song, even singing it. Yoongi just stands there, blush down to his neck, shy, embarrassed.

Jimin’s phone starts ringing. He pulls the phone out from his pocket and hands his glass back to Yoongi. There’s still some water left and Yoongi’s not sure if he’s done or not.

“Sorry, I gotta take this,” he says, smiles.

“Sure.”

“Hello?”

The two builders next to him stop talking, watch their boss on the phone.

“A bath?”

A bath?

“Yeah, I can fit it for you.”

He can fit a bath?

“Yeah, what’s your address?” He motions at the others for a pen and the pair both scramble to the truck to search for one. They come back with a pen and paper, and Jeongguk turns around and lets him write on his back. He scribbles quickly, eyebrows scrunched. “Alright, I can come around tonight after six and check it out for you. .. Okay. .. Thanks. Bye.”

Yoongi’s still holding the drink. “You can fit a bath?”

“Yeah,” Jimin’s still writing on Jeongguk’s back. When he finishes, he takes the paper and folds it, puts it in his pocket. “I do plumbing too.”

That’s weirdly hot.

“Oh, that’s great,” Yoongi says. He’s not thinking. Why is that great? Why did he just say that? “Because we actually have a leak under the kitchen sink.”

Jimin frowns. “Where is it? I’ll take a look now,” he steps towards the house and Yoongi panics.

“N— It’s not— you’re busy right now, it’s fine!” He steps in front of Jimin, heart racing.

“A leak can be pretty serious, Yoongi.”

Yoongi. Not sugar, Yoongi. This is bad.

“It’s only small!” It doesn’t even fucking exist. “Honestly, it’s fine. It’s tiny, you can barely even tell it’s leaking!”

“I won’t charge you,” Jimin says. Persistent. It’s hot but it would be hotter if there actually was a leak.

“There’s a towel around it, it’s absolutely fine! Just look tomorrow, I gotta check with Namjoon and stuff.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, but he stops trying to get past Yoongi. That’s a success, at least. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the folded paper and writes on it again. Yoongi’s sweating, wondering how easy it will be to cause a leak by tomorrow.

“Here,” Jimin rips off a part of the paper and gives it to Yoongi, “Namjoon has my business number but this is my personal one. Just don’t use the tap, to be safe. If it gets worse in the night, turn the water off and call me. I don’t answer my work phone after six.”

Holy fuck. Holy mother fucking fuck, fuck. He takes the paper, looks at the number. Fucking hell. Maybe he can catch this dick before the end of the week.

“Thanks,” he says, wipes the smile off his face before it’s too obvious.

“Keep an eye on it, put something under to catch the water. Are you sure you don’t want me to look now?”

“I’m sure it will be the same tomorrow.”

Jimin doesn’t look as sure.

———

This might just be the craziest thing he’s done for dick. He thinks Jimin will be worth it.

He’s staring at the pipe under the sink, hammer in his hand, stupidity holding his fingers around it tightly. Namjoon’s not coming home tonight, apparently, so this is perfect. He doesn’t even need to explain this.

First hit, soft, barely a tap. Nothing.

Second hit, little harder. Nothing.

Third hit, harder. Dents the pipe a little. But nothing.

Fourth hit, full swing. The pipe bursts, breaks off the end, and water rushes out.

Holy shit.

Yoongi’s heart races as he watches the water pour out, like a full blown fucking tap. Like he’s running the sink but it’s not in the sink, it’s on his fucking floor.

He’s fucked up. The floor is fucking flooding, and no matter how many towels he wraps around it, it won’t fucking stop. He’s crying, tears streaming, adding to the flood in his house.

It’s a mess. He’s a mess. He’s a fucking stupid idiot. He’s really fucked up. It’s almost fucking funny, but it’s not . It’s not fucking funny.

He grabs his phone. It’s after eleven, closer to midnight. He feels bad, pathetic even. But he needs to do this. He can’t leave it like this, he can’t wait until tomorrow.

“Hello?” Jimin’s voice is sleepy.

“Hey,” voice shaking, pathetic fucking mess. “I’m s-so sorry, I know— I know it’s late.”

“Is it the leak?”

“It won’t f-fucking stop, oh fuck .”

“Alright, don’t worry. I’m coming now, just turn the water off, I’ll be as fast as I can.”

The call ends. Yoongi’s having a full panic attack. You can turn water off? How do you do that? How do you fucking turn water off?

———

Jimin’s here in twenty minutes. Yoongi hides the hammer on the way to the door, wipes the tears on his face with one of Namjoon’s jackets hung up besides the door. His clothes are soaked and his dignity is gone and his kitchen is a fucking paddling pool.

“You didn’t turn it off?” Jimin asks, sounds a little panicked himself as he rushes to the sink.

Yoongi can’t stop shaking. But he’s calming down, Jimin’s here now. It’s all going to be okay.

Jimin crouches down in the puddle, reaches under the sink, feels around a little for something. Yoongi watches the water flow slow down, stop eventually.

He looks at Yoongi. Yoongi looks at him.

“I-I didn’t know how to turn it off,” Yoongi admits.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asks.

He feels okay now. He probably doesn’t look it. “I’m fine.”

Jimin turns back to the pipe, spends a minute just looking at it. He looks at Yoongi with a raised eyebrow. “How did it break?”

Shit.

“It just. B-broke. Happened by itself,” Yoongi says, tries to sound believable.

Jimin looks again, then chuckles.

He’s been caught, surely. Fuck. This whole thing was a stupid idea. He probably thinks Yoongi’s a fucking loser. It’s so transparent. Namjoon would laugh.

Jimin smiles sweetly, “don’t worry about it, that stuff happens all the time.”

Jesus Christ. Yoongi lets out the breath he was holding in.

“Alright, well. It looks like the pipe is completely broken, so I’ll have to replace it. I have a few spares but I don’t know if any will fit. Is Namjoon in?”

“No, he’s sleeping out.”

“Is he okay for me to do this? You said earlier you wanted to check with him.”

“Yeah, I did. He’s cool with it.”

“Alright,” Jimin smiles, “I’ll grab some pipes from the truck.”#

———

They find a pipe that fits, and Yoongi thanks the tiny amount of luck that he actually has. He watches Jimin fit it for him, ass in the air while he works on fitting the pipe. He’s got a great fucking ass. Yoongi absolutely does spend the whole half an hour thinking about rimming him.

“It’s done,” Jimin says, tosses something into his toolkit and closes it as he stands. He’s wearing sweatpants and they’re absolutely fucking soaked. Yoongi feels bad.

“How much do I owe you?” Yoongi asks, stands up and reaches into his pocket for his wallet.

Jimin shakes his head. “It’s fine, you don’t owe me anything.”

“It’s after midnight and I made you come out all this way to fix it, I can’t not give you money for this.”

He chuckles, shakes his head again, “honestly, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Yoongi frowns. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” He picks up his toolkit and Yoongi realises that he never actually had a plan to get Jimin into his bed. He broke his fucking pipe for nothing. What a waste.

He walks Jimin to the door slowly. He’s thinking of stupid shit to say. Hey, it’s after midnight so do you just wanna sleep here, you know, for the convenience of it? But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to fucking say, he never does.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Jimin smiles as he steps out. It’s cold outside. Yoongi grimaces.

“See you,” he mutters. He stays in the doorway until Jimin’s truck is out of sight, then he closes his door and stares towards the kitchen. The leak is fixed, but the floor is still wet, it’s probably fucking ruined. He wonders if Jimin can fit floors as well as baths.

———

Wednesday.

“Yoongi,”

“Yeah?”

Namjoon pauses before he finishes his sentence. It’s barely ten in the morning and Yoongi’s only just woken up. Namjoon’s only just got home.

“Why is the kitchen floor squelching when I walk on it?”

His head snaps up. Oh fuck, he forgot about that.

Namjoon’s leaning against the frame of his door, arms folded, head tilted.

“Well, you see,” Yoongi starts, sits up in bed. “There was a leak.”

“A leak,”

“ A leak . Under the kitchen sink. It’s sorted now.”

“Right,” Namjoon mumbles. “Leaks don’t flood rooms in one night.”

“Well I guess we got unlucky,” Yoongi says.

“How was it fixed?”

“I called Jimin. He gave me his phone number. Like, his personal phone number.” He’s grinning, proud of himself. He has Jimin’s number.

Namjoon stands still. He looks like he knows, but he just can’t believe it. It’s just too fucking absurd to believe it. There’s no way Yoongi broke a pipe just to have an excuse to call Jimin. That kind of shit just doesn’t happen.

Yoongi hears the truck pull up outside. He’ll get ready in a minute, but he can’t shower, because he used every fucking towel in the house to soak up the flood. He even used his fucking clothes, old shirts and boxers and socks, when every towel was too damp. It’ll be a big laundry day.

“Okay,” Namjoon says, eventually. He peels himself from the door frame and sighs. “We might need a new floor put in.”

“Okay,” Yoongi mumbles, avoids looking into Namjoon’s eyes. It’s better if Namjoon doesn’t believe he did it.

———

“Hey, man, can you fit floors?” Namjoon asks as he brings coffee out to the builders. Yoongi’s walking behind him, blush on his cheeks, iced water in his hand.

Jimin holds his hand out for the coffee, “I can.”

Yoongi’s heart races. Another excuse to see Jimin. And fitting his floor, he’s gotta have his ass in the air for most of that. He sweats.

“But it’s not my biggest strength. I can give you the number for someone else, though. He’ll do a better job than me.”

Oh. His heart breaks a little. Dramatic.

Namjoon chuckles, “you’d really give someone else a job that we offered to you?”

“I can do it if you want,” Jimin laughs. He looks at Yoongi and Yoongi’s face flushes instantly. “I’m better at plumbing than building.”

“Damn, you’ve made me worried about the roof, now.”

The four of them laugh. Yoongi just smiles. He didn’t realise it was a joke.

“Don’t worry about the roof. I wouldn’t do the job if I didn’t think I was good enough,” Jimin assures them. “Carpentry is harder, my dad used to scream at me when I was a kid because I kept measuring the angles wrong. It’s kind of stuck with me.”

Yoongi squints. He speaks up for the first time in his life. “You’ve been doing this since you were a kid?”

“It’s a family business,” Jimin grins, “I started helping my dad when I was twelve.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, like everyone’s waiting for Yoongi to say something else. But he’s done. He doesn’t know how to reply to that. He’s not good at conversations.

“What about you guys,” Namjoon asks, nods towards Jeongguk and Taehyung.

“Apprenticeship,” Taehyung grins. His smile is kind of rectangular, shows all his teeth. It’s really cute.

“His dad is friends with my dad,” Jeongguk says, a little quieter. Maybe Jeongguk is shy like Yoongi is.

“Tae’s been with us for two weeks, now?” Jimin tilts his head, and Taehyung nods. “Guk’s been here for three years.”

“And it’s just the three of you?” Namjoon asks.

“No, there’s eleven. Twelve, if my dad feels like working. There’s three of us here because this is discounted work. No one else wanted to do it,” Jimin laughs.

They keep talking about the company. Jimin’s dad doesn’t work often because he injured himself on a project a few years ago, nearly did his back in. That’s why Jimin took over, became the boss. He says it’s weird because some of the employees are the same age as his dad but he’s still their boss despite being twenty years younger than them.

Yoongi listens to everything. It feels like he’s getting to know him. He wants to know more about him, though. Not just about his family or his work. He wants to know his favourite colour and his favourite song and his favourite movie. He wants to know if Jimin’s strong enough to hold him up and fucking drill him.

“How’s the sink?” Jimin asks him suddenly.

Yoongi stammers. He asked him, not Namjoon. He put him on the spot. “It’s— it— it’s fine.”

“Good.”

Namjoon’s looking at him. He’s got that look in his eye, the encouraging look, the I believe in you look. Yoongi knows he has to say something.

“How’s yours?”

No. No, fuck. Not that .

Namjoon’s eyes close as he breathes in through his nose. Yoongi’s lip quivers with regret.

It takes Jimin by surprise, obviously. But he chuckles, shifts to lean on his left leg. “It’s fine,” he says. He’s still grinning, that’s something.

Yoongi just nods. He knows his face is probably redder than Jeongguk’s red sneakers. He stares at the ground and prays for it to fucking swallow him. Jesus Christ.

Silence. This is his fault. He should really just fucking gag himself, never fucking talk again.

Jeongguk finishes his coffee quickly, and he hands it back to Namjoon. “I’m gonna head back up,” he says, already backing away.

“Yeah,” Taehyung mumbles, gulps down half the glass and then hands it to Namjoon, “me too.”

Jesus Christ. That’s how bad that was, now they’re doing extra work just to get away from him. Yoongi wants to cry.

More silence. Jimin doesn’t rush his drink. Yoongi watches the two builders climb back up the ladder.

“I should get back, too,” Jimin says. He still doesn’t drink his coffee, glances at Yoongi again before turning back to Namjoon. “You mind if I take the cup with me?”

“Sure.”

“I won’t break it.”

“It’s fine, just bring it back when you’re done,” Namjoon grins, starts walking towards the door. Yoongi sticks by his side like he’s glued to him.

He covers his face with his palms the second the door is closed. “Jesus!”

Namjoon’s laughing. He takes the cups to the kitchen and then throws himself on the sofa. “Yoongi, I swear to god, I fucking love you.”

“That’s it. I’m never fucking going out there again. I’m never doing it. I can’t look at him ever again, I need him to forget I fucking exist.”

“You just need to relax,” Namjoon soothes as Yoongi sits down next to him. “He’s giving you chances, but you just freak out.”

“He probably thinks I’m such a fucking idiot!”

Namjoon shakes his head. “If he did, he wouldn’t be trying to talk to you. Take a breath, take a second to think about what you’re going to say.”

Yoongi sighs. It’s not as easy as Namjoon thinks it is.

———

The door knocks while Namjoon’s in the shower. Just his fucking luck.

Yoongi blushes furiously as soon as he opens the door. He keeps his eyes on the floor.

“Hey,” Jimin says. He holds the cup out and Yoongi takes it.

“Thank you.”

“May I use the bathroom?”

“N-Namjoon’s in the shower.”

“Oh,” Jimin mumbles, shoves his hands in his sweatpants pockets. “Do you mind if I wait? I really need to go.”

Yoongi blushes harder. He nods, keeps his eyes on the floor. He’s not sure if he should stand at the door and wait with him or if he should invite him in.

“Come in,” he decides, holds the door open. He looks up just in time to see Jimin smirk. It makes his dick twitch.

Maybe this is his chance to make things right. Now is his chance to seal the deal. Getting Jimin into his bed before they finish on Friday isn’t realistic, but he’s sure as hell not giving up.

Jimin walks in slowly, and Yoongi closes the door behind him.

“How’s the patch on your ceiling?” Jimin asks. He doesn’t sit down, so Yoongi doesn’t either.

“It’s dried now, I think.”

“I’ll take a look at it before we finish,” he promises. Suddenly the idea of builders in his room isn’t so bad, only if it’s Jimin. He’ll definitely tidy his room this time.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really know what to say.

Not even a minute passes before Jimin talks again. “I’ll probably have to paint it, did you want the same colour or a different one?”

“The same,” Yoongi says. It does need painting, actually. It looks like someone’s pissed on his ceiling.

“Okay.”

He notices Jimin pressing his legs together in the corner of his eye and looks up again. Jimin’s glancing around the room, nibbling on his lip. Jesus. Fuck.

“Do you really need to go that badly?” Yoongi asks, and Jimin blushes deep red. It’s endearing, actually. He decides he likes making him blush.

“Y-yeah,” he chuckles, grins like he’s embarrassed. “I’ve been holding it for like, two hours.”

Yoongi chuckles too, but he doesn’t say anything. He wants to. If you’re that desperate you can relieve yourself in my— no. Jesus, no. That’s bad.

The bathroom door opens before Yoongi can offer himself as a human toilet. Jimin gasps quietly, waits until he hears Namjoon’s door close, then looks back to Yoongi. “Can I?”

Yoongi nods, watches him hurry upstairs. He practically runs, he’s so desperate. Yoongi smiles, takes the mug back to the kitchen.

He’s sat on the sofa when Jimin returns. He can hear Namjoon using the blow dryer upstairs faintly.

“Thanks,” Jimin says, walks towards the door slowly. He doesn’t take his eyes off Yoongi and Yoongi stares back shyly. “Is Namjoon in tomorrow?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “It’s just me.”

Jimin smirks, hand on the door handle, lowers it slowly as he talks, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, sugar.”

Yoongi looks away, smiles before he can stop himself, full gummy grin. “See you,” he says, glances back up at him just before he swings the door open.

Jimin chuckles under his breath, nods politely before he heads back out, closes the door behind him.

Sugar. He still calls him sugar. He still has a chance.

———

Thursday.

It’s hot. It’s hotter than it’s ever fucking been. Yoongi’s got every fucking window open, he’s got aircon on, he’s got fucking shorts on. He never wears shorts.

He sighs, fans himself with his hand as he waits behind the door. The window’s open, so he can hear the builders louder than usual, every fucking bang of a hammer, every whirr of the drill. It’s irritating the shit out of him.

He’s nervous. He spent most of last night in Namjoon’s room, leaning back in Namjoon’s comfortable desk chair that he’s always envied, while Namjoon lay in his bed giving him every fucking tip he could think of.

It all boiled down to one thing: relax . Jimin’s not scary. And he’s not, really. But he’s hot and that makes him intimidating as hell.

Deep breaths. He opens the door.

“I’m making coffee, do you want any?” He calls, looks up at the roof.

Jeongguk’s head pops out from above his house, “we’ll just have iced water, please.”

Yoongi nods, blushes. He remembers them asking for water before when it was just him. Is he really that bad at making coffee?

But it might be because it’s hot. It’s definitely because it’s hot.

———

He comes back outside with three cups on a tray, glances to the scaffolding as he closes the door. Jeongguk and Taehyung are on the ladders, Jimin’s nearly finished climbing down the scaffolding.

He’s shirtless.

Jesus fucking Christ.

The glasses slide to the edge of the tray as his grip loosens, but he stops them just before they tip over the edge, levels the surface again. No one notices. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jimin.

Jeongguk’s shirtless too, Yoongi acknowledges the fact briefly before his eyes land back on Jimin. His back is facing him, dip between his shoulder blades, ripple in his muscles, Calvin Klein waistband that sticks out above his sweatpants.

Maybe he should have brought four iced waters.

Jeongguk arrives first, takes a water and mumbles a thank you. Yoongi glances at his chest and abdomen. Nice. There’s a little trail of hair on his stomach and he wouldn’t mind finding out where it leads to.

“God, it’s hot,” Taehyung sighs, seems like he’s talking more to Jeongguk than to him. He takes the second water, takes a big gulp of it. He’s wearing a vest top, and it’s practically fucking stuck to him, he’s sweated so much.

Yoongi looks back at the scaffolding just as Jimin hops down from the lowest bar. He turns towards him as he walks over and Yoongi’s eyes bulge out from his sockets.

Jimin’s body is like a fucking God. He already knew it would be, but actually seeing it. His pecs, his abs, his deltoids, glistening with sweat. There’s a chain around his neck and a piercing in his left nipple and a zodiac tattoo on his left pectoral.

Libra. Yoongi can’t say he’s surprised.

“Thanks,” Jimin sighs, takes the last drink. His hair is damp with sweat and he pushes it out from his eyes, runs his hand through his hair gently. Yoongi gets a glimpse at the damp hairs in his armpit. Nice.

He holds the tray in front of his crotch to hide the small bulge that’s threatening to grow, keeps his eyes firmly planted on his own fucking feet. Namjoon didn’t prepare him for this.

It’s silent. It’s always fucking silent. Yoongi can’t stand it like this, he needs to say something. Jesus, Jimin’s a fucking Libra, if Yoongi could socially function he would’ve already fucked him.

He rolls with that thought, peeks up at Jimin’s chest again, speaks before his anxiety has the chance to stop him.

“Libra, huh?”

Jimin looks down at his own chest, chuckles. “Yeah. What about you?”

“Pisces,” he blushes. They’re really talking. Nothing’s going wrong. He’s going to hop on Jimin’s Libra dick by the time he’s done with the roof.

“Really?” Jimin raises an eyebrow, and Yoongi looks back at his feet. “I would have guessed Virgo.”

He smiles shyly. “Why’s that?”

“You’re shy. Introverted.”

Yoongi blushes harder. He’s not wrong. He peeks up, notices Jimin grinning at him. Jimin doesn’t look away, he’s not shy like Yoongi is. Yoongi’s so shy he barely holds the eye contract for five seconds before he looks somewhere else, lips pressed together in his shyest smile.

Jeongguk and Taehyung are staring at the floor, too. They’ve got a judgemental expression on their faces, Yoongi doesn’t know if it’s because of him or because they’re talking about fucking astrology. Probably both.

He swallows, takes Namjoon’s advice from last night and looks back at Jimin. “H-how’s the roof?”

“It’s nearly finished,” Jimin says, shifts to lean on his left leg again and tilts his head. “I think we’ll finish up tomorrow. I’ll take a look at your ceiling tonight and order some paint in, is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

Jimin nods, takes another gulp of his drink. Yoongi pushes his boundaries for once in his life.

“When can you paint it?”

“Depends on when the paint arrives,” he laughs. “Thursday, Friday? I’ll let you know.”

Yoongi swallows. He wants to ask if Jimin will be coming alone, but he’s too nervous. It’d be weird to ask that. He just assumes he’ll be alone.

He doesn’t know what to say now. Talking again might seem pushy. Desperate. The conversation’s come to an end and he doesn’t know where to take it. He’s not good at this like Namjoon is. Namjoon throws wood on the fire to make it burn longer. Yoongi watches the flames die.

Seconds of silence pass and Yoongi feels anxious again, awkward. He’s almost relieved when Taehyung breaks it with an unusually loud sigh.

“It’s hot,” he mumbles, fanning himself with his palm. Yoongi sees Jimin grin in his peripheral.

“This is nothing, you should’ve been here in last year's heatwave. Remember when we had to build that guy’s extension?”

Jeongguk chuckles, “yeah we sweated so much we had literal sweat puddles where we were working.”

Sweat puddles . Yoongi pretends he’s not imagining it. There’d have to be a lot of sweat for sweat puddles. He glances back at Jimin’s chest, pictures the glistening sweat in the sun, pictures a bead of sweat that rolls from his pecs across his stomach, absorbed by the waistband of those fucking Calvin Klein boxers. Jesus .

“And he didn’t even offer us drinks, we had to ask,” Jimin says. Yoongi looks up and realises Jimin’s watching him, something like satisfaction curled into his lips, like he knows what he’s thinking about.

Fuck . His whole fucking face burns with embarrassment as he looks away, back down at his own feet, where he’ll remain looking for the rest of fucking eternity.

The conversation carries on but Yoongi stops listening, just focuses on the shape of his shoe. He’s vaguely aware of how Jimin keeps looking at him, but he won’t acknowledge it. He can’t acknowledge it.

Maybe he should give up on his mission. Too many embarrassing fucking moments. There’s no way Jimin would want to fuck someone as lame as him. His stomach sinks at the thought.

———

The door knocks and Yoongi glares at it before he gets up to answer. He’s spent the last few hours wallowing like a fucking child, ignoring the work he needs to do to mourn the loss of a cock he never even had. It’s stupid and he knows he’ll be over this once the job is done and he never sees Jimin again.

He’s surprised when he opens the door to see Jimin. The builders left three hours ago.

“Hey.”

It’s six o’clock. It’s fucking six o’clock and Jimin’s stood at his door, loose t-shirt and jeans.

Maybe he was wrong, maybe he’s here to pound his ass harder than he pounds the fucking hammer every fucking morning. That’s why he’s here at six o’clock, out of work hours, with fucking cologne sprayed on him.

Yoongi realises he’s staring at him like a fucking gutted mackerel on ice. He closes his mouth quickly, “h-hey.”

“Is Namjoon here?”

Oh. Oh.

Oh.

“No.”

“Oh. I thought he’d have finished work by now,” Jimin says, tilting his head.

Yoongi forces a small smile.

“I, um, I’m here to look at your ceiling? I can come back tomorrow if you’d prefer.”

Oh . He forgot about that.

“Why’d you need Namjoon for that?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin blushes a little, but he doesn’t stop smiling, “he told me about your uh, your anxiety.”

Oh. Yoongi blushes too, eyes flicker down to Jimin’s feet.

“I don’t mind coming back when Namjoon’s in.”

“No,” Yoongi forces, opening the door wider, “come in.”

“You sure?”

Yoongi nods, cheeks still hot. He avoids eye contact as Jimin walks in, leads him silently to his bedroom. It’s not exactly the scenario he was imagining when he thought about Jimin in his room. Still, it’s somewhat satisfying.

There’s a small ladder resting against the wall from where Namjoon left it the first time Jimin was here. Jimin grabs it and climbs up, touches the ceiling gently.

“Well, I don’t think it needs re-plastering. And it’s definitely dry.”

It looks like a piss stain.

Jimin giggles, and Yoongi realises he said that out loud. “Do you remember the name of the paint?”

“Uh,” Yoongi squints, looking up at the ceiling, “white?”

Another giggle. “Absolute white, brilliant white, pure white, eggshell white, porcelain white, those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head. There’s about thirty shades of white.”

“Oh. Seems stupid.”

“It is,” Jimin agrees, “so you’re indifferent?”

Yoongi shrugs. He doesn’t know much about colours. He doesn’t think he could distinguish between two shades of white.

“I’ll go with eggshell, then. Brilliant white hurts my eyes.” He climbs down from the ladder and places it back against the wall before turning to face Yoongi. “I’ll order the paint tonight. And tomorrow I’ll have to come in again to coat the stain with some stain block, give it time to dry before the paint arrives, otherwise the stain will just come through.”

“Okay.”

He feels shy under Jimin’s gaze, unable to meet his eyes no matter how hard he tries. They’re in his bedroom , for Christ’s sake. If he meets his eyes now then he won’t know what to do.

“Okay,” Jimin says after a few seconds. He shoves his hands inside his pockets and steps towards the door, “that’s all I needed.”

Yoongi’s chest tightens up. He follows Jimin back downstairs, desperate to say something but his tongue stays rigid in his mouth. He could offer Jimin some coffee, hint that he wants him to stay. That’s what Namjoon would do. But Yoongi’s too scared. He’s scared of Jimin saying no. He’s almost certain Jimin would say no.

It’s a wasted opportunity, Yoongi knows it. He knows there’s never been a better time, Jimin’s finished work, he’s alone, Namjoon’s not in. The timing is perfect but Yoongi just can’t do it. It’s frustrating.

Jimin turns to face him again before he opens the door, hand on the handle, waiting. His features are soft, but the way he tilts his head is curious.

He’s giving him a chance. Yoongi swallows thickly, looks away. Everything he wants to say is stuck at the back of his throat, guarded by doubt, insecurity, anxiety.

The door clicks as it opens, a wasted opportunity. It’s so frustrating.

“See you tomorrow,” Jimin says. Yoongi looks up just in time to see him smile politely.

“Yeah, see you,” he mumbles, but his eyes are downcast again, disappointed in himself.

He frowns when the door closes, clenches his fists for a moment before unclenching.

It’s so fucking frustrating.

———

Friday.

A loud whirring jerks him awake.

“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself, rubbing his eyes. He checks the time; nine-thirty. The builders usually arrive after ten.

There’s more whirring and Yoongi realises it’s not coming from above him, it’s coming from below. He sits up slowly, stares at his bedroom floor as if he had X-ray vision and could see through it.

His bedroom door swings open seconds later, and Namjoon hurries in. “ Sorry! Sorry, I knew that would wake you.”

“The fuck’s going on?”

“Carpenter guy’s here.”

“What the fuck is he doing, sawing holes in the floor?” He rubs his eyes again and sighs when the noise returns.

Namjoon closes the door behind him, speaks louder over the sound, “ kind of. The floor literally rotted because—"  the noise stops, “because of the flood, he’s replacing some of the wood before it spreads.”

Jesus . That sounds like a big job.

“How long will that take?” Yoongi asks.

“Two weeks.”

Great. So his plan to break his sink to somehow suck Jimin’s dick not only flat out didn’t fucking work, but it’s made his life harder than it was before.

The noise returns, growing louder each second, and Yoongi feels his irritation growing. He glares at Namjoon stood in the middle of his room, waits for the noise to stop because there’s no way he could hear him if he spoke now.

It stops. Yoongi climbs out of bed and scoffs, “I’m going out. I can’t stand this noise, I don’t fucking like people in my house. For fuck sake. ”

“Okay,” Namjoon chuckles, steps out the way as Yoongi snatches a pair of jeans from his floor and tugs them on hastily. He’s lived with Yoongi for years, he’s used to his foul moods in the morning, knows not to take it personally.

———

His irritation spikes when he steps outside and sees the carpenter’s truck in his driveway. He sighs loudly, clenches his fist around his car keys before stuffing them in his pocket. If he were Namjoon he’d ask them to move so that he can drive his car out, but he’s not Namjoon, so he rolls his eyes and decides to walk. At least it’s a nice day.

Jimin’s truck pulls up as he reaches the end of his driveway and Yoongi stops in his tracks, bad mood already melting away.

“Hey,” Jimin says from inside. His window is rolled down and Jeongguk’s in the passenger seat scrolling on his phone. He assumes Taehyung is sat in the back.

“Hi.”

Jimin looks at the truck in the driveway for a few seconds before turning back to him. “Seokjin’s here?”

Yoongi doesn’t know who that is, but he figures it’s probably the asshole tearing his floor apart, so he nods.

“Okay. You going out?”

Jeongguk looks up from his phone, raised eyebrows, shocked like he can’t believe Yoongi’s actually going out. Which would be insulting if it wasn’t completely fucking justified. Even Yoongi’s shocked that he’s going out.

“I don’t— don’t like the noise,” he says quietly. He also doesn’t like people in his house, but he won’t admit that.

Jimin nods slowly. “Okay,” he smiles at him, “have fun.”

The butterflies in his stomach won’t stop fluttering. He smiles back and nods. Nothing else is said and he takes that as a sign that the conversation is over.

“Bye,” he smiles, turns on his heel when Jimin returns the phrase. Suddenly he’s not in a bad mood anymore, he’s in a good one, it’s obvious from the small smile on his face as he walks down the sidewalk. It’s obvious from the butterflies and the swelling of his heart that reminds him of when he had his first crush at fifteen.

But then realisation hits him, and he frowns. When did this become more than just wanting to suck Jimin’s dick? When did he feel butterflies, or warmth in his chest just from Jimin smiling at him?

Jimin’s just the fucking builder. And Yoongi’s just setting himself up to get hurt if he starts to like him. A fuck, maybe it could happen, but unlikely. But anything more than that? It’s impossible .

The bad mood returns.

———

Wednesday.

Yoongi has a lot of regrets in life. Not one of them is as big as the regretted decision to break the pipe. He’s spent all week locked in his bedroom for most of the day while Seokjin cuts holes in his kitchen floor and replaces it with new wood.

Or maybe he’s finished that part now. Yoongi’s not sure. He literally hasn’t left his room all day other than to use the bathroom.

Namjoon’s booked the whole week off work, made sure he was adamant about not coming in. He knows Yoongi doesn’t like people in the house. It was bad enough when the builders were working outside, but at least he still had the privacy and the safety of the indoors. Not anymore.

“Right,” Namjoon mumbles, pushing his bedroom door open with his foot. He’s holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a cup of instant noodles in the other. “We ran out of pork, so have chicken.”

Yoongi leans back in his desk chair and grins. “Thanks.”

“You know, he’s nice. He doesn’t mind if you wanna go in the kitchen.”

Yoongi hums and takes the noodles first, stirs them with chopsticks hastily. He’s not going in the kitchen while Seokjin’s here, no matter how nice he is.

Namjoon sighs quietly like he knows, places the coffee gently on Yoongi’s desk. “How’s work?”

“It’s good,” Yoongi mumbles just before he fills his mouth with as many noodles as he can fit in it.

His phone lights up besides him, vibrates against the desk. There’s an unknown number at the top and Yoongi glares at it, watches it ring while he chews his food. That’s the third one today, and he’s ignored it every single time. He doesn’t do phone calls, everyone knows that. There’s only a handful of people he’d call comfortably. Namjoon is one, his mother is another. Then there’s a few people from work that he doesn’t mind calling. But he prefers texting. It’s just easier.

“Who’s that?” Namjoon asks, looking at the number.

Yoongi shrugs, swallows. “I don’t know, they won’t stop fucking calling me though.”

“Might be an emergency. Should I answer for you?”

He shrugs again, hands him the phone. What harm could it do?

“Hello?” His eyebrows shoot up almost comically. “Jimin?”

Jimin?

Yoongi’s eyes bulge as he puts the food down, leaps out of his chair. “Gimme the fucking phone.”

“No, no, he’s—” Yoongi cuts him off by grabbing the phone.

“Hello?” His heart races and his chest is incredibly tight.

“Hey.” It’s definitely Jimin’s voice. Yoongi smiles, feels those fucking butterflies fluttering around again.

“Hi.”

“Just wanted to let you know the paint arrived,” Jimin says. Yoongi stupidly believes he’s smiling. “I can come and paint it on Saturday, if that’s okay?”

“Y-yeah, that’s grine. F-fine, fuck . That’s fine.” Jesus . He can’t even talk.

Namjoon snorts behind him. Jimin chuckles on the phone, too.

“Okay. I’ll need you to clear out most of the room though? You can leave the bed and desk but anything that can fit through the door, if you could move it?”

“O-okay.”

“And move the bed and desk away from the walls.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll come after twelve, is that okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Jimin chuckles again, “okay. See you.”

“See you.” He waits for Jimin to hang up the phone and sighs. There’s a lot to take in.

“Were you trying to say great and fine at the same time?” Namjoon asks, shoulders bouncing as he chuckles.

Yoongi glares at him, “fuck off.”

The butterflies are still there, he’s annoyingly aware of them. But he’s ignoring them. The mission is to fuck, have his inner walls painted in a different shade of white. The mission is not to start liking a guy he’ll never see again after Saturday.

“I have his number saved, why didn’t it show up?” he wonders, frowning at his phone as he opens the contacts to double check. But he’s right, Jimin’s name is saved with a muscle and peach emoji respectively.

Namjoon pulls his own phone from his pocket and spends a few seconds scrolling. “What’s the number again?”

Yoongi reads it out.

“Ah, it’s his work number. Didn’t you save his personal?”

Oh. Okay.

“Did I just get customer-zoned?”

“Customer—” Namjoon snorts, “no, you didn’t. Why’d he call you?”

“Paint’s ready. He’s coming to paint on Saturday.”

“Right. And he’s been calling you all day?”

Yoongi nods.

“But he usually calls me . He doesn’t even have your number, he must’ve saved it from the night you called him.”

Oh. He lets it sink in for a moment as he sits back in his chair. Jimin called him, multiple times, to tell him that he’s coming to paint. He didn’t give up on the first try, call Namjoon instead, he didn’t even leave a message. Maybe, maybe , he wanted to talk to him.

Thank fuck .

“So it’s settled,” Yoongi says, looking back at Namjoon. “If you hear my bed squeaking on Saturday then mind your own fucking business.”

———

Saturday.

Yoongi’s been nervous before. Nothing compares to the pull on his heart when the door knocks.

He glances in the mirror before answering, fixes his hair and checks for the fifth time since eating that there’s no food in his teeth. Namjoon watches him from the sofa, amused smirk and crossed arms.

He’s prepared, spent all morning getting ready, washing his dick, trimming his ass crack, douching for nearly twenty fucking minutes. He’s wearing skinny jeans ripped at the knees and a low cut t-shirt, but Namjoon said no jewellery. This is his home after all, he doesn’t need to dress up.

Deep breaths. He opens the door.

Jimin’s clothes are smothered in dried paint, like a child has used him as their art canvas, and he’s holding a bucket of paint in each hand. He grins and Yoongi feels his heartbeat speed up even more. If it goes any faster he might have a fucking heart attack.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Do you need help carrying those?” Yoongi asks as he walks in.

Jimin looks down at the paint and licks his lips. Fuck . Yoongi’s one beat-per-minute away from a heart attack. “Sure, thanks.”

He holds them out and Yoongi reaches to take them, hyper aware of their proximity, the smell of Jimin’s spearmint gum, the feel of Jimin’s hands as he takes the handles. He keeps his eyes downcast, too afraid to look at him from this close up. It could kill him, he’s so sure of it.

The buckets are heavy . Yoongi feels them pull his weight down as soon as Jimin lets go, struggles to hold them up.

Apparently Jimin notices. “Are you sure you can— you don’t have to,” he reaches for the buckets again but Yoongi steps back, shakes his head.

“ N-no . I got this. Sh-should I take them upstairs?”

“Are you sure?”

“M’fine.”

“I can take one?”

“N-no. It’s okay,” Yoongi urges, starts walking towards the stairs. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe he’s just too embarrassed to admit that he’s struggling to hold two buckets of fucking paint. Maybe he’s just fucking stubborn. But he carries them to the stairs, glares at Namjoon smirking at him from the sofa.

Namjoon waits until Jimin heads back outside before teasing him. “Need help there, Yoongi?”

“Fuck off.”

———

When Jimin arrives in his room, he’s carrying a roller and tray, large duffel bag hanging off his shoulder. The paint buckets are besides the door, and he places them down next to it, looks up at Yoongi sat on the bed and smiles.

Yoongi smiles back. He feels shy, excited. There’s no plan at all but it’s the perfect fucking scenario: they’re alone, in his bedroom, Yoongi’s ass is washed out and ready.

“Thanks for taking the paint up.”

“No problem.”

“I bought two buckets but I don’t think I’ll need them both. If I don’t open the other one then I won’t charge you for it. That okay?”

“Yeah.”

Jimin smiles at him again and Yoongi looks away quickly, cheeks blushing, heart fluttering stupidly. Jesus , he can’t even look at him. How is he going to fuck him if he can’t fucking look at him?

“It shouldn’t take long, I’ll let you know when it’s done,” Jimin says.

“Huh?”

“An hour, maybe? One and a half, tops.” He unzips the duffel bag and tugs out a large cloth sheet.

“Oh, you want me to leave?”

Jimin looks up from the bag curiously. “You wanna stay?”

Yoongi’s heart races. “ N-no . No, no, it’s— no,” he stands up from his bed and hurries to the door, “no, it’s fine.” He keeps his eyes on the floor as he walks past, swallows thickly.

There was never any plan. Just loose expectations, scenarios he imagined in his head. Yoongi sat on his bed watching him paint, sultry eye contact, sexual tension as Jimin climbs down from the ladder and approaches him. Then smirks, kisses, hands everywhere, paint smeared on Yoongi’s naked skin, an unusually handy bottle of lube nearby.

But that was just imagination. This is reality. Yoongi hates reality .

Namjoon looks up from the sofa, watches him flop his entire body down next to him. “What happened?”

Yoongi stares at the ceiling dully and sighs. “He’s gonna let me know when it’s done. So I’m not like, in there, now . I’m just sat down here with your boring ass.”

“ Ah , you thought he was gonna paint the ceiling and fuck you at the same time? One hand on the paintbrush, other hand jerking your cock?”

Yoongi scowls, kicks Namjoons ankle lightly . “Fuck off.”

———

“I’ll let you do the honors,” Namjoon grins.

Yoongi looks up from his phone to where Namjoon is leaning against the kitchen door frame, a cup of coffee in his hands that he’s holding out for Yoongi to take.

“I’m not thirsty, you have it.”

“You dumb prick, it’s for Jimin.”

Oh. Oh.

“Oh.”

“Take it upstairs, talk to him.”

Anxiety rushes back. It’s the mention of conversation. He’s back in reality now, there’s no lustful staring or vulgar make outs. It’s just Yoongi and his unbearable social anxiety and inability to fucking talk. And that’s not very sexy.

“Yoongi,”

He frowns, “I don’t want to.”

He’s given up. He’s got a clean ass and nothing to put in it, and sometimes life is just like that. It’s fucking unfair like that.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon repeats, stepping closer to him, “just relax. You can do this. Talk about the paint job, ask if there’s gonna be another coat needed. Ask if— ask what else he has planned for today.”

“Are you serious? Fuck, no. Isn’t that too personal?”

“Not really. You’re just being curious. Making conversation, you know. Like a normal person.”

He’s holding the coffee right in front of him and Yoongi knows he won’t take no for an answer. He sighs, chest tight and stomach tense as he takes the cup.

The door is closed, the faintest sound of music coming from inside. Yoongi knocks quietly, notes how much the coffee in his hand is shaking.

“Yeah, come in,” Jimin calls. Yoongi opens the door.

The first thing he notices is that his room is covered with sheets, the whole floor and the remaining furniture that wasn’t taken out. The second thing he notices is the smell, so repugnant that he scrunches his nose quickly and grimaces. Jimin is stood near the window, extended roller in his hands that he’s still rolling across the ceiling. There’s music playing from his phone, quiet enough that he doesn’t have to raise his voice.

“I brought coffee,” he mumbles.

Jimin doesn’t take his eyes off the ceiling until he pulls the roller away and places it against the sheet covered floor. There’s paint in his hair, a few smears on his arms and one on his chin. Yoongi thinks it’s cute. He stares at Yoongi for a moment before his eyes flicker to the coffee.

“Ah, Namjoon made it,” Yoongi adds. It’s somewhat insulting how Jimin’s face softens at the news. Is he really that bad at making coffee?

“Thank you,” Jimin says, walking around his bed towards him. He looks at his hands and frowns, “ah my hands are—”

His hands are covered in paint like he’s five fucking years old and making butterfly wings with the palm of his hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yoongi chuckles, holding the coffee out for him. It’s Namjoon’s stupid fucking Spongebob mug that he got for Secret Santa one year. Yoongi could care less about it being ruined.

Jimin’s fingers touch Yoongi’s as he takes the cup, and they’re hard and rough from the paint, not soft like earlier. Maybe they wouldn’t feel as nice running along his skin as he originally thought. He imagines a handjob would feel something like rubbing his cock against sandpaper. That’s a shame.

“I’m nearly finished,” Jimin says, sipping the coffee. He looks up at the ceiling and Yoongi does too. It looks white. Eggshell white , to be apparently specific. “I think the stain needs another coat, I’ll have Jeongguk come for that on Monday night, is that alright? It shouldn’t take long, it’s just that part that needs another coat.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Yoongi asks. He realises how fucking stupid he sounds as soon as he closes his mouth, flushes quickly and looks away. “Uh, I-I mean—"

Jimin laughs. “I’m afraid I’m fully booked next week, sugar.”

Sugar . Sugar. Sugar. Sugar. Sugar. Sugar. Sugar. Sugar. Sugar. Sugar.

Yoongi’s on the verge of fucking tears, he’s on the verge of a heart attack, he’s on the verge of springing a hard on right here and now.

“Sorry,” is all he manages to say.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimin assures. Yoongi peeks up and realises he’s grinning at him.

It’s quiet again, asides from the music. Yoongi feels awkward, anxious. They’re just stood in his room in fucking silence. He bites his lip nervously, generates the fucking courage to do what Namjoon told him to do.

“Wh-wh-what are you—” fuck,  “wh-what do you have planned?” he looks up at Jimin again, tenses when he sees the confusion on his face, “uh, I mean like, wh-what do you have planned for the rest of to-today?”

Christ. That couldn’t have gone less smoothly. Yoongi can feel the heat on his face so strongly he’s almost certain his skin is the same colour as a fucking beetroot. He stares at the floor again, notices Jimin shifting to lean on his left leg.

“Nothing much. Why?”

“N-no reason. I was just curious.” Fuck . Namjoon didn’t tell him what to say now.

But that was an opportunity, wasn’t it? He could have say a million fucking things, wanna hang out for a bit? Wanna spend the rest of the afternoon drilling me? A million fucking things. And he went with no reason . Because he’s fucking socially inept.

Jimin chuckles softly, sips the coffee.

The song that was playing when Yoongi walked in ends, and he recognises the next song instantly, feels his eyes widen and his cheeks blush even more.

Oh, god. No.

Jimin notices a few seconds into the song. “Oh. Didn’t you say you made this song?”

Oh, jesus. Yoongi’s seconds away from passing out. It’s everything, it’s Jimin, it’s him embarrassing himself, the fumes of the paint, now his fucking song is playing. Isn’t this Jimin’s playlist? Does he really like the song that much that he put it on his playlist?

“Y-yeah.”

“That’s impressive.”

Yoongi’s skin is purple . He’s convinced.

“It’s one of my favourite songs.”

Oh. Oh, fuck . Yoongi wants to scream. He feels locked in position, head down in embarrassment, tears lining his eyes, mouth twisted into an ugly combination of a smile and grimace. Probably not very sexy.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asks, stepping closer slightly.

“ Uhuh ,” Yoongi squeaks. Squeaks .

“You seem flustered.”

“Ahh.” Fuck. “I’m just— uh. Uh. Uh. I gotta— my— downstairs. Uh,” he steps back towards the door quickly and looks up at Jimin briefly. He’s smirking, amused almost, maybe concerned. “Just— uh, bring the cup— cup down when you’re— I gotta—  Namjoon needs me.”

He closes the door behind him and takes the stairs two at a time, heart pounding so hard against his chest that he thinks it might actually explode. He repeats the words in his head on each step; it’s one of my favourite songs. It’s one of my favourite songs. It’s one of my favourite songs.

Namjoon looks up from the sofa curiously, barely reacts when Yoongi curls himself into a ball besides him. “ Well . What went wrong?”

“He said he likes my music,” Yoongi says, eyes unfocused and hands shaking. “Joon, he said he likes my music.”

“Is that bad?”

“He said he likes my music.”

“You make good music.”

“I freaked out,” he looks up at his friend, tears still welling and grimace still stuck on his face, “I think I want to die.”

Namjoon pets his head awkwardly. “It probably wasn’t as bad as you think.”

Yoongi disagrees. He tries to think what’s worse, the stuttering, the look on his face, the fact that he just fucking fled the scene like fight or flight kicked in. All because he said it’s one of his favourite songs.

It’s one of his favourite songs.

Oh fuck.

———

Jimin comes downstairs half an hour later, and Yoongi flushes instantly.

“All done.” He’s carrying the duffel bag on his shoulder, one of the paint buckets, and the roller and tray. “I left the paint there for Jeongguk, it’s okay to move your bed back but try and keep the area under the stain clear. And I left the window open to get the smell out, but if you think it’s too strong then I’d sleep somewhere else tonight.”

Yoongi nods shyly. His heart races when Jimin holds his arm out towards him, but he realises he’s holding the Spongebob cup in the same hand as the paint bucket. He nibbles his lip as he takes it, feels butterflies when their hands touch, notes the way Jimin’s arm is tensing from holding the bucket up, bicep muscle raised sharply. It’s hot. He’s lifting it effortlessly, like he’s used to holding that kind of weight.

“How much is it?” Namjoon asks, standing up and grabbing his wallet.

Jimin shakes his head, “just pay Jeongguk on Monday, I haven’t worked out the amount yet.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Okay,” Jimin grins, glances back at Yoongi for a few seconds before following Namjoon to the door, “it was nice meeting you, Yoongi.”

For some reason Yoongi feels his heart drop. He smiles back anyway, “you too.”

“Bye.”

“Thanks for everything,” Namjoon says, “I gave you a five star review on Yelp.”

Jimin laughs, “okay. Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Yoongi swallows when Namjoon closes the door, pretends he’s not actually upset about never seeing Jimin again.

“Well, I guess I spent twenty minutes cleaning my ass for nothing,” he scoffs, turning the mug in his hands. There’s paint on the handle and he rubs his thumb over it gently.

Namjoon smiles sympathetically, “I’m sorry you failed your mission.”

Yoongi sighs. It was a stupid mission anyway. Completely fucking unrealistic. He should stick to grindr hook ups, everything’s easier like that. The texting, the quick sex, occasional post-sex nap, the goodbyes. Yoongi knows how to do that. He doesn’t know how to hook up with the people fixing his roof or painting his ceiling.

“Whatever,” he mumbles, placing the mug on the coffee table and leaping to his feet, “if you need me I’ll be in the bathroom pretending my dildo is Jimin.”

“Okay,” Namjoon chuckles, watching him head upstairs.

———

Tuesday.

Yoongi’s heart races faster than it ever has before as the phone rings. He’s sat on the edge of the bathtub, teeth grazing against his nails lightly, sweat rushing out from his skin. It's been a month since Jimin fixed his roof and Yoongi's got a new plan.

“Hello?”

Shit. Shit.

“Hey!” He starts, ignoring how much his stomach is fluttering at the sound of Jimin’s voice. “Uh, I— we um, our bathtub broke, uh. And— and I-I remembered that you can fit baths, right? So I’m— I figured I’d call you. To— you know, to fix it. T-the bathtub.”

Jesus, that went smoother in his head.

Jimin chuckles, “is this Yoongi?”

Oh, fuck. “Y-yeah. Sorry, I— uh, I thought you had my number saved.”

“I delete the numbers from my work phone after a week, otherwise I’d have too many saved. So you want me to fix the bath?” There’s drilling in the background suddenly, but it’s not loud enough to drown Jimin’s voice out. He must be at work, maybe this was a bad time to call him. Fuck .

“Y-yeah.”

"Okay. I can come over tonight after six and check it out for you.”

Yoongi grins. “So you’ll do it?”

Someone calls Jimin’s name. “Yeah, one sec. Yeah, I’ll do it. Don’t use the bath for now, okay?”

Yoongi hums.

“Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“O-okay.”

“Bye.”

“Bye,” he grins as he hangs up, stares at his phone for a few moments.

He’s over Jimin. Really . He got over it in a week, carried on with his life, made new songs, sucked other cocks. And it was all fine. Until Hoseok came over last night. Fucking Hoseok and his he was asking about you, you know.

Yoongi’s heart really did stutter pathetically when he heard that.

He stands up and shoves his phone in his pocket before climbing into the bathtub. He’s wearing the heaviest shoes he owns, a pair of platform boots from way back in his teenage emo phase, these should definitely get the job done.

It’s the perfect time for this, Namjoon won’t be home until the weekend, so he doesn’t even need to know about this at all, the bath will definitely be fixed before he’s home and Namjoon will never know he broke it in the first place.

———

Jimin stares at the bath for the longest time. Yoongi stands behind him, heart racing, stomach fluttering, hands sweating. It’s nice seeing him here again. And he’s wearing shorts. Shorts . Yoongi only wishes they were a little shorter so he could see his thighs.

“Can’t say I was expecting this.”

“I-I fell,” Yoongi says, blushing, “while I was getting out from the shower.”

Jimin’s smirking when he turns around, his own cheeks a little pink. He nods slowly, smirk growing into a grin, “must’ve been a big fall.”

“It was.” His voice is confident, serious. The first step to making Jimin believe he fell is for Yoongi to believe he fell. And he fell, he fucking fell. Straight on his fucking ass. He’s got 3 bruises from it. He hit the back of his head on the side of the bath and passed out for three hours, called Jimin as soon as he woke up.

“Glad you’re okay,” Jimin says. His smile seems genuine and Yoongi looks away shyly, worries his bottom lip between his teeth. There’s butterflies again, fuck. He watches Jimin crouch down besides the bath, reaching into it and pushing on the large cracks at the bottom. “I guess it’s pretty safe to say you’ll need a new one,” he chuckles.

That’s obvious. Yoongi’s fucking feet went through the plastic, for a whole terrifying second he thought he was going to go through the bathroom floor and through the kitchen ceiling. There’s a hole the size of two platform boots at the bottom of the tub that’s conveniently a similar size to his ass. Of course he needs a new bath.

Jimin reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a tape measure, takes the measurements of the bath and records them on a small piece of paper. Then he stands up and chuckles again. “Here,” he holds the paper out and Yoongi takes it carefully, “make sure you get these measurements. Call me when it’s arrived and I’ll come fit it for you.”

Wait, what? Yoongi scrunches his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Use the measurements, so get one that’s one-seven-hundred by seven-fifty.”

“You— you want me to buy it?”

Jimin laughs, leans onto his left leg. Always the left, Yoongi notes. He folds his arms across his chest and grins, “did you think I just had a spare in the back of my truck?”

Yes. “Uh— no, no. I— no, not that.” He’s fucked . “Just— uh, how long will it take to arrive?”

“Usually about a week.”

He’s absolutely fucked. Explaining this to Namjoon won’t be easy.

“Have you got a friend who will let you use their shower?”

Oh, fuck. Jesus, he didn’t even think of that.

His chest tightens alarmingly fast. “Uh, um—” No, he doesn’t. He can’t . Fuck.

“Are you okay?” Jimin steps closer to him, head tilted and eyebrows furrowed. Yoongi must look as shit as he feels.

“Uh— I— uh—”

Fuck . Well, this backfired on him. Everything fucking backfires on him . Fuck .

“ Hey ,” he steps closer again, places a hand gently on Yoongi’s arm. And that would make Yoongi grin and blush if he wasn’t so fucking preoccupied with the thought of having to use someone else’s shower. Especially when Namjoon’s not here. “Order one tonight, and tomorrow they’ll probably send you a delivery date. Text me the date and I’ll make sure I’m free on that day, okay?”

Yoongi nods slowly. He’s not looking at Jimin but he can feel his hand on his arm and he can smell his spearmint gum and he knows how close they are. And it’s soothing him a little. He wants to look up but he can’t, frozen like a fucking statue. Jimin’s touching him. He’s close, he’s touching him. Yoongi wants to lean closer but he’s fucking frozen .

Jimin seems to notice. He squeezes his arm gently before letting go and stepping back to give him space. But Yoongi didn’t want space. He misses the hand on his arm already, wishes he could just look him in the eye and let him know he wants to be touched. But he can’t. Fucking socially inept.

Would it be weird to ask him to touch him again? Yes it would. Yoongi swallows that question down before it ever sees the light of day.

“I’ll text you,” he says instead, looks at the measurements on the paper again and wonders if he should call Namjoon to tell him or wait until he gets home.

But Namjoon won’t fall for it like Jimin did. He’ll know Yoongi broke it. That’s embarrassing.

It’s quiet again and Yoongi looks up, meets Jimin’s eyes and swallows. But he forces himself to maintain eye contact. Even if he does look like a fucking deer caught in headlights. Even if he feels like a deer caught in headlights.

The corner of Jimin’s lip curls and Yoongi smiles shyly, looks at his shoes for a second before looking back at Jimin’s lips, his eyebrows, his nose, just anywhere that isn’t his eyes. Jimin’s really gorgeous. Yoongi feels stupidly smitten.

“Alright,” Jimin grabs the tape measure and stuffs it back in his pocket, “was that everything?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, thanks.” He steps to the side and lets Jimin walk in front of him. Maybe he’d try harder, reach over and grab Jimin’s wrist, ask him if he’s free for a few more hours, but the thought of calling Namjoon to tell him about the fucking bath is at the front of his mind. And then again, he knows he wouldn’t do that even if he wanted to.

Jimin stops by the door and turns, hand on the handle. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

Yoongi nods slowly, stares at Jimin’s shoes. They’re just plain black sneakers but they’re covered in dried plaster and paint. “Next week,” he smiles.

———

Thursday.

“So— okay. Okay so take me through this again.”

Yoongi sighs. He’s lying on the sofa, TV muted, one hand fumbling with the remote while the other holds the phone to his ear.

So it took a few days to work up the courage to tell Namjoon. But at least now he can tell him that Jimin is definitely coming next Wednesday to fit the bath he bought. It’s almost exactly the same as their old one. He’s coming on Tuesday to take the old one out, too.

“I was getting out of the shower and I slipped on a bar of soap. Went fucking flying backwards, landed on my ass, broke the tub.”

There’s another pause at the end of the line. If Yoongi has to repeat himself for the third time he’ll just hang up.

“The tub broke?”

“Yes, Namjoon. The tub broke. A huge fucking hole in it where my ass landed.”

“You know you only weigh like a hundred and thirty pounds, right?”

Yoongi grimaces, “r-right.” Fuck .

“And you expect me to believe your skinny twink ass broke the tub?”

It’s Yoongi who pauses this time.

Namjoon sighs. Yoongi can picture him running a hand over his face.

“I’m paying.”

“Oh, you’re damn right you’re paying if you broke the fucking bath.”

It’s not anger in his voice. It’s just disbelief, frustration maybe. Yoongi still swallows.

“Have you showered?” Namjoon asks after a minute.

Yoongi’s chest feels tight again. “No. I showered before it broke but— I can’t— I don’t wanna—”

“You could ask Hoseok.”

Yoongi doesn’t have friends. Coworkers, acquaintances, nice people at Starbucks. But not friends. Not friends who aren’t Namjoon, his best and only friend since junior school.

Hoseok is probably the closest thing he has to a friend. He comes to the house a lot, and Yoongi’s comfortable enough that he doesn’t hide himself in his room, he even sits with them and engages in their conversations. But Hoseok is Namjoon’s friend, not Yoongi’s. Despite how many times Namjoon tells him that he’s Yoongi’s friend too.

The truth is Hoseok has never texted Yoongi unless it’s related to Namjoon. He’s never asked to hang out with Yoongi unless Namjoon is there. And that’s not friendship, is it?

“No.”

“I can text him and ask—”

“No, Namjoon.”

“So you’re just not gonna shower until Wednesday?”

Shit. Fuck. “I— I don’t know. Fuck.”

“Yoongi—"

“I’ll stock up on fucking, bottles of dry shampoo and deodorant. It’s not like I leave the fucking house is it?”

Okay, that’s not true. He does leave the house. He does the groceries, posts their mail, goes into the recording studio in the city once he’s finished a song to record it properly. He just doesn’t like doing those things.

Namjoon sighs. “Will you come with me to Hoseok’s when I come back?”

“Maybe.” That would be easier. Not easy, but easier.

“‘Cause I wouldn’t want you to stink when Jimin comes on Wednesday.”

Yoongi grins. He wouldn’t want that either. Not if he’s going to get Jimin in his bed. And he is, he absolutely is.

He just doesn’t know how yet.

———

Wednesday.

“Well,” Namjoon says out of nowhere, breaks the peaceful silence that Yoongi’s been enjoying for nearly ten minutes.

Yoongi looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. “Well, what?”

Namjoon’s arms are folded across his chest, ankle resting in an awkward position on the knee of the other leg. He doesn’t reply, just stares intensely at Yoongi in a way that makes him scowl unpleasantly.  There’s a quiet drilling noise from upstairs that stops after half a minute, and Namjoon doesn’t move an inch.

“What?” Yoongi asks again. Namjoon lifts his chin and nods towards the ceiling. “What?”

“I swear to—” Namjoon sits up suddenly, leans closer to Yoongi and lowers his voice, “Jimin’s been here for half an hour and I’m telling you if he leaves and you haven’t at least given him a handjob — and by that I mean, if you broke our bath for nothing, Yoongi —  I will absolutely kill you.”

Fuck, he’s right. But Yoongi doesn’t know what to fucking do. It’s not like he can just go up there and ask Jimin to pull his dick out.

“Okay. So, what do I do, then?”

“You bring him some fucking coffee,” Namjoon says aggressively, counts on his fingers, “you ask him for the love of god if he wants to hang out with you some time, you—”

“No way, I can’t.”

“You ask him what he’s doing later, offer for him to stay for longer, watch a movie, order food in—”

“No fucking way. Don’t you know anything about me? I can’t fucking—”

“Be touchy with him,” Namjoon continues over him, still counting on his fingers, “make some jokes—”

“I can’t—”

“Offer to try out the bath with him—”

“Namjoon—”

“Light some fucking candles—”

“No—”

“Because you’re not getting anywhere—”

“Joon—”

“—sat downstairs with—”

It’s Jimin’s drill that stops the bickering. The pair glare at each other silently until it stops.

“Coffee,” Namjoon orders, standing up from his seat and walking to the kitchen. Yoongi sighs loudly and watches him make one in the kitchen, jaw tense from irritation, chest tight from anxiety. He’s not good at this.

———

The bathroom door is already open and Jimin’s on all fours on the floor, screwdriver in his hand, ass in the air. God, Yoongi loves plumbers. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and they’re loose around his thighs but tighter around the ass. Yoongi nearly drops the fucking coffee at the sight.

“H-h-hey,” he says, leans against the bathroom door frame and holds the coffee with both hands.

“One sec,” Jimin mumbles, focuses on what he’s screwing for two more seconds before sitting back on his ankles, “yeah?”

“N-Namjoon made coffee.”

“Oh,” Jimin grins, holds his hand out for it. Yoongi feels shier as he walks over to give it to him. “So Namjoon is the barista, you’re just the delivery?”

“You don’t like my coffee,” Yoongi mumbles, fingers picking lightly at his cuticles.

“I don’t,” he agrees, smirks at him before taking a sip, “but Namjoon could’ve given it to me instead.”

Yoongi’s not sure if he’s implying that he wants Namjoon to bring coffee instead of him. He frowns and Jimin hums into the coffee.

“I’m just kidding. I’m glad you brought it, I like talking to you.”

Oh. Oh, fuck. Yoongi flushes at that, eyes widen a little and grin betrays him. He looks down at his feet quickly in hope to hide it.

Jimin chuckles, but he doesn’t say anything else, and Yoongi’s left with the same irritating fucking silence that he can’t stand, nothing but the sound of his heart drilling in his chest and Jimin blowing on his coffee. He knows he has to say something. Jesus, Jimin said he likes talking to him, so he should fucking talk.

He looks at the bathtub, which looks like it’s finished, placed against the wall where it should be. Jimin’s screwing the legs into place, it seems.

“Are— are you nearly done?” Yoongi asks. He’s nervous about the answer. Jimin’s only been here for half an hour.

“I’m about half way,” Jimin says, head tilted and both hands around the coffee mug. He looks relaxed, calm and not absolutely shitting himself like Yoongi is. Conversation clearly comes easy for him. “Got the pipes to connect and sealing around the edge.”

Yoongi nods slowly. It’s probably a good time to ask if he’s free tonight, but no matter how hard he tries, the words won’t form in his mouth. But he needs to say something.

“Can I watch?” He asks before thinking. His eyes widen, “I mean— I’m just curious— I’ve never seen anyone fit a b-bath before!”

Jimin grins, looking down at the coffee in his hands. “Yeah, s’fine.”

———

“And you just twist it on like that,” Jimin mumbles, hand around a large spanner, twisting a nut until it doesn’t move anymore.

They’re both laying on the bathroom floor, shoulders touching, heads under the bathtub and looking up at the water pipes. It’s hard to see from where Yoongi’s laying on his back, but that’s okay, because he doesn’t actually care about how the bath fits together. He just likes hearing Jimin talk.

The bath is nearly done. With the taps fitted, all that’s left is the drainage pipes, then Jimin will place the sides of the bath on and seal it, and go home. And maybe their shoulders are touching and Yoongi can smell Jimin’s freshly inserted spearmint gum so strongly it’s giving him a headache, but his hand isn’t around Jimin’s dick and Namjoon will be furious if nothing happens. Christ, Yoongi himself will be furious.

Jimin sits up and fumbles around in the small box of parts before returning to the floor with the drainage pipe. It’s now or never.

“So,” he starts, wondering how to finish his sentence. I get a lot of compliments on my oral sex skills . Jesus. No. I think you’re really hot and I might be falling in love with you . No. That’s even worse. “I was thinking about getting my bedroom walls painted. M-might be nice to have— have a change. What do you think?”

Jesus christ, will he ever stop buying time? Will he ever fucking do something?

Jimin looks at him then, and he’s too close to his face, Yoongi keeps his eyes fixed to the pipes above them. He chuckles, a stronger wave of spearmint attacking Yoongi’s face. “Redecorating?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“What colour?” He asks, hands reaching up to begin fitting the pipe. Yoongi watches intensely.

He thinks about the question. Honestly, he’s happy with the pale cream colour he has now. “Red?”

“Good choice.”

“Will you—,” he swallows nervously, “do it for me?”

Even without looking at him, he can tell Jimin’s smirking. “I can have one of my guys come for it, Jeongguk should be free next week.”

“N-not you?”

“I’m busy for a while. You’d be waiting months before I have the time to—”

“I don’t mind. It’s not urgent.”

Jimin chuckles again. “Alright. Think about it, yeah?”

Yoongi hums, watching him twist the overflow drain. Really, he can’t see anything past Jimin’s wrist, but he can hear it being screwed in.

It falls quiet then, Jimin briefly explaining what he’s doing again, then working in silence. Yoongi thinks about redecorating his room. Maybe he’s not sucking Jimin’s dick but he bought more time, so Namjoon can’t be that mad at him. At least he got something out of this.

More time to buy more time. Namjoon’s gonna be livid.

“You know ,” Jimin says after some minutes. Yoongi glances briefly to see him smirking, eyes on his hands still. “You could just ask me on a date instead of breaking your house and paying me to come and fix it. Might be cheaper.”

Shit. Fuck . Oh, fuck.

Yoongi flushes. He stays silent for a few seconds, cheeks burning bright red and heartbeat springing into a deadly race. “I— I, uh— wh— I-I don’t—”

Jimin chuckles as he keeps stuttering, and before Yoongi can even register a movement, he pushes himself from the floor, holding himself up on one arm as he leans across Yoongi's body to place a kiss on his stuttering lips, silencing him. The kiss lasts only a second, but it stuns Yoongi to silence, eyes wide and cheeks purple. He comes to his senses quickly and reaches for Jimin’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss, deepening it slightly.

His mouth is tingly from the gum, minty and fresh. Yoongi lets himself peel from his bathroom floor as Jimin lays back down, not wanting to pull away just yet, so he moves himself so that he’s leaning over Jimin instead. He feels Jimin’s hand cup his jaw, other hand near the elbow that he’s resting on.

Now this, this , is something. Maybe Namjoon won’t be mad after all.

Jimin hums into his mouth when Yoongi hooks a leg over his waist and pushes his crotch against his hip, pulls back from the kiss and smirks. “Woah, there,” he chuckles, “we haven’t been on a date yet.”

“You’ve never fucked someone without going on a date first?” Yoongi asks, unhooking his leg and giving them a bit of space.

“I have,” he says, smiling, “thought this was gonna be more than just a hook up though."

Oh. Oh.

“O-oh.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“N-no, I want to!” Yoongi panics. Jimin smiles. “I’ve never been on a date before.”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” Jimin smirks. He raises his arms again and continues working on the pipes.

Yoongi stays laying on his side, watching Jimin’s face as he works. He can’t believe this is happening, pinches the crook of his elbow just to make sure he’s not dreaming. He’s not. Oh, fuck.

Surely then, he just imagined it. But the spearmint taste on his lips says otherwise.

“H-how did you know?” He asks quietly, blush still burning his cheeks. “Th-that I— uh—”

“Like me?” Jimin finishes, smirking as his hands fumble around. He glances as Yoongi for a second before continuing, “it was obvious. You’re not very subtle, sugar.”

Yoongi cringes. Jesus, how humiliating.

Jimin laughs then, sitting up to grab a tool from his box. He looks at Yoongi and smiles, “I don’t mind, though. It’s nice, actually. No one’s ever broken their sink and bath for me before.”

No, he doesn’t suppose many people are stupid and desperate enough to do that. At least he doesn’t think it’s weird.

“Oh.”

“So, what do you wanna do?”

Yoongi squints. “What?”

“The date,” Jimin smiles, swooping back down besides him and continuing his work.

Oh. He thinks about it then, wonders what they could possibly do. What even happens on a date? If they eat a meal, won’t he choke on something and embarrass himself? If they stay in and watch a movie, won’t Jimin think he’s boring?

“The movies,” he decides. It seems safe enough, he can’t put his foot in his mouth because they have to be quiet, he can find out what kind of movies Jimin likes, and they can maybe make out during the credits. “I haven’t seen Infinity War yet.”

“Ah,” Jimin raises an eyebrow, looking up at him again, “neither have I. Then let’s go see it.”

Yoongi smiles at him, heart racing and butterflies fluttering at the thought of seeing it with him.

“Perfect,” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” Jimin whispers back, eyes on his lips. “ Perfect .”