Chapter Text
—🌿—
The phone call is unexpected.
In general, Seokjin isn’t a fan of them. He’s a texter through and through, but unfortunately having his own business necessitates answering calls sometimes. That being said, it’s normal for him to experience a little kick in his heart rate when his phone rings. It’s less normal for that kick to have him fumbling to answer as quickly as possible.
“Hi,” comes Yoongi’s low voice. Seokjin’s heart does something that could quite possibly qualify as a flutter. What in the world is wrong with him? “So. Um.”
He then launches into a rather adorable little ramble explaining this might seem weird because phone calls are the worst, but texting feels too impersonal and he was sort of banking on Seokjin not picking up and having to leave a voicemail instead, but he’s glad he did. There’s a brief pause as he stops to breathe and Seokjin tries not to titter. “Anyway. Thanks for the other day. I really like it.”
God, he’s cute. And he’d probably scowl even more cutely if Seokjin called him cute. Or maybe he’d melt into the compliment like a sugar cube. Seokjin can’t decide which is cuter.
“I also don’t like phone calls, that’s all Jimin’s territory,” Seokjin reassures him, then winces because now it sounds like he doesn’t appreciate Yoongi calling him. “I mean, I like this call in particular. Aish, we’re both pretty bad at this, aren’t we?”
“We are,” Yoongi says gravely. “Talking like an actual human being is something I’m still working on. I just wanted to thank you.”
Seokjin’s mind instantly flashes to the perfect score the girls earned on their dinosaur project. “Oh, of course. They’re a couple of gremlins, aren’t they, but they pulled it off!”
There’s a brief pause. Seokjin glances at the screen to make sure the call hasn’t ended. “Right,” Yoongi says then, sounding a bit like he’s been holding his breath. “Yes. And, uh…I’d like to get lunch sometime.”
Seokjin freezes. The resulting silence stretches uncomfortably between them.
“Oh…wow, okay. I mean, yes! Let’s do that.”
“Is that still okay? You don’t really have to buy me any kimbap, you know.”
“More than okay,” Seokjin says firmly. “I’m just trying to remember my schedule off the top of my head and I’ve suddenly forgotten how to check a calendar.”
Yoongi makes a wry, almost-laughing sound. “I’m familiar. Minkyung has math and piano after school on Wednesdays, but that used to be her taekwondo day until the piano teacher had to move things around. She made me a calendar to keep track of everything herself.”
“The piano teacher?”
“No, Minkyung.” Seokjin can somehow hear the smile in his voice. “There’s a lot of highlighter involved, and sparkles. She likes things to be organized.”
The mental image of Yoongi poring over a bedazzled calendar is a gift Seokjin never knew he needed. “Well, if you want to check it and get back to me later, I won’t be offended.” He scrolls through his google calendar, checking for any conflicts during his usual lunchtime. “And if it’s easier to do something later, I have to close up shop and then I’m mostly free until Darae gets done with academy. Oh, except she only has math on Mondays, so she comes right to the store, and she has yoga on Tuesdays and I go with her most of the time.”
“Is it like a kids-and-parents yoga class?”
“God, no. She’d never forgive me. I do a pilates class that runs at the same time. It’s better for me than yoga anyway, I’ve got some hypermobility going on.”
“Um,” says Yoongi.
There’s a simmering, short-lived standoff between them. Seokjin cringes. Maybe that was TMI, but no going back now. He has to do some kind of damage control before Yoongi thinks he’s signing up for a maybe-date with the weird plant guy who doesn’t understand the etiquette of when to flippantly discuss genetic mutations. Which…in all fairness, is exactly what Seokjin is.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he blurts out.
“Oh,” Yoongi says, “I doubt that.”
“Trust me,” Seokjin continues, “it’s a lot less sexy bendiness and a lot more people going ‘ew, what’s wrong with your fingers?’”
“I never said it was sexy,” Yoongi says quickly.
Seokjin snorts. “I both appreciate and resent that. I’ll just have to win you over with food instead, yeah?”
That gets him an actual laugh, low and near-silent but still clearly there. A thread of pleasure unfurls somewhere in Seokjin’s hindbrain. He’s gotten the impression that Yoongi doesn’t laugh for just anyone. “Your hands are very nice, from what I remember. I'll make sure to get a good long look the next time I see you. I can do sometime Thursday, if you can?”
“Perfect, it’s a date.” A mathematically accurate first date, he adds silently. Jungkook and Jimin are going to faint when they find out.
Seokjin’s glad they aren’t around to see his ears burning or the way he makes finger guns at his phone.
—🎶—
Their date ends up being devoid entirely of kimbap. They meet at a hole-in-the-wall kalgatsu place because it’s a good halfway point and it turns out Yoongi has a meeting about a potential client that was rescheduled. He can’t blame anyone but himself for forgetting this; it’s something he’s been studiously not thinking about ever since the group’s team first reached out to him. He’s looking forward to seeing Seokjin and continuing to not think about it even more, assuming Seokjin isn’t annoyed with him for the sudden switch in time and place.
Instead, Seokjin greets him with a grin that Yoongi can’t help returning in spite of his own anxiousness. It’s a dreary day, the rain painting everything in shades of premature dusk, and Seokjin is beaming at him under a gray-smudged sky crisscrossed by clotted electrical wires. He’s his own walking weather system, sunniness personified, untouched by the dismalness. “Yoongi-yah! Good to see you again! Let’s eat one of everything.”
Something soft and golden spreads through Yoongi’s chest. “Good to see you too, hyung.”
The place Seokjin suggested is sandwiched between a KT Mobile shop and a pharmacy. The inside is crowded with people, and the outside area is cluttered with lanterns and Jinro crates. Heavy plastic sheeting hangs down on all sides, rain-streaked, smearing the passerby into watercolors. By silent agreement, they sink into a pair of outdoor seats at a cheetah-print tabletop. “I’ve been coming here for years and I’ve never left unsatisfied,” Seokjin tells him reassuringly. “You look like you need satisfaction.”
Coming from him, it somehow sounds sincere and not like a line.
“I do,” Yoongi admits. “One of everything sounds perfect.”
He tries not to sound like he’s been stuck in the mud of his own overthinking, but he can’t tell if he pulls it off. Either way, Seokjin doesn’t seem to mind Yoongi being an additional rain cloud on an already rain-soaked day. Seokjin, though Yoongi can’t quite fathom why, seems genuinely glad to see him. He points out his favorite menu items, laughs squeakily and sips sikhye with him as if they’ve done this a thousand times. He chats about how their kids have paired up for another project, this one about designing an invention to combat ocean pollution, and how Darae seems intent on staying on top of this one every step of the way.
“Weird.” Yoongi slurps up another spoonful of broth. “Minkyung said it was about snow leopards.”
“Are they secretly aquatic?”
Droplets of rainwater have caught on Seokjin’s hair, shimmering in the lantern light. “No, but you might be. You look like a sea god.” The compliment slips out so seamlessly he doesn’t have a chance to be mortified.
Seokjin preens. “Posei-Jin, that’s me. How did you guess?”
“Oh, the usual. One of my clients did a photoshoot where the concept was underwater rap battling.”
Seokjin’s spoon hovers between his bowl and mouth, precariously balanced. “Ah. You're a photographer?”
Yoongi swallows. “Not exactly.” There's always a compulsion to tread carefully when he talks about his work to anyone who doesn’t already know. He’s in music production for an up and coming entertainment company, but because of his discomfort with the idol system, he always ends up fighting the urge to overexplain himself to stave off any assumptions. It’s not without precedence. In his experience, saying the words music producer tends to make people assume one of two extremes: either he's constantly hobnobbing with superstars or grinding away on SoundCloud but trying to make himself sound elevated. Rarely is there any middle ground.
“Music production,” he says, and leaves it there.
“So you’re in,” Seokjin pauses dramatically and flutters jazz hands at him, “the industry?”
Yoongi braces himself. “Yeah, but it isn’t as exciting as you might think.”
“Well.” Seokjin leans in conspiratorially. “Don’t be jealous, but I happen to sell plants.”
That startles a laugh out of him. “I noticed. Best Fronds, huh?”
“You looked me up.” Seokjin sits back in his seat, delighted.
Belatedly, it occurs to Yoongi that this might seem a little odd. “Well,” he starts, abashed, “I don’t let Minkyung associate with the scions of just any plant store.”
“I prefer plant boutique,” Seokjin tells him. “That’s the official designation, which no one who isn’t me ever remembers, so I forgive you.”
Yoongi snorts. “Thanks. I don’t know much about branding outside of my own work.”
“I’ll spare you the mental anguish of coming up with the name when there are so many good plant puns out there, but I originally wanted to call it Best Buds. My friend teaches English and he told me that would just bring in a bunch of confused foreigners looking to buy weed.”
“Is…” Yoongi starts.
“That’s my side hustle,” Seokjin says calmly. “Don’t tell anyone.”
Yoongi nearly misses his mouth with his chopsticks. “Wait. Are you serious?”
Seokjin regards him with dark, serious eyes. “Almost never, and especially not now.” And he dissolves into a fit of giggles worthy of Minkyung.
“For all I know, plant boutique could be code for something!” Yoongi definitely does not screech at him. “How am I supposed to know you’re not secretly king of the—the greater illegal plant-selling underground?”
“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says, his voice mirth-edged around the shape of his name, and Yoongi can’t even pretend to ignore the way that makes his pulse flutter, “I need you to understand that most days I feel like I can barely handle having a legal business. I don’t know the first thing about the underground unless it has to do with fertilizer or root maintenance.” He looks thoughtful. “But if I did, I’d want to dress like an extra in the Matrix and be so over the top no one would ever believe it and therefore no one would ever catch me. Also it would embarrass Darae like nothing I’ve ever done.”
Momentarily distracted by the mental image of Seokjin in head to toe PVC and angular sunglasses offsetting his cheekbones, Yoongi takes a long drink of sikhye. “Did we just stumble into an alternate career path?”
“I hope so!” There’s a pleased flush in Seokjin’s ears. “Maybe once I’m ready to retire and turn the store over to someone. I can make Jimin and Jungkook rock-paper-scissors for it.”
“So…fronds.”
“What? Ah, right. That’s the name I went with even though we sell more than fronds. That would just be too niche.”
He sounds adorably earnest about this. Yoongi has a feeling Seokjin does, in fact, take his work very seriously. “When did you open it?”
“Four years ago.”
“On your own?”
“Well. Darae was there. She wasn’t much help, though.” He gestures at Yoongi’s bowl. “Eat more, I’m about to monologue. If you get bored, just remember you’re the one who asked.”
Over the rest of his kalgatsu, Yoongi learns that Seokjin never actually planned on becoming—in his words—a plantrepreneur. He studied business administration in university and had every intention of staying with his family’s company in Yangpyeong, but couldn’t tear himself away from Seoul. He talks about how he always grew up with an affinity for gardening, how daunting it was to take the plunge of starting his own shop, and how hiring friends was the best decision he could have made.
His enthusiasm is contagious. Yoongi feels a little envious, then feels like an asshole for it. Most of his own friends are either back in Daegu or people he met through Namjoon, which sort of makes him feel like he hasn’t earned the right to call them his own friends. It doesn’t matter how amicable a breakup is, there’s always a sort of stain that lingers on everyone touched by it. The person he talks to the most frequently, outside of colleagues and Minkyung, is still Namjoon. He tells himself he's got more than enough going on in his life without a thriving social circle, but sometimes he has trouble believing it.
He also learns, with a flicker of relief, that Jimin has a boyfriend named Taehyung.
“Those three are basically her posse of weird uncles, not counting her actual uncle,” Seokjin says, wrapping up a story about Darae, said weird uncles, and ineptly applied hair chalk. “I actually told her to ask Jungkook his favorite dinosaur. Hoseok wouldn’t tell them his, since apparently then the whole class would do it to try and score brownie points. Can you believe that? I don’t think I ever loved a teacher as much as his students do. There’s got to be some kind of sorcery involved.”
“Hm.” Yoongi leans back in his stiff plastic chair, folding his arms. “So technically it’s your fault they decided to do their report on a brachiosaurus instead of something less complex, like a single-celled amoeba.”
“All amoeba are unicellular,” Seokjin rightly points out. “And no third grader would choose an amoeba over a brachiosaurus. Third of all, I can’t help sowing my seeds of knowledge.” He slurps an astonishing quantity of noodles into his mouth, somehow managing to look like an actor in a kalgatsu commercial.
“Please stop talking about sowing your seeds.”
“It’s literally my business,” Seokjin protests. “Sowing seeds is just what I do.”
“Silly me, of course it is.” He’s about to mention the miraculously still-not-dead nasturtium, but Seokjin is on a roll.
“If Darae chose an amoeba over a brachiosaurus, I'd question her parentage even though she's adopted! Besides, if they chose an amoeba they wouldn’t have needed to make a late-night run for brachiosaurus supplies and we might not even be here enjoying this wonderful moment!” He spreads his arms to encompass the rainfall, the sticky tabletops, the industrial plastic curtains, the wonder of a world containing all these things and the ghosts of brachiosauruses too.
“I’m enjoying it very much,” Yoongi says. “Seriously. I don’t go out a lot.”
He expects a remark about going to industry events, but Seokjin just smiles over the rim of his bowl. “Then I guess we’ll have to do it again.”
—🌿—
Unexpectedly, Seokjin has another run-in with Yoongi’s daughter before having one with Yoongi himself.
He’s dropping Darae off at school when Minkyung comes darting over. Seokjin gives her a wave and prepares to pull out of the dropoff loop, but to his surprise she and Darae both run back towards him.
A little out of breath, Minkyung bows hastily at him and blurts out, “Aboenim, do you like americanos?” She proffers a sleek silver thermos.
Seokjin blinks. “Ah. Why do you ask?” Maybe this is the new generation’s version of a lemonade stand.
“He does,” Darae answers for him.
“I made a mistake.” Minkyung wrinkles her nose. “I thought this was my tea when I got out of the car, but it’s my appa’s coffee. You can have it if you want it.”
A little alarmed at the prospect of an uncaffeinated Yoongi and the perils of blocking dropoff traffic, Seokjin winces. “Should I text him and tell him to come back for it?”
“It’s too late,” she wails. “He has a mixing session with some rapper and his schedule is packed and he’ll just be stressed out if he has to turn around. He really should cut back on the americanos anyway. Joon-appa used to say that to him but I don’t think he listened.”
Behind him, someone lays on the horn. Seokjin waves at them in the rearview mirror in what he hopes is a placating manner.
“Appaaaa, everyone’s staring,” Darae whines. She grabs the coffee from Minkyung’s hands and shoves it through the window at him. “Just take it. You can tell him to come to the store to pick up the thermos.”
“Just so you know, I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” Seokjin informs them. “Not because it’s the most heavenly thing I’ve ever smelled.”
“Thank you, aboenim!” Minkyung beams at him, bouncing on the tips of her toes. “Have a good day!”
As he drives away from the school, he could swear he catches a glimpse of them jumping up and down clutching each others’ shoulders. He makes a mental note to ask Darae if it’s a TikTok dance. Aside from pilates, learning choreography specifically to embarrass his child is Seokjin’s favorite form of cardio.
He doesn’t have a chance to contact Yoongi until after lunch, thanks to the usual bustle of customers, then having to sort out a mixup with plant rentals at the convention center, and then nearly having a heart attack over something he initially assumes is an aphid infestation but turns out to be shrimp cracker crumbs from a toddler running amok. Having custody of Yoongi’s americano just might be the only thing holding him together.
It sure as hell isn’t Jimin, who just giggles like a maniac until Seokjin threatens to compost him.
Eventually, he manages to steal a moment of serenity for himself.
Seokjin:
yoongi-yah!
didn’t have a chance to tell you sooner since
the morning was a shitshow over here
But thank you for getting me through it
Min Yoongi:
Anytime hyung
…what did I do?
Seokjin:
Accidentally donated some
delicious dark roast
😊
Min Yoongi:
ohhhhh lol
Min Yoongi:
yeah citrus tea is not my first choice that early
Minkyung is all about it
Seokjin:
Did you manage to make it
through the morning?
Min Yoongi:
had to go to starbucks
Glad my coffee went to a good home though
Seokjin:
I still have the thermos
Min Yoongi:
is this…a hostage situation?
Seokjin:
Yes
but lucky for you
i’m bad at writing ransom notes
I can meet up after work
if you want it back today
Seokjin is tempted to keep parrying back with jokes and leave it at that. Yoongi is a busy guy, the kind of guy who casually has mix sessions with rappers, whatever the hell that entails. There's a half-formed mental image of Snoop Dogg and Martha Stewart peering into a mixing bowl as Yoongi solemnly flashes them a thumbs-up, but he waves it aside. The point is, Yoongi clearly has a lot happening and if he wants to see Seokjin again, even if just to reclaim his thermos, surely he’ll say something.
Then he remembers Yoongi dryly disparaging his own conversation skills. And, on the heels of that, he remembers Darae’s exasperated words from that morning. Tell him to come to the store. It really just might be that easy.
Seokjin:
ooorrrr you could come by
see me in my native habitat
Min Yoongi:
ok
Seokjin:
Oh god
now i have to dust all the plants
Or they’ll embarrass me in front of company
lmk when you’ll be by!!!
Min Yoongi:
wait
Is that really a thing you do to plants?
Min Yoongi:
hyung?
Min Yoongi:
hyunggg
do you seriously dust plants?
Min Yoongi:
I’m looking this up
In the end, what’s supposed to be a quick thermos handover turns into Yoongi lingering at the shop for hours. At first it’s under the pretense of studying the cherrywood shelf of plant care books and asking Seokjin what he recommends for someone who has minimal plant-growing expertise. Then it’s because he and Seokjin get into a drawn-out conversation about Animal Crossing, which leaves Seokjin wondering if exchanging friend codes counts as first base.
The next thing he knows, it’s coming up on closing time. It’s been a slow afternoon, sunny and easy, with only the occasional shopper. Normally Seokjin would be put off by the lack of customers, but uninterrupted time with Yoongi seems more like a blessing from the universe instead of a sign he’s two breaths away from bankruptcy. Besides, after the extended car crash of the morning, it’s a welcome respite.
Yoongi is running one pale finger along the deep purple petals of a bellflower. Something about the tenderness of his touch skimming its velvety surface sends a jolt of heat across Seokjin’s nerve endings. Feeling a bit like a Victorian maiden all aflutter over a little innocent plant-fondling, he glances away and pretends to dust soil off the front of his apron.
“Tell me about this one. Will I kill it?”
When Seokjin looks over, Yoongi is seriously staring at an array of crocuses.
This he can handle. “Almost definitely not, but it might kill you,” Seokjin tells him cheerfully. “It’s toxic.”
Yoongi sputters and actually shuffles back a half-step. Seokjin has a very powerful impulse to pick him up and put him in his pocket. “What the fuck, are you sure you’re not secretly an assassin?”
“Sorry to disappoint yet again.” Seokjin does his best impression of a stoic-yet-heartbroken hero. “So many missed callings, so little time.”
Yoongi is still eyeballing the crocuses as if they might leap out of their trays and attack him. “And these only grow on the edge of one specific mountain under the light of a crescent moon, right? So they’re not easily accessible to the potential poisoners of the world?”
“Nope, it’s a circumboreal perennial.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows flick upward. “Explain that like I’m five.”
“This is an autumn-blooming crocus, but there are other varieties you’d want to plant in autumn so they bloom in the spring. Perennial means they’ll bloom once a year around the same time, like irises. Circumboreal just refers to the floristic region that—what?” Yoongi has a weird look on his face.
Yoongi ducks his head slightly. “Ah, nothing. Just thinking about how hard life must be when you’re tall, handsome, and knowledgeable.”
“Oh,” is the only thing that Seokjin can say to that, and he hates himself for not being quicker on his feet. He decides then and there to grow out his hair to cover his ears because there’s no way in hell they aren’t glowing scarlet.
“Go on,” Yoongi urges. “Tell me more crocus facts.”
“They naturalize very easily, so you don’t have to work at it to get them to spread.” Seokjin cringes internally, reprimands himself for saying spread. His eyes involuntarily drop to Yoongi's thighs, covered in baggy black denim. “You don’t even have to prune them, they’re very self-sufficient. This one is meadow saffron, also known as naked ladies.” What the fuck, just because it’s true doesn’t mean he has to say it. He plows on, studiously not looking Yoongi in the eye. “And, uh, the autumn ones are toxic because they produce colchicine, but the spring ones aren’t.”
Yoongi looks at him suspiciously. “Who’s the pervert naming these? Can you imagine killing someone with naked ladies? Be honest, did you ever woo anyone with saucy plant names?”
That startles a deeply undignified giggle out of him. “Sure didn’t. Again with the missed opportunities.”
It could be his imagination, but he thinks Yoongi’s cheeks look a little pinker. “I find that hard to believe. I think I saw you flirt with a wall earlier.”
“I was flirting with the shelf on the wall to entice it to be load-bearing enough to handle more peperomia,” Seokjin corrects. “It’s a very effective tactic. And I’ll have you know I’m very picky about relationships.” He’s heading down the slippery slope of TMI again, but Yoongi definitely called him handsome earlier so surely he’s not out of line. He winks cheesily anyway, walking himself back. “But I wanted to pass along my good looks and dazzling intellect. It would be a disservice to humankind not to.”
“My mistake,” Yoongi says, a sparkle of amusement coloring his words. “Speaking of that…they’ve been suspiciously dedicated, haven’t they?”
The girls are doing homework together at the back counter, which involves lots of scribbling and chattering about “the project.” Seokjin hopes they’ve come to a consensus about ocean pollution and maybe snow leopards. He cranes his neck to see around an explosion of monstera.
“Yah, goose, are you doing okay over there? It’s almost time to close up.”
“Almost ready!” Darae calls back. She murmurs something to Minkyung, and the two of them erupt into giggles.
Yoongi looks pensive, as if he’s contemplating how many crocuses it would take to kill a man. Or contemplating the slant of early-evening sunlight across Seokjin’s cheekbones. He has a fascinatingly unreadable gaze and Seokjin is a little perturbed by how eagerly he’d let himself drown in it. “Goose?” is all he says.
Seokjin gives himself a mental shake. “Darae means gooseberry. I didn’t choose the name, but I can’t imagine a more fitting one for her.”
“Damn. That’s a much cooler origin story than Kim Minkyung.” Yoongi lifts a pink-knuckled hand and ticks off each syllable. “The Kim from my ex-husband, the Min from me, the Kyung and hanja approved by my grandmother. I should probably get her home and feed her. We’ve taken up enough of your time.”
“Yoongi-yah, no time spent with you is taken up in any way but the best.” The words fly out of his mouth so easily it doesn’t count as blurting them out. If this were a drama, Seokjin would roll his eyes but secretly admire how smooth the delivery was.
For a heart-stopping handful of seconds, Yoongi looks at him, mouth tucked upwards the tiniest bit. “Would you like to join? I‘ve had galbi marinating since last night.”
Seokjin does.
—🎶—
Yoongi is always a little wary of falling into stereotypes, but sometimes he just has to be a tormented artist and loll back in his studio chair with a maudlin playlist and a glass of something strong. It’s not an everyday, or even an every week, occurrence. Sometimes his mind sparks with too many thoughts at once and he needs help slowing them down, that’s all it is.
Because Yoongi is not falling apart over a contract negotiation. Yoongi has a successful career in an industry he adores and no reason to resent it. Unfortunately, Yoongi also has unwavering principles and a keen awareness that there are times when he loves his work but not the vessel for it.
Yoongi has been offered a stupidly large sum of money to produce for a girl group’s comeback. Yoongi has not historically worked with girl groups. Or idol groups of any kind. There’s something precipitous about growing up in the music world, about being able to skirt around the teeth hidden within its invitingly parted mouth. Yoongi has lasted this long without being chewed up and spat out. He’d like to last longer. Sticking with independent artists and steering clear of idols has served him well so far.
He has a whole laundry list of rationalizations, one dating back to adolescence. Agencies that crank out idols set such unrealistic expectations that it’s beyond grueling even if you succeed. Nothing is ever guaranteed; he’s seen trainees work themselves to the bone and be cut just shy of debut. For idols that do debut, the company has such a chokehold over their image there’s no point in even trying to have a personal life that isn’t so tightly under wraps it’s debilitating. A hundred incarnations of the same bullshit. He can’t align himself with anything that sucks all the joy out of music while claiming to be at the vanguard of it.
It makes him feel like a disgruntled teenager all over again. Cocksure and insecure, but willing to play the game, do the pandering and product placement just to get his foot in the door. And locking eyes with Namjoon across a shoebox dorm room and wanting.
The long and short of it is that he likes making music but hates feeling complicit in the shitty side of it. And he absolutely hates how tempted he is by this contract in spite of everything. Social climbing and clout chasing aren’t his thing. He never saw himself as a settled single dad at thirty-two, but he wouldn’t change it. He does what he enjoys and does it well, is lucky enough to make a good living from it. And yet. This really could be his foot in the door to name recognition.
He doesn’t even want name recognition, but the temptation is so tangible. He could have it. It’s a distinct possibility. And it almost doesn’t matter that it isn’t a priority for him. He’s supposed to want it. Yoongi’s personal ethos is predicated on not doing what he’s supposed to do, and he hates that he’s even considering this.
It occurs to him he could be texting with Seokjin to rant about everything. They’re friends, they've met up multiple times and texted daily for almost three weeks. Seokjin would hear him out. He scrolls through his recent texts, searching for an alternative, but everything is either strictly business or Namjoon. He could complain at some of his friends in Daegu, but the last time he chatted with any of them was months ago and it seems awkward to start complaining out of the blue. Namjoon is out of the question; he’s heard him have this crisis before and is bound to get all philosophical at him.
Not that Yoongi is having a crisis.
He just needs a sounding board. A set of fresh ears. And maybe to try and expand his social range.
Even his metaphors are musical. He grimaces. Then he takes a sip of Tanqueray and texts Seokjin.
Yoongi:
have you heard of 4-CC?
It’s late. Minkyung is in bed, and he’s been up for hours brooding in his studio and refusing to admit that he’s brooding. There’s a good chance Seokjin is sleeping too, like a sensible plantrepreneur who has a business to run first thing in the morning. Yoongi is about to put his phone in do not disturb mode just to stave off the urge to constantly check for a response that most likely isn’t coming.
And then, suddenly, it does. Yoongi snorts out a laugh in spite of himself when he skims it.
Seokjin-hyung:
4CC??? Is…that…a bra size?
Yoongi:
Akjshdaskjd lmao
Sorry didn’t expect that
it’s a girl group lol
Pronounced FORESEES
Seokjin-hyung:
I have not
I don’t think I understand youths Yoongi-yah
or bras
Yoongi:
Same here.
But I’m supposed to produce their comeback mini-album
Seokjin-hyung:
That’s great!!😁
…it’s great right??
Yoongi:
Yes and no?
Seokjin-hyung:
What do you mean
Yoongi:
I mean
I haven’t said yes and I haven’t said no
Seokjin-hyung:
This is a very literal explanation🤔
Why not?
Seokjin-hyung:
You don’t have to talk about anything
Whatever you decide to do, do what feels right
Yoongi:
I’ll try, hyung
And before he can stop himself, he texts a picture of his drink. It’s corny, but Seokjin will probably appreciate that.
Yoongi:
gin is helping me think
Thank you for being thematic 🙂
Seokjin-hyung:
Well played yoongi-yah
You can call me jin jsyk
Everyone closest to me does
Yoongi very nearly curls into a ball and hugs himself, giddy with pleasure. He’s very glad no one can see him.
Yoongi:
Okay noted 💕
He barely registers the heart emoji, and once he does he immediately takes another swallow of gin (oh no, he is not letting his brain wander down that dark alley). And he turns off his phone before he can do anything else to belatedly register.
There’s no point dumping his grievances on Seokjin. No point in trying to articulate himself and how conflicted he feels just because he doesn’t know who else to talk to about it. How normally music makes him happy, but lately he’s been looking tired and grumpy to the point where even Minkyung notices.
“Because someone keeps stealing my coffee,” he tells her when she mentions it again the next morning.
“That was one time. You’re making a…a fake attribution.”
“Have fun with Joon-appa,” he says, kissing her head. “Be good.” He pauses. “Or…don’t, maybe. Don’t listen to a word he says, especially if it’s about how to argue.”
Minkyung skips out of the apartment towards the elevator, promising nothing.
Yoongi jabs a finger at Namjoon when he comes into the hallway with Minkyung’s overnight bag. “Stop teaching our daughter debate techniques.”
Namjoon, the giant nerd, is delighted. “Is she using them? Correctly and everything?”
“I’m divorcing you,” Yoongi says flatly.
“Again?” Namjoon complains.
Yoongi flutters a hand at him and closes the door.
—🌿—
“Want to hear something ridiculous?”
“Always,” Seokjin says right away, gearing himself up for a joke. They’re technically on a lunch date, which means they’re at Best Fronds with takeout and neither of them have actually uttered the word date.
This is becoming a habit. Seokjin would really like to utter the word date.
Instead, Seokjin is inhaling a chicken pesto panini to keep from gaping at Yoongi unwittingly doing obscene things to his cinnamon biscotti.
“I was a trainee,” Yoongi says, and proceeds to dunk his biscotti in his latte and essentially deep-throat it.
Seokjin stares.
Yoongi seems to think it’s in disbelief, and he’s correct, albeit for a different reason. “I know, it’s dumb, right? I auditioned when I was right out of high school and boom. It’s actually how I met my ex. We were gonna be the power couple that uprooted the industry from the inside.”
“Please don’t say uprooted in front of my grandplants,” Seokjin says weakly.
Yoongi smiles one of those slow, sun-peeking-from-behind-a-cloud smiles.
More seriously, Seokjin says, “You don’t have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable, you know.” Whatever is going on in Yoongi’s head, it seems like this is a sticking point. They haven’t addressed the texts from the other night, purely because Seokjin has been waiting for Yoongi to address them first. He swallows and dabs pesto from his lips. “But. If you do want to talk, I have very handsome ears that are more than happy to hear about your secret past as an almost-idol.”
The look Yoongi gives him is almost unbearably fond. “There’s not much to talk about. We never made it to debut. Said fuck it and got married on a trip to Canada. Namjoon went back to college and almost didn't leave. I sold out but told myself I hadn’t. Now I’m doing it again.”
“Is this about…” Seokjin racks his brain for the name of the girl group and fails, “the bra size group?”
“Yes, Jin-hyung, it is precisely about that.”
“Okay.” Seokjin folds his hands under his chin, striking an attentive pose at the expense of his panini. He hopes Yoongi realizes the significance of this. “Pretend the bra group is a crocus and I’m you, then explain the situation to me.”
Yoongi delicately laps biscotti crumbs from his fingertips. He has to be doing this on purpose, there’s really no other explanation. “So you know how I said I had an idol phase?”
“Not in those words exactly, but yes.”
“I’ve seen the system from the inside. It’s like a human food processor. I don’t want to encourage it.”
Seokjin thinks he might be starting to understand. “So then, the thing with the bra group…you’re turning it down.”
Yoongi’s lips compress. “I should. I haven’t, but I know I should. It’s pretty stupid that I didn’t decline right away.”
He’s silent for a long moment, but seems to be carefully weighing what to say next. Seokjin, who prides himself on his sense of comic timing, has a feeling it would be gauche to take a potshot at Yoongi’s vaunted almost-idol past. So he sips his coffee and he waits.
“Namjoon and I both got started rapping in our hometowns,” Yoongi says eventually. “We didn’t care about idol shit, thought it was all fake and we were authentic.” He rolls his eyes. Seokjin can’t be sure if he’s judging or mimicking his teenage self. Maybe both. “But we didn’t see another way to make it either.”
“Right, the power couple thing, got it.”
“It didn’t work, obviously.”
“It did, though! You got married, that’s making it.”
“Yeah. Except it turns out being stubborn and music-obsessed aren’t the building blocks of a lasting marriage. We’re still friends, we've known each other for over a dozen years, but we're just better with some space between us.” There’s a beat. “I still tell him almost everything. I haven’t told him about the 4-CC offer.”
Seokjin can’t help but feel weirdly, selfishly proud that Yoongi is confiding in him. “Why not?” he asks carefully.
“Namjoon would have said no without a second thought.” Yoongi’s jaw tightens, the dip of his Adam's apple heart-meltingly vulnerable. “And he wouldn’t understand why I haven’t.”
Seokjin regards him for a few moments, gauging whether Yoongi is going to speak more or needs to be asked. “Why…haven’t you?”
“Because it’s a special kind of shit for teenage girls. If I can make it a little less shitty for them, then why shouldn’t I say yes?”
The pieces are starting to come together. “Even if it’s working within the system,” Seokjin says, rather than asks.
“Exactly.”
Seokjin will be the first one to admit he doesn’t know much about the intricacies of music. He had piano lessons as a kid and Brown Eyed Girls posters on his wall as a teen and he once considered picking up the accordion specifically due to the look of horror on Darae’s face when he mentioned it, but none of that seems appropriate to mention here. Yoongi has a pinched, pensive look on his face, as if maybe he’s having second thoughts about confiding in someone who clearly has no idea how to respond to it.
This simply will not do.
“Do you know why I ended up selling plants instead of being an internationally sought after headliner for Fishing League Worldwide?” Seokjin says conversationally.
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You what?”
“Well,” Seokjin amends, “I caught a ssogari during a bass fishing tournament when I was thirteen and they interviewed me. My parents framed the newspaper clipping.”
Now Yoongi’s second eyebrow is inching upward to join the first. “Bass fishing tournaments are a thing?”
“Fishing is a very peaceful and contemplative pursuit, Yoongi-yah!” Seokjin bursts out. “And that isn’t the point! What you were supposed to say was ‘no, most accomplished and handsome hyung, please tell me,’ though I’d even allow it if you happened to forget the handsome part—”
“I could never,” Yoongi murmurs, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. God. Seokjin thought he couldn’t be more smitten by him, but apparently he’s been mistaken.
“—and then I would have spun a brilliant metaphor about how to determine the fate of your future happiness,” he finishes with a flourish.
Yoongi’s almost-smile loses the almost. “I’m listening.”
“Excellent. Because I’m being serious, so if there’s one time you plan to listen to me, this is a good one.” Seokjin leans in. He could so easily be close enough to drop a kiss on the tip of Yoongi's nose. “So. Happiness is what you feel when you sit squarely in the middle of each day and don’t wish it was yesterday or tomorrow. It’s when you’re so grateful for the choices you’ve made that have led to the moment you’re in that you can't find the room for regret. If saying yes will make you feel like you can wrap yourself up in each day without wishing it was some other day, then do it. And if saying no will do the same, then say no. And if you haven’t ever felt that way, that kind of happiness so huge it could swallow you whole, then you chase it.” Yoongi’s eyes are locked on his, soft and shadow-dark. “Imagine,” Seokjin says, “what you can do that will make you feel so fucking excited to be going toward it, not just trudging towards the next moment. Because life is going to go on no matter what. You deserve to enjoy being in it, you know?”
He trips at the finish line by tacking on those last two words in English, but all in all he thinks he's managed to articulate himself without sounding insane.
There’s a long, taffy-slow stretch of time between them that could easily tip into being an awkward silence, but somehow Seokjin feels more cocooned by it than perturbed. There’s no sound other than the muted muzak over the shop’s speakers, no flicker of movement but the downcast slant of Yoongi’s gaze.
“I have,” Yoongi says at last, voice low. “Felt that.”
He’s still staring fixedly at the floor. Seokjin wets his lips. “But not anymore?”
Yoongi’s brows pinch together. Seokjin’s hands ache to cup his soft cheeks and thumb the furrow from his forehead. “No," he says quietly. "Not anymore.”
He doesn’t seem inclined to elaborate this time.
“Anyway,” Seokjin soldiers on. “I didn’t either. Not for a long time. Then I decided I didn’t want to get involved with fishing stardom or my family’s business and started my own instead. It was very unnecessarily dramatic, but you’ve met me. You can probably understand what my parents are like. Lots of wailing about carrying on their legacy. I have an older brother who’s happy to be doing exactly that, by the way. I think they just wanted to reenact a scene from a drama.”
Yoongi smiles again, peach-sweet, apple-round cheeks tinted a gentle pink. God, Seokjin wants to nip him, taste him, run his hands over all that ripeness. “I can imagine that perfectly, yeah.”
“The point is, you’re a good person.” He holds up a hand when Yoongi opens his mouth to interject. “Nope. I will hear no further debate on this matter. You would never make a choice solely based on how much you could harm someone. I am five thousand percent sure of this and I’ll fight you on it if you try to argue with me.”
He’s grateful when Yoongi snorts and complies.
“My parents acted like I was leaving just to spite them, but I knew I was doing what was right for myself and Darae. And I knew it wasn’t actually hurting them no matter how many times they swore I was shaming our ancestors.” He pauses, taking a contemplative mouthful of panini. “They aren’t even Buddhist, but I swear they considered converting just so they could have the ammunition.”
“And you still did it,” Yoongi says slowly. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
“The trust fund helped,” Seokjin admits. “But to be fair, my parents held that over my head for a while too.”
Yoongi does a double take. “You…kind of left that part out, hyung.”
Seokjin waves a hand. He’s used to this, telling his story with a flippancy that downplays all the bumps in its road. “It took time, but I’m lucky enough to have a family who supports my whims and my raising a kid on my own. Give or take a few uncles. Not everyone has that luxury. And I’m not qualified at all to be giving advice, but I appreciate you hearing me out.”
“I don’t know about that.” Yoongi looks contemplative. “I’ve listened to significantly less qualified people.” The cheeky flash of his teeth would make Seokjin weak in the knees if he wasn’t already sitting down.
“Try not to be too hard on yourself, Yoongi-yah. It’s not easy to always live up to your own standards, so I’ve heard. And if you need to talk, you can tell me as much or as little as you like. But believe me,” Seokjin levels a finger at him with great solemnity, “I will always listen to you. And I will always find a way to talk about my many brushes with fishing fame.”
The laugh that leaps out of Yoongi is transcendent.
“I should get going,” he sighs, giving Seokjin a nod. “Thank you. For the food, and for listening.”
“Yah, why are you thanking me for enjoying snacks and reliving my glory days?” Seokjin exclaims. He leans in a bit more. It feels important not to let Yoongi leave without prolonging the moment for a few more shining seconds. “Listen. You’re fucking brilliant and you’re already asking yourself all the right questions. Do what’s right for you that won’t destroy you. Yeah?”
A flash of hesitation darts across Yoongi’s face. And he’s closing the distance between them across the counter, bending in a soft spill of light as he kisses Seokjin on the cheek. No words, just a petaled press of warmth.
Then he’s gone, disappearing out the door in a susurration of distressed denim and a waft of cinnamon biscotti.
Seokjin stares after him blankly for somewhere between the length of a daydream and a decade.
When he can finally remember how to move, he haltingly faces the pink princess philodendron he turns to for emotional support sometimes. Surely that didn’t just happen. He’s going to wake up any moment with blankets snagged around him and a pillow half-under his head. The skin of his cheek burns gold-bright.
“Min Yoongi,” he tells the plant in wonderment. “That tsundere son of a bitch.”
—🎶—
Because of who Yoongi is as a person, he’s more hung up on oversharing than overstepping. Leaning over and planting one on Seokjin in the middle of his plant shop is definitely a thing that happened, and one that probably has Seokjin involuntarily generating plant puns at this very moment, but whining about a tiny inconvenience in his admittedly choice career is another entirely. Sure, everyone is entitled to complain about their job, but the last impression Yoongi wants to give is that he’s ungrateful for what he has.
Even though he is still frustrated as hell that he’s even in this position. Why he’s even entertaining the possibility of producing for 4-CC is a question still burrowing away at his brain.
Maybe it’s the sort of conundrum that can come from nothing but having experienced something directly. He knows what it’s like firsthand to try and crack into the music world, starting out among the serried ranks of hopeful idiots, wide-eyed and wanting more than anything to make it big. When he looked them up after the initial email, he learned their backstory revolves largely around the members all cultivating a tomboy look. It sort of makes him want to take this trio of teen girls under his wing and learn if they’ve ever been told that uniqueness is their strength and not anyone’s gimmick.
At one time, blank surfaces had made him itch with the impulse to transform them, the creative flow coursing through him like a river's current. Now, with the canvas of a girl group in front of him, it’s as if he’s stagnating in the dust of his own dried-up riverbed. Their manager is still waiting for his response. This really should not be a difficult situation.
Instead of resolving it, Yoongi pushes the thoughts aside and goes to a parent-teacher conference.
He likes Minkyung’s teacher. Jung Hoseok is sweet and attentive and has a surprisingly fashionable collection of sweater vests. He meticulously messages parents about class updates and has an impeccably organized classroom that looks like a Pinterest board. Once, Yoongi arrived early for a conference and caught him singing Warren G under his breath.
They chat about Minkyung’s grades and behavior, both impeccable, and how she and Darae have been especially close these past few weeks. Yoongi really should have messaged Hoseok about this earlier, but never saw a need to since the girls were so engrossed. He does remember thinking it was odd the assignment didn’t show up on the weekly communication bulletin, especially since it seems to be taking up the majority of their time. It isn’t like Hoseok to miss a detail.
Hoseok has no idea what he’s talking about when Yoongi mentions their current project. Hoseok is, if anything, entirely bewildered. “Um. There is no project for my class. Maybe it’s for one of their hagwons?”
“I don’t think so,” Yoongi says slowly. Involuntarily, his fingers twitch towards his phone, ready to scroll through anything and everything in his emails or calendar that might back him up. “They don’t attend any of the same after school academies and they specifically said it was for you.” Maybe Darae recently changed academies, although he’s sure Minkyung would have said something if that was the case. He’ll have to ask about that when he picks her up from her English hagwon.
Hoseok looks lost. “Is this where we learn Minkyung has had an evil twin this whole time?”
Yoongi snorts. “An evil twin hellbent on wreaking havoc by fabricating homework. She would.” He pauses. “So there’s definitely nothing about snow leopards…”
Hoseok grimaces, shaking his head.
Yoongi grimaces back. “Or…ocean pollution?”
Hoseok regards him with something like concern. It’s very teacherly. Yoongi feels a strong compulsion to blurt out that he knows snow leopards aren’t aquatic.
“We’re not learning about ocean pollution or snow leopards right now,” Hoseok says kindly. “The current science unit is on light and sound.” He grins. “Minkyung is going to come home with a rubber-band guitar any day now, so apologies in advance for that.”
“Maybe they’re doing something for extra credit to surprise you?” Yoongi ventures, even though Hoseok is clearly trying to redirect things. “They both adore you—you know why they chose a brachiosaurus for their last project? They said it was the closest they could get to guessing your favorite.”
Now Hoseok looks distinctly flushed. “Oh! I...see. How sweet. Ah, let’s talk about how Minkyung has been doing in math this quarter.”
—🌿—
They haven’t once talked about the kiss. It’s not for lack of wanting. Seokjin would, in fact, very much like to talk about the kiss. It’s been over two years since he last went on a date, longer still since anyone kissed him in a way that even teetered at the edge of being nonplatonic. He’s so out of practice he has no idea what the appropriate protocol is for responding, so rather than risk doing the wrong thing he’s opted to do nothing. Seokjin is deeply aware this is an imperfect solution.
He toyed with the idea of seeking feedback from Jimin and Jungkook, but that would require mentioning the kiss itself, and just the potential decibel level of their reactions was enough to put the kibosh on that option. So instead he settles for encouraging Yoongi’s presence in his life like the bud of a grafted branch.
The meals together continue, sometimes at his shop, sometimes at whichever spot strikes their fancy. Yoongi learns to weather it when Jimin just so happens to sidle past and ask if they’re having another date—he always chuckles politely, neither confirming nor denying. Seokjin wishes he would confirm it almost as much as he wishes Jimin would mind his own business. Yoongi confides in him that he’s agreed to produce for the girl group with the unfortunate name, and Seokjin toasts him with his chai, taking a huge swallow to keep from launching himself across the counter and planting a kiss on the sheepish curve of his smile. Yoongi listens to Jungkook chat about cross-pollination, never faltering when he gets a little too excited about the fertilization process of angiosperms and gymnosperms. Seokjin politely shoos him off with the suggestion he go pollinate someone else’s pistils, which just makes Jungkook flush scarlet and mutter something that sounds like “I’m doing my best,” before beating a hasty retreat. Seokjin is about to ask what in the world that’s supposed to mean, but then Yoongi is thumbing a crumb from his cheek and he can’t remember why anything else ever seemed important.
Things shift precipitously when the girls are having a sleepover. This, of course, means Seokjin is taking advantage of the occasion to rope Yoongi into a movie night, which is also an excuse to have him stay for dinner. The last time they did this, he’d just ordered pizza for all four of them and he feels a need to compensate for his laziness this time.
In anticipation of Yoongi and Minkyung’s arrival, Seokjin spends ages dicing onions, garlic, and peppers for handmade mandu. He agonizes over the perfect proportion of garlic to ginger for a dipping sauce he’s made a thousand times. He makes Darae giggle nonstop by outfitting her with safety goggles and rubber gloves to help peel onions. And this isn’t even the main course.
Inevitably, the girls eat a perfunctory dinner and move on to happily crunching their way through Banana Kick and honey butter chips over a spread of Pokemon cards in the living room. He’d never stoop so low as to call a couple of third graders plebeians, of course, so he plates some jellies and choco pies and a rather optimistically applied cluster of grapes and serves them with a flourish.
Yoongi, on the other hand, savors every bite like a hedonist. He lets his head fall back, eyes fluttering half closed, mouth stained a deep sweet pink from pepper and ginger. He doesn’t even seem to realize the spectacle he’s making himself, or maybe it’s just that Seokjin is hard-wired at this point to find everything Yoongi does a spectacle.
Seokjin has also gathered that he doesn’t get home-cooked meals unless he’s the one doing the home cooking. Not for the first time, he wonders who takes care of Yoongi when he needs to be taken care of. He’s never mentioned a friend group, unless his ex-husband counts, and his family is all in Daegu. Seokjin is fortunate enough to have family less than an hour away. He has Jimin, who’s been trying new recipes lately because his boyfriend would live on jajangmyeon otherwise, and Jungkook who always makes too much during his weekly meal prep and ends up with a couple extra bento boxes for him and Darae. He even has a few tiny geranium-loving ajummas who bring him tteok and yakgwa because they’re appalled he doesn’t have a spouse making sure he eats well.
At the kitchen table, Yoongi’s face contorts, eyebrows notching in towards each other as if he’s frustrated. “Hyung, this is so delicious I might cry.”
Seokjin, like an absolute lunatic, wants to tell him he must look stunning when he cries. Every lobe of his brain is incorrigible, rife with images of cheeks blotched red, chestnut head lolling forward on the ivory arc of his neck, compact little body crumpled by the wrench of his own emotions.
Instead, he takes a punishingly long gulp of water and gives the finer points on how he perfected his nakji bokkeum recipe. “You have to massage the octopus to make it nice and tender,” Seokjin explains a bit manically. “Maybe one or two minutes, that’s all it—yah, stop laughing!”
“Sorry,” Yoongi is snickering, not sounding at all sorry. “That sounds like a euphemism if I ever heard one.” He glances up imploringly, trying to hook back a crooked grin with his little white teeth. “Hyung, you can’t just say ‘massaging the octopus,’ like it’s nothing, what the fuck.”
There’s a tiny dot of gochujang on his chin. More than anything, Seokjin wants to lick the tip of his thumb and wipe him clean. He lets out an embarrassing squeak-snort of a laugh. “You think I should find a way to work it into my dating profile?” He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. “I mean. If I had one. I think it’s defunct now. Too busy to do much dating, you know?”
Yoongi is silent. “Right,” he says finally. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.”
He seems to have sated his appetite, napkin and chopsticks set aside with sudden finality. Seokjin hops up and starts ferrying dishes to the sink. “It’s already a lot keeping track of so many academies, and the shop, and I’m trying to make more time for the gym because…” because, in the probably improbable event of getting naked with you, I don’t want to disappoint, “because of… uh, health. I mean, I don’t even know how I’m going to fit in Darae’s parent-teacher conference on Wednesday, but I must have scheduled it then for a reason, you know?”
Yoongi’s eyebrows arch. "I just had mine the other day. You know what’s weird? The project they’ve been working on so hard doesn’t seem like a real thing. Hoseok says they’re not even learning about pollution in the oceans." He wrinkles his nose. "And I'm pretty sure he thinks I think snow leopards live there."
“It’s a surprise project,” Darae says blithely, shuffling into the kitchen inexplicably wearing one Sonic slipper and one cat-topped one with her pegasus-print pajamas. “Appa, we’re gonna go watch a movie in my room now, okay?”
“That depends. Did you clean up the cards or am I going to slip on a Snorlax and break a hip?”
Darae draws herself up. “I would never just leave a Snorlax lying around.”
“Isn’t that kind of by definition what they do, though?” Yoongi interjects, nestling his way deeper into Seokjin’s heart to a truly unfair degree.
“Fine,” Darae huffs. “Yes, we cleaned up. We’re gonna have movie time now. You can be boring and talk about taxes or whatever.”
“Definitely taxes,” Seokjin agrees. “We can’t get enough of that, can we, Yoongi-ssi?”
“I’ll discuss the predatory origins of interest rates with you all night,” Yoongi deadpans without missing a beat. A little helplessly, Seokjin implores his psyche to explain why even this is attractive.
Darae darts a concerned look between the two of them, clearly trying to gauge their seriousness and therefore the grimness of growing up.
Seokjin takes advantage of the moment to send her an extravagant flying kiss and swoop into the living room with Yoongi in tow when she shrieks and flees.
“Let me know what jumps out at you,” he says brightly, passing Yoongi the remote so he can skim through Seokjin’s Netflix account and see if he’s in the middle of anything promising. Unlike the last time Yoongi stayed over for movie night and kept to his own separate armchair, this time they’re both ensconced on the sofa in an echo of that first fateful brachiosaurus-building night when Yoongi dozed off on his shoulder. It doesn’t hurt that Seokjin has a bubble couch, avocado green and clustered with colorful throw pillows in an array of shapes and sizes. It’s practically an engraved invitation to cuddle.
Yoongi doesn’t quite sit close enough for them to touch, but their knees are a bare breath apart. “Hyung…you’re binging Singles Inferno, are you serious? A documentary on wildebeests, The Glory, Bridgerton, Bee and Puppycat, Peaky Blinders—you have many sides to you, huh? Oh, and it looks like you just finished Clueless. Wow.”
Seokjin, who had been idly entertaining thoughts of what an intimate thing it is to be granted access to someone else’s Netflix profile, blinks in bewilderment. “I what?”
“Clueless,” Yoongi repeats. Seokjin blinks at him again. “’90’s classic based on a Jane Austen novel?” he elaborates. “High school kids in LA? Makeovers and matchmaking?”
For whatever reason, Seokjin doesn’t question Yoongi’s boundless knowledge on this point. “Um, I never watched that. I don’t even know why it’s showing up."
“Weird. I guess maybe Darae could have done it.”
“No, she has her own profile and she wouldn’t be able to access anything for over 12’s. That’s so weird, this has never happened before.”
“Maybe she was also the one watching Bee and Puppycat.”
“What? No, that was all me,” Seokjin confesses. He reclaims the remote and switches into Darae’s profile. Nothing seems amiss.
Except Yoongi.
Yoongi suddenly looks horrified.
“Is this the fucking Parent Trap?”
“Mm?” Seokjin slows his scrolling. “Ah, yeah, it looks like they watched the original and the remake. I didn’t even know there was more than one.” He eyeballs the screen. “I’m still not quite convinced there’s only one of Lindsay Lohan, though.”
“Not that, this,” Yoongi sputters uncharacteristically. He’s waving his hands around but Seokjin can’t for the life of him tell what he’s trying to indicate. “This!” Yoongi says again, his eyes brazier-bright, willing Seokjin to pick up his meaning by sheer desperation. “This, as in us.”
“Us?” Seokjin’s tongue feels clumsy in his mouth. There’s something he’s missing here, something big.
“Them, hyung, and us.” All at once, Yoongi’s body freezes and his eyes widen. “Oh…oh shit. Were we recipients of the same egg donor? Ours was Namjoon’s sister, but she never mentioned any other…oh my god. Oh my god. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Seokjin is perplexed as hell. “Do you ever think about how messed up the whole premise of that movie is? They split up their twins and just plan to never talk about it again. In terms of child development alone, that’s bound to—”
“That’s not the point!” Yoongi hisses. “I can’t begin to articulate just how not the point that is! We are being cluelessly and parentally trapped.”
“There’s drug use in this movie,” Seokjin says slowly, switching back to his own account and skimming the synopsis for Clueless. “I can’t believe they watched that. What the hell?”
Frantically, he tries to tally up the number of playdates and sleepovers that have occurred since Yoongi and Minkyung entered his life. How many opportunities has he unwittingly handed the girls to conspire? How long have they had unfettered Netflix access? Has he accidentally granted Darae access to his YouTube account? His group texts? His defunct Grindr profile? She’s far too young to experience the realization that her dad sometimes takes shirtless mirror selcas and he’s far too unprepared to explain what Grindr is. He’s already reaching for his tablet, ready to double check the access settings on everything.
But Yoongi is much more in need of having his settings checked. He looks sheet-white when he dips his head in solemn agreement. “There sure is. Hyung,” he tips his face up, imploring, button nose and plaintive eyes and looking so desperately kissable Seokjin almost forgets he’s having some kind of an episode. “You know, if you really did sell weed as a side hustle, you could tell me, right? Especially at a time like this?”
“I didn’t even use an egg donor,” he says, leaving it at that. He reaches out without conscious thought, letting his hand stroke up and down Yoongi’s back, the curved crest of his spine warm through his t-shirt.
It does no good whatsoever. Yoongi is still spiraling like a page out of Uzumaki. “Holy shit. It all makes sense. The coffee. The snow leopard project. The…the fucking nasturtium.”
“What nasturtium?” Seokjin asks with interest.
“Exactly! You never gave me one, did you?”
Seokjin tilts his head and blinks, perplexed all over again. “I did not, but I can get you one.”
“No need,” Yoongi replies, voice pitched an impressive few octaves higher. “I already have one.”
“I’m very confused,” Seokjin admits. He’s getting less and less confused by the second, though, and he doesn’t like it one bit.
“I…I need to talk to my child. Now.” Yoongi half-rises, tongue darting pinkly at the corner of his mouth. “Right fucking now.”
There’s a hitch in his words butting up against the edge of panic.
“Can it wait?”
Yoongi gapes at him. “Wait?”
Seokjin shrugs, offers a self-deprecating smile. “Sure. Ulterior movies aside, I’m having a nice time with you. It’s a nice night. They’re not going to stop plotting. Why can’t we steal a little more time together before shit really hits the fan?” He pauses. “In fact, does there need to be anything hitting the fan at all? Does a fan even need to enter the equation? Other than me, of course, your biggest fan.”
“We need to talk to them.”
“We do,” Seokjin agrees. Somewhere in the last several seconds, Yoongi’s strong fingers have become interlaced with his own. “But does it have to be right this second? Or can we enjoy each other’s company a little more first?”
Seokjin sinks against his shoulder, willing him to untense. Yoongi, so tightly and rightly coiled about whatever their daughters have been up to, draws in a tremulous breath and seems to hold it forever.
Seokjin can’t ignore the inevitable, he knows that. There isn’t any sense in pretending their mutual apprehension doesn’t exist. But maybe, if he’s lucky, he can alleviate it just for the moment.
“Yeah, hyung.” Yoongi breathes out, shaky, hard enough to ruffle Seokjin’s hair. “Okay. We can do that.”