unfinished wips of 2014
who you calling soft.docx
jongdae/jongin, roommates AU, 1.6k
On an otherwise ordinary Saturday, Jongdae’s roommate Jongin gets cast as an ensemble dancer for the Broadway production of Newsies.
He is able to figure this out from the distressed screech that rips out of Jongin’s throat when the younger boy comes across the official-looking packet after perusing through a stack of one week’s worth of accumulated mail. Jongdae shoots up and out from the couch where he appeared to have passed out last night, shoes still on, jeans stained with an assortment of alcohols-for a discombobulated minute, he genuinely believes that Jongin is in the process of being gutted by a serial killer.
Jongdae whips his head to make sure Jongin is still alive and instantly regrets it.
“Jongin, you need Jesus,” he finally manages to croak out when the room stops spinning, his mouth feeling like he had swallowed several cotton balls. It hurts to open his eyes; Jongdae feels that familiar biweekly churning in his stomach and wonders if he’s capable of stumbling to the bathroom with his eyes closed.
“I’m sorry,” Jongin apologizes, hushed, “I’ll be quiet.” Jongdae grunts, reevaluates the current state of his life, and wobbles over to the kitchen table, resting his pounding skull on folded arms.
“So? Good newsies?” he mumbles, voice muffled by the scratchy sleeves of his wrinkled sweater. “Bad newsies?” Jongin frowns and lightly bats at Jongdae’s shoulder. “Surprise, did you know that your mom’s a stripper?”
“Don’t talk about my mom like that. She’s a nice lady.”
“Your dad’s a stripper?” Jongdae tries again.
“I think not,” Jongin replies, slightly scandalized. He gets out of his chair and pulls a clean glass off the dish drying rack, filling it with cold tap water, and offers it to Jongdae. Jongdae gingerly accepts it, attempting to give Jongin a grateful smile but ends up emulating the expression one would find on a heretic in excruciating pain via torture methods used during the Spanish Inquisition.
Jongin huffs and sits back down. “Actually, I’m not sure what kind of news this is,” he says when Jongdae finishes the water, waving the letter in front of Jongdae’s nose. “I know you don’t feel well but could you maybe read this for me? Because it seems to be written in Chinese, and I can’t read Chinese. Also, to be completely honest, I’d just rather not know.”
Jongdae wordlessly stares at him, then snatches the packet out of Jongin’s hands in an amazing display of early morning dexterity, skimming through the letter.
“Jongin,” he begins slowly, “you do realize that this is written in English, right?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Jongin says, voice dipping into a strange register.
Jongdae makes the decision to not press the topic any further and continues to squint at the letter, eyes stinging. Idly, he wonders if keeping the news from Jongin any longer would be mean, and figures that if Jongin was rendered temporarily illiterate from sheer anxiety then he’d better deliver the verdict before Jongin lost the ability to regulate his respiratory system, or cry.
“Well, congratulations, it’s a boy,” announces Jongdae, teasing, but his voice is warm and his smile is sincere. “You’re Newsies Dancer #8!”
For a minute, Jongin says nothing and merely stares blankly at him, then lets out a desperate strangled noise and moves in to pull Jongdae up into a hug, despite Jongdae’s flustered protests that bodily contact might trigger his desire to vomit. It’s cute how Jongin doesn’t think his threat was real, but Jongdae manages to suppress his violent gagging and returns the embrace anyway. Jongin was a great hugger in the way that some people are great kissers, and if this was the last moment of physical affection that Jongdae received before he actually died from this hangover-well, he wasn’t complaining.
“Do you want to day drink to celebrate?” he asks, lips brushing against Jongin’s neck. The younger releases him, laughing incredulously, his eyes wet and gleaming in the soft morning light. Jongin has on a big, beautiful, radiant smile that absolutely lights up his face-possibly the whole apartment, maybe the entire solar system-and, oh, where in the world did that thought come from?
Jongdae’s stomach does a funny twisty thing and that’s the last straw.
“Just kidding, I’m gonna go throw up now,” he says, words tumbling out in a rush before he dashes to the bathroom and expels girly blue drinks (Baekhyun’s fault) as well as every semblance of decency left in his bones. He can hear Jongin’s laughter trickling in from the kitchen-clear as a bell, deep, more beautiful than the music of the spheres.
-
Jongin becomes Jongdae’s roommate because Jongdae beats him at a particularly brutal one-on-one game flip cup, despite Chanyeol’s unrelenting complaints that flip cup wasn’t meant to be a one-on-one game.
“Fuck you!” Jongdae remembers drunkenly shouting at Chanyeol before turning around and shouting, “Fuck all the haters!” at Jongin, who had been the only freshman in a basement full of juniors and seniors and a handful of grad students. To Jongin’s credit, he had only looked faintly close to tears.
“You don’t know who your true friends are,” declares Jongdae, slurring a bit, “until it’s two in the morning and someone has cried and someone else has lost their shoes and you’re really shitfaced because what’s going on, really? Are you drinking because it makes the pain go away or are you drinking because someone backed out on their lease? And by someone, I mean Kyungsoo,” he clarifies.
Kyungsoo doesn’t even bother to respond and continues to whisper into Baekhyun’s ear, arm slung around his neck. Baekhyun appeared discernibly uncomfortable; Jongdae liked to imagine that Kyungsoo was describing to Baekhyun, in great detail, exactly how he planned to murder Baekhyun in the near future.
Jongin stares at the four of them. “I’m not sure I follow,” he says slowly, eyes starting to dart around anxiously for an exit.
“Where are you living next year?” asks Baekhyun suddenly, finally pushing Kyungsoo off his shoulders. Kyungsoo frowns deeply and latches onto Chanyeol next, settling under a lanky arm.
“The dorms again, probably,” Jongin replies hesitantly. “Why?”
“Jongdae needs a roommate,” Chanyeol explains. He pats Kyungsoo’s head absentmindedly.
“Kyungsoo pulled out of the contract at the last minute,” Baekhyun adds helpfully.
“I just figured that if I saw Jongdae everyday for the next year I’d probably slip into insanity or I’d kill someone,” Kyungsoo rationalizes. He pauses. “Possibly both.”
Jongin seems to consider all of this.
“Well, okay,” he says doubtfully. “I mean, Jongdae, if you really need a roommate, I’d be happy to. It’s not like we’re complete strangers.” This much was true; the five of them had all gone to the same high school together, though Jongin had been two years below them. “But what I don’t understand is-well, why exactly do you need to beat me in flip cup before I sign the lease?”
“It ups the stakes,” Jongdae says patronizingly, as if everyone should’ve already known this. The other three nod sagely.
“What kind of man would Jongdae be,” adds Chanyeol, “if he couldn’t win over his potential future roommate in a game of one-on-one flip cup? Which, by the way, doesn’t actually exist as a game and therefore this whole arrangement is invalid.”
“But what if I win and Jongdae loses?” Jongin furrows his eyebrows in profound confusion. “I just don’t understand-what are the stakes in the first place?”
“You ask a lot of questions for a freshman,” Baekhyun observes astutely, ignoring Jongin’s enquiry entirely, and begins licking around a vibrant blue jello shot-from who or where he had gotten the shot was anyone’s guess.
Jongin makes an upset noise in the back of his throat and contemplates asking Sehun to save him from this decidedly strange turn of events.
“Fine,” he says instead, against his better judgment. “So how exactly do you play one-on-one flip cup?”
The rest, as they say, is history. Jongin loses because Jongdae becomes exponentially aggressive when he wants something, but mainly it was because his liver hasn’t had the three years of tempering like Jongdae’s has. Jongdae doesn’t stop gloating about his newly obtained roommate for the rest of the night, even though Jongin graciously (and bewilderedly) admits defeat.
“We have to exchange contact information now,” Jongdae announces, his slurring now prominent. He whisper-shouts his phone number into Jongin’s ear and Jongin does the same.
“You should put his name down as Chenchen,” suggests Chanyeol, making both Kyungsoo and Baekhyun snort.
“Chenchen?” echoes Jongin dubiously.
“Long story, no time, I need to hydrate before I die in a few hours,” breathes out Jongdae in a rush, laughing. He leans in abruptly and inspects Jongin’s face; Jongin flinches. “I think I’m gonna put a heart next to your name in my phone because you’re really cute,” he says matter-of-factly. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really cute?”
Kyungsoo’s eyebrows shoot up so high that they disappear under his fringe and Jongin flushes darker than the sangria that Baekhyun had had earlier during the night-where, again, the point of origin of the booze remained a mystery.
“Oh,” he manages to stutter out. “Um. Not that I recall. Thanks, though.”
“Everyone should tell you that you’re cute. Seriously. I could kiss you, maybe,” Jongdae says before Baekhyun roughly shoves him under the side of Chanyeol where Kyungsoo was not nestled under.
“Bye Jongin! We’ll see you around,” Baekhyun cuts in brightly before he and Chanyeol herd Kyungsoo and Jongdae out of the basement with mild effort, leaving the youngest of them all in a daze, hand still loosely gripping onto his phone.
cat.docx
jimin + taehyung, summer before college AU, 607
“Jimin,” says Taehyung over breakfast one morning, “I have a great idea.”
Automatically, Jimin stops chewing around a mouthful of Reese’s Puffs and stares hard at Taehyung. Taehyung simply stares back, doing that funny little mashup of an exaggerated frown and flared nostrils that was unflattering on any member of the human race, really, but even more so on Taehyung, which happened to be one of his more impressive traits.
The words “I have a great idea” wouldn’t have been so terrifying if someone else-say, Yoongi or Namjoon-had said them, but as soon as they come out of Taehyung’s mouth, Jimin feels cold, twisting dread pool in his chest and slide down into the pit of his stomach. Or maybe that was just the milk he had with his cereal, still curiously a liquid even though it felt like it was at a subarctic temperature. Anyway, the point was that Taehyung wasn’t actually capable of having great ideas, and indulging in his peculiar and greatly impractical stream-of-consciousness was just going to make Jimin end up with physical and emotional scars.
“What kind of idea?” Jimin blurts out despairingly after he swallows another mouthful of cereal because Jimin has always been terrible at saying no to anyone.
“I told you,” replies Taehyung patiently, leaning back in his seat as if basking in the warmth of Jimin’s curiosity. “A great one.”
Jimin frowns, highly suspicious. Taehyung pretends that nothing was out of the ordinary, as he was wont to do (on the contrary, Jimin thinks, Taehyung’s entire existence was out of the ordinary), and picks at his waffles, waiting for his roommate to take the bait.
“Don’t hold your breath, Taehyung,” he warns.
“What? No,” chokes out Taehyung and lets out a deep, heaving sigh. “I wasn’t.”
Jimin squints at him. One side of Taehyung’s lips curl up and his bares his teeth in an odd grimace-smile. It reminds Jimin of those National Geographic tidbits on primates and how most of them smile to indicate that they were about to inflict a lot of pain, which is something Taehyung does to Jimin on an hourly basis.
“What kind of great idea?”
“We’ll be heroes,” Taehyung asserts, dodging the question.
“Remember the last time you said we were going to be heroes and I believed you?” Jimin long-sufferingly reminds him. “I ended up getting stitches at three in the morning and Seokjin couldn’t look me in the eye for a week.”
“We were thirteen,” he points out. “It’s in our DNA to be stupid.”
“I trusted you!” Jimin whines.
“That sounds like a personal problem, really,” Taehyung says easily, reaching out for the bottle of syrup and begins to engineer swimming pools in each square in his waffles.
Jimin scowls.
“Whatever,” he concedes. “Let’s hear this brilliant idea of yours. If it sucks then I’m literally never listening to you again. You’ll be dead to me, Taehyung. It’ll be like living with a ghost. A pumpkin-headed goon.”
“I am not a pumpkin-headed goon,” Taehyung sulks. Jimin lifts his spoon out of his bowl and shakes it menacingly at him; both of them flinch from the drops of milk flying from the spoon like a sprinkler. “Fine, you win, I am-get that thing out of my face!” He wipes the milk his arm on his jeans and leans in conspiratorially, whispering, even though they were the only ones that lived in the apartment. “Okay, I came up with it at four in the morning after I lucid dreamed the entire thing, but listen to this…”
-
“Does anyone have any ideas about a perfect murder?” Jimin moans miserably
space.docx
yoongi/taehyung, how do you solve a problem like kim taehyung, 479
Taehyung gets a dog and doesn’t shut up about it for a good two months.
It might have been cute if Taehyung was a five-year-old girl, but seeing as Taehyung was neither five nor a girl, he had no leeway-Yoongi found Taehyung mildly irritating on an average day; lately, he dreams of defenestration. Taehyung is motor mouth when he wants to be, and for days, all that comes out of his mouth are his bizarre version of cooing, talk of families, and “Hyung, do you want to look at a new picture of Soonshim?”
Yoongi grits his teeth at the thought of Soonshim.
He has to admit, albeit grudgingly, that it’s a cute dog. Soonshim suits Taehyung the way Kkanji suits Taehyung: all three of them are slightly off-kilter. And Soonshim and Kkanji, in Yoongi’s opinion, are very noble and respectable names for pets, unlike Rapmon (too meta) or Mickey (too girly), but there are only so many times Yoongi can bear to hear Soonshim’s name before he succumbs to the slowly growing itch to wrap his hands around Taehyung’s neck and methodically squeeze.
Murderous inclinations aside, Yoongi still isn’t sure why he keeps indulging Taehyung when everyone else suddenly had more important things to do than to look at an endless stream of half-blurred, mediocre dog photos. The routine quickly becomes second nature; Taehyung slinks into the room, phone in hand, and everyone stutters out a flimsy excuse, leaving Yoongi to fend for himself with nothing more than a stunned, panicked “Who, me?” grin.
“Hyung,” Taehyung ventures tentatively, one foot still in the halfway, one foot in the living room, looking like he wants to bolt and stay at the same time, “do you want to look at a new picture of Soonshim?”
It’s only Tuesday, is what Yoongi wants to say, and this will be the tenth picture I’ve seen this week. I just wanted to lie on this couch and think about how much of a failure I am because the song I’m writing sucks dick. I want to mope in peace. I am tired. I am your hyung. I’m tired of being your hyung. I’m really confused as to why I keep letting you bully me into noncommittal agreement. There are only so many permutations of “Wow, what a cute dog.”
“Lay it on me,” Yoongi relents long-sufferingly instead, scooting over on the couch with visible effort.
He pretends not to notice Taehyung’s timid face light up with relief as the boy scrambles onto the sofa, climbing over a mountain of pillows and nearly kicking Yoongi in the shin out of excitement. He pretends not to mind because Yoongi does mind-only he doesn’t, not this time; pretends that he isn’t curious about Taehyung’s multifaceted personality, the way he is opened and closed, all at once; pretends that he isn’t confused as hell.
the pull of the ocean.docx
jungkook + taehyung, jungkook contemplates growing up, 785
Jungkook doesn’t notice how truly tall he’s gotten until the day he slides into the bathtub with a pillow and spare blanket to escape Namjoon’s unrelenting snores and finds that his feet stick out when he lies flat on his back. It might have been a bigger deal if it hadn’t been four in the morning and their call time was at five, so Jungkook files it away into a drawer of his mind labeled Huh, Well That’s a Thing and passes out as soon as he closes his eyes, feet uncomfortably propped up on the faucet and all.
He’s woken up by a very groggy Seokjin (who else?) at exactly 5am. Or, perhaps more accurately, Jungkook is woken up by the camera shutter on Seokjin’s phone when Seokjin snaps a picture of him sleeping in fetal position, and, with a sinking feeling, Jungkook knows exactly what is going to be uploaded onto @bts_twt later.
“Our baby Jungkook getting ready for bath time,” Seokjin coos sleepily, quickly tucking his phone away before Jungkook can react and rummages through the drawers for a new tube of toothpaste. “What were you even doing in there?”
“Namjoon-hyung was being more insufferable than usual,” Jungkook answers honestly, voice muffled by his pillow, stretching out in the tub.
There’s a crick in his neck and his back makes him feel 16 going on 77, but at least the tiny bathroom was peaceful and quiet. The sounds of Seokjin going about his morning routine mesmerizing; it was nice, Jungkook decided. For a moment, it felt like he and Seokjin were the only ones awake in the entire city, even though it wasn’t true. A stifled thump comes from the bedroom-someone must’ve rolled off their bunk. Both of them wince at the same time.
“Aren’t you going to get ready soon?” Seokjin asks as he finishes washing his face, patting his cheeks with a damp towel. “I’ll give you a head start before I wake the others up. You know how crowded the bathroom gets.”
“Soon, soon, hyung,” Jungkook emptily promises, wriggling his toes, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
Seokjin debates scolding him or not. “The tub looks pretty uncomfortable,” Seokjin observes congenially instead.
A beat passes before Jungkook rises from the tub like the dead, blanket falling off from his shoulders. Seokjin raises an eyebrow.
“You’re right,” Jungkook agrees.
“I know I am,” Seokjin interrupts. “You should listen to your elders every once in a while.”
“If I know Hoseok-hyung at all,” the youngest continues, ignoring him, “he’s going to want to have a cuddle puddle in the tub, and I don’t want a cuddle puddle in the tub if I’m going to be at the very bottom. That’s always how these things work out, right? The youngest doesn’t get a say in anything, and the tub is hard, and that’s how I’m going to break my hip before I’ve even reached adulthood.”
Seokjin opens his mouth to protest and Jungkook shoos him from the room, quickly rummaging through his things and washing his face as thoroughly he can at an ungodly hour, determined to finish before Seokjin can get Yoongi out of bed. His skin is still settling down (“The rest of us have already been through that tumultuous phase of life,” Namjoon teases, perfect skin gleaming in the light) but that’s what makeup is for. Jungkook figures that bad skin is just the first step into being a grownup, even though Jimin had told him the horror story about how even adults have acne, too-but Jimin is just barely old enough to drink and looked like he belonged at the children’s table, anyway.
Just as Jungkook piles up his pillow and blanket using one arm and attempts to open the door with his free hand, the door opens from the other side.
“Good morning?” a voice says from behind the bedding.
“Oh. Tae-hyung.” Jungkook’s face peeks out from his blanket.
Taehyung’s grumpy morning face squints back at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being rude or trying to be cute.” Jungkook wisely decides not to clarify. “You’re up earlier than usual this morning.”
“I’m trying to take initiative in life,” Jungkook explains flippantly.
Taehyung makes a noncommittal sound.
“Your knees are bruised,” is all that he says-a non sequitur, but it’s Taehyung. Nothing Taehyung says ever surprises him anymore. When Taehyung gently but firmly guides Jungkook out of the bathroom and shuts the door after him, Jungkook is left in the hallway, staring down at his feet, remembering how his toes stuck out in the tub. Only then does he realize how the usual height difference between Taehyung and him suddenly felt very, very small.
jongdae/jongin, roommates AU, 1.6k
On an otherwise ordinary Saturday, Jongdae’s roommate Jongin gets cast as an ensemble dancer for the Broadway production of Newsies.
He is able to figure this out from the distressed screech that rips out of Jongin’s throat when the younger boy comes across the official-looking packet after perusing through a stack of one week’s worth of accumulated mail. Jongdae shoots up and out from the couch where he appeared to have passed out last night, shoes still on, jeans stained with an assortment of alcohols-for a discombobulated minute, he genuinely believes that Jongin is in the process of being gutted by a serial killer.
Jongdae whips his head to make sure Jongin is still alive and instantly regrets it.
“Jongin, you need Jesus,” he finally manages to croak out when the room stops spinning, his mouth feeling like he had swallowed several cotton balls. It hurts to open his eyes; Jongdae feels that familiar biweekly churning in his stomach and wonders if he’s capable of stumbling to the bathroom with his eyes closed.
“I’m sorry,” Jongin apologizes, hushed, “I’ll be quiet.” Jongdae grunts, reevaluates the current state of his life, and wobbles over to the kitchen table, resting his pounding skull on folded arms.
“So? Good newsies?” he mumbles, voice muffled by the scratchy sleeves of his wrinkled sweater. “Bad newsies?” Jongin frowns and lightly bats at Jongdae’s shoulder. “Surprise, did you know that your mom’s a stripper?”
“Don’t talk about my mom like that. She’s a nice lady.”
“Your dad’s a stripper?” Jongdae tries again.
“I think not,” Jongin replies, slightly scandalized. He gets out of his chair and pulls a clean glass off the dish drying rack, filling it with cold tap water, and offers it to Jongdae. Jongdae gingerly accepts it, attempting to give Jongin a grateful smile but ends up emulating the expression one would find on a heretic in excruciating pain via torture methods used during the Spanish Inquisition.
Jongin huffs and sits back down. “Actually, I’m not sure what kind of news this is,” he says when Jongdae finishes the water, waving the letter in front of Jongdae’s nose. “I know you don’t feel well but could you maybe read this for me? Because it seems to be written in Chinese, and I can’t read Chinese. Also, to be completely honest, I’d just rather not know.”
Jongdae wordlessly stares at him, then snatches the packet out of Jongin’s hands in an amazing display of early morning dexterity, skimming through the letter.
“Jongin,” he begins slowly, “you do realize that this is written in English, right?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Jongin says, voice dipping into a strange register.
Jongdae makes the decision to not press the topic any further and continues to squint at the letter, eyes stinging. Idly, he wonders if keeping the news from Jongin any longer would be mean, and figures that if Jongin was rendered temporarily illiterate from sheer anxiety then he’d better deliver the verdict before Jongin lost the ability to regulate his respiratory system, or cry.
“Well, congratulations, it’s a boy,” announces Jongdae, teasing, but his voice is warm and his smile is sincere. “You’re Newsies Dancer #8!”
For a minute, Jongin says nothing and merely stares blankly at him, then lets out a desperate strangled noise and moves in to pull Jongdae up into a hug, despite Jongdae’s flustered protests that bodily contact might trigger his desire to vomit. It’s cute how Jongin doesn’t think his threat was real, but Jongdae manages to suppress his violent gagging and returns the embrace anyway. Jongin was a great hugger in the way that some people are great kissers, and if this was the last moment of physical affection that Jongdae received before he actually died from this hangover-well, he wasn’t complaining.
“Do you want to day drink to celebrate?” he asks, lips brushing against Jongin’s neck. The younger releases him, laughing incredulously, his eyes wet and gleaming in the soft morning light. Jongin has on a big, beautiful, radiant smile that absolutely lights up his face-possibly the whole apartment, maybe the entire solar system-and, oh, where in the world did that thought come from?
Jongdae’s stomach does a funny twisty thing and that’s the last straw.
“Just kidding, I’m gonna go throw up now,” he says, words tumbling out in a rush before he dashes to the bathroom and expels girly blue drinks (Baekhyun’s fault) as well as every semblance of decency left in his bones. He can hear Jongin’s laughter trickling in from the kitchen-clear as a bell, deep, more beautiful than the music of the spheres.
-
Jongin becomes Jongdae’s roommate because Jongdae beats him at a particularly brutal one-on-one game flip cup, despite Chanyeol’s unrelenting complaints that flip cup wasn’t meant to be a one-on-one game.
“Fuck you!” Jongdae remembers drunkenly shouting at Chanyeol before turning around and shouting, “Fuck all the haters!” at Jongin, who had been the only freshman in a basement full of juniors and seniors and a handful of grad students. To Jongin’s credit, he had only looked faintly close to tears.
“You don’t know who your true friends are,” declares Jongdae, slurring a bit, “until it’s two in the morning and someone has cried and someone else has lost their shoes and you’re really shitfaced because what’s going on, really? Are you drinking because it makes the pain go away or are you drinking because someone backed out on their lease? And by someone, I mean Kyungsoo,” he clarifies.
Kyungsoo doesn’t even bother to respond and continues to whisper into Baekhyun’s ear, arm slung around his neck. Baekhyun appeared discernibly uncomfortable; Jongdae liked to imagine that Kyungsoo was describing to Baekhyun, in great detail, exactly how he planned to murder Baekhyun in the near future.
Jongin stares at the four of them. “I’m not sure I follow,” he says slowly, eyes starting to dart around anxiously for an exit.
“Where are you living next year?” asks Baekhyun suddenly, finally pushing Kyungsoo off his shoulders. Kyungsoo frowns deeply and latches onto Chanyeol next, settling under a lanky arm.
“The dorms again, probably,” Jongin replies hesitantly. “Why?”
“Jongdae needs a roommate,” Chanyeol explains. He pats Kyungsoo’s head absentmindedly.
“Kyungsoo pulled out of the contract at the last minute,” Baekhyun adds helpfully.
“I just figured that if I saw Jongdae everyday for the next year I’d probably slip into insanity or I’d kill someone,” Kyungsoo rationalizes. He pauses. “Possibly both.”
Jongin seems to consider all of this.
“Well, okay,” he says doubtfully. “I mean, Jongdae, if you really need a roommate, I’d be happy to. It’s not like we’re complete strangers.” This much was true; the five of them had all gone to the same high school together, though Jongin had been two years below them. “But what I don’t understand is-well, why exactly do you need to beat me in flip cup before I sign the lease?”
“It ups the stakes,” Jongdae says patronizingly, as if everyone should’ve already known this. The other three nod sagely.
“What kind of man would Jongdae be,” adds Chanyeol, “if he couldn’t win over his potential future roommate in a game of one-on-one flip cup? Which, by the way, doesn’t actually exist as a game and therefore this whole arrangement is invalid.”
“But what if I win and Jongdae loses?” Jongin furrows his eyebrows in profound confusion. “I just don’t understand-what are the stakes in the first place?”
“You ask a lot of questions for a freshman,” Baekhyun observes astutely, ignoring Jongin’s enquiry entirely, and begins licking around a vibrant blue jello shot-from who or where he had gotten the shot was anyone’s guess.
Jongin makes an upset noise in the back of his throat and contemplates asking Sehun to save him from this decidedly strange turn of events.
“Fine,” he says instead, against his better judgment. “So how exactly do you play one-on-one flip cup?”
The rest, as they say, is history. Jongin loses because Jongdae becomes exponentially aggressive when he wants something, but mainly it was because his liver hasn’t had the three years of tempering like Jongdae’s has. Jongdae doesn’t stop gloating about his newly obtained roommate for the rest of the night, even though Jongin graciously (and bewilderedly) admits defeat.
“We have to exchange contact information now,” Jongdae announces, his slurring now prominent. He whisper-shouts his phone number into Jongin’s ear and Jongin does the same.
“You should put his name down as Chenchen,” suggests Chanyeol, making both Kyungsoo and Baekhyun snort.
“Chenchen?” echoes Jongin dubiously.
“Long story, no time, I need to hydrate before I die in a few hours,” breathes out Jongdae in a rush, laughing. He leans in abruptly and inspects Jongin’s face; Jongin flinches. “I think I’m gonna put a heart next to your name in my phone because you’re really cute,” he says matter-of-factly. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really cute?”
Kyungsoo’s eyebrows shoot up so high that they disappear under his fringe and Jongin flushes darker than the sangria that Baekhyun had had earlier during the night-where, again, the point of origin of the booze remained a mystery.
“Oh,” he manages to stutter out. “Um. Not that I recall. Thanks, though.”
“Everyone should tell you that you’re cute. Seriously. I could kiss you, maybe,” Jongdae says before Baekhyun roughly shoves him under the side of Chanyeol where Kyungsoo was not nestled under.
“Bye Jongin! We’ll see you around,” Baekhyun cuts in brightly before he and Chanyeol herd Kyungsoo and Jongdae out of the basement with mild effort, leaving the youngest of them all in a daze, hand still loosely gripping onto his phone.
cat.docx
jimin + taehyung, summer before college AU, 607
“Jimin,” says Taehyung over breakfast one morning, “I have a great idea.”
Automatically, Jimin stops chewing around a mouthful of Reese’s Puffs and stares hard at Taehyung. Taehyung simply stares back, doing that funny little mashup of an exaggerated frown and flared nostrils that was unflattering on any member of the human race, really, but even more so on Taehyung, which happened to be one of his more impressive traits.
The words “I have a great idea” wouldn’t have been so terrifying if someone else-say, Yoongi or Namjoon-had said them, but as soon as they come out of Taehyung’s mouth, Jimin feels cold, twisting dread pool in his chest and slide down into the pit of his stomach. Or maybe that was just the milk he had with his cereal, still curiously a liquid even though it felt like it was at a subarctic temperature. Anyway, the point was that Taehyung wasn’t actually capable of having great ideas, and indulging in his peculiar and greatly impractical stream-of-consciousness was just going to make Jimin end up with physical and emotional scars.
“What kind of idea?” Jimin blurts out despairingly after he swallows another mouthful of cereal because Jimin has always been terrible at saying no to anyone.
“I told you,” replies Taehyung patiently, leaning back in his seat as if basking in the warmth of Jimin’s curiosity. “A great one.”
Jimin frowns, highly suspicious. Taehyung pretends that nothing was out of the ordinary, as he was wont to do (on the contrary, Jimin thinks, Taehyung’s entire existence was out of the ordinary), and picks at his waffles, waiting for his roommate to take the bait.
“Don’t hold your breath, Taehyung,” he warns.
“What? No,” chokes out Taehyung and lets out a deep, heaving sigh. “I wasn’t.”
Jimin squints at him. One side of Taehyung’s lips curl up and his bares his teeth in an odd grimace-smile. It reminds Jimin of those National Geographic tidbits on primates and how most of them smile to indicate that they were about to inflict a lot of pain, which is something Taehyung does to Jimin on an hourly basis.
“What kind of great idea?”
“We’ll be heroes,” Taehyung asserts, dodging the question.
“Remember the last time you said we were going to be heroes and I believed you?” Jimin long-sufferingly reminds him. “I ended up getting stitches at three in the morning and Seokjin couldn’t look me in the eye for a week.”
“We were thirteen,” he points out. “It’s in our DNA to be stupid.”
“I trusted you!” Jimin whines.
“That sounds like a personal problem, really,” Taehyung says easily, reaching out for the bottle of syrup and begins to engineer swimming pools in each square in his waffles.
Jimin scowls.
“Whatever,” he concedes. “Let’s hear this brilliant idea of yours. If it sucks then I’m literally never listening to you again. You’ll be dead to me, Taehyung. It’ll be like living with a ghost. A pumpkin-headed goon.”
“I am not a pumpkin-headed goon,” Taehyung sulks. Jimin lifts his spoon out of his bowl and shakes it menacingly at him; both of them flinch from the drops of milk flying from the spoon like a sprinkler. “Fine, you win, I am-get that thing out of my face!” He wipes the milk his arm on his jeans and leans in conspiratorially, whispering, even though they were the only ones that lived in the apartment. “Okay, I came up with it at four in the morning after I lucid dreamed the entire thing, but listen to this…”
-
“Does anyone have any ideas about a perfect murder?” Jimin moans miserably
space.docx
yoongi/taehyung, how do you solve a problem like kim taehyung, 479
Taehyung gets a dog and doesn’t shut up about it for a good two months.
It might have been cute if Taehyung was a five-year-old girl, but seeing as Taehyung was neither five nor a girl, he had no leeway-Yoongi found Taehyung mildly irritating on an average day; lately, he dreams of defenestration. Taehyung is motor mouth when he wants to be, and for days, all that comes out of his mouth are his bizarre version of cooing, talk of families, and “Hyung, do you want to look at a new picture of Soonshim?”
Yoongi grits his teeth at the thought of Soonshim.
He has to admit, albeit grudgingly, that it’s a cute dog. Soonshim suits Taehyung the way Kkanji suits Taehyung: all three of them are slightly off-kilter. And Soonshim and Kkanji, in Yoongi’s opinion, are very noble and respectable names for pets, unlike Rapmon (too meta) or Mickey (too girly), but there are only so many times Yoongi can bear to hear Soonshim’s name before he succumbs to the slowly growing itch to wrap his hands around Taehyung’s neck and methodically squeeze.
Murderous inclinations aside, Yoongi still isn’t sure why he keeps indulging Taehyung when everyone else suddenly had more important things to do than to look at an endless stream of half-blurred, mediocre dog photos. The routine quickly becomes second nature; Taehyung slinks into the room, phone in hand, and everyone stutters out a flimsy excuse, leaving Yoongi to fend for himself with nothing more than a stunned, panicked “Who, me?” grin.
“Hyung,” Taehyung ventures tentatively, one foot still in the halfway, one foot in the living room, looking like he wants to bolt and stay at the same time, “do you want to look at a new picture of Soonshim?”
It’s only Tuesday, is what Yoongi wants to say, and this will be the tenth picture I’ve seen this week. I just wanted to lie on this couch and think about how much of a failure I am because the song I’m writing sucks dick. I want to mope in peace. I am tired. I am your hyung. I’m tired of being your hyung. I’m really confused as to why I keep letting you bully me into noncommittal agreement. There are only so many permutations of “Wow, what a cute dog.”
“Lay it on me,” Yoongi relents long-sufferingly instead, scooting over on the couch with visible effort.
He pretends not to notice Taehyung’s timid face light up with relief as the boy scrambles onto the sofa, climbing over a mountain of pillows and nearly kicking Yoongi in the shin out of excitement. He pretends not to mind because Yoongi does mind-only he doesn’t, not this time; pretends that he isn’t curious about Taehyung’s multifaceted personality, the way he is opened and closed, all at once; pretends that he isn’t confused as hell.
the pull of the ocean.docx
jungkook + taehyung, jungkook contemplates growing up, 785
Jungkook doesn’t notice how truly tall he’s gotten until the day he slides into the bathtub with a pillow and spare blanket to escape Namjoon’s unrelenting snores and finds that his feet stick out when he lies flat on his back. It might have been a bigger deal if it hadn’t been four in the morning and their call time was at five, so Jungkook files it away into a drawer of his mind labeled Huh, Well That’s a Thing and passes out as soon as he closes his eyes, feet uncomfortably propped up on the faucet and all.
He’s woken up by a very groggy Seokjin (who else?) at exactly 5am. Or, perhaps more accurately, Jungkook is woken up by the camera shutter on Seokjin’s phone when Seokjin snaps a picture of him sleeping in fetal position, and, with a sinking feeling, Jungkook knows exactly what is going to be uploaded onto @bts_twt later.
“Our baby Jungkook getting ready for bath time,” Seokjin coos sleepily, quickly tucking his phone away before Jungkook can react and rummages through the drawers for a new tube of toothpaste. “What were you even doing in there?”
“Namjoon-hyung was being more insufferable than usual,” Jungkook answers honestly, voice muffled by his pillow, stretching out in the tub.
There’s a crick in his neck and his back makes him feel 16 going on 77, but at least the tiny bathroom was peaceful and quiet. The sounds of Seokjin going about his morning routine mesmerizing; it was nice, Jungkook decided. For a moment, it felt like he and Seokjin were the only ones awake in the entire city, even though it wasn’t true. A stifled thump comes from the bedroom-someone must’ve rolled off their bunk. Both of them wince at the same time.
“Aren’t you going to get ready soon?” Seokjin asks as he finishes washing his face, patting his cheeks with a damp towel. “I’ll give you a head start before I wake the others up. You know how crowded the bathroom gets.”
“Soon, soon, hyung,” Jungkook emptily promises, wriggling his toes, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
Seokjin debates scolding him or not. “The tub looks pretty uncomfortable,” Seokjin observes congenially instead.
A beat passes before Jungkook rises from the tub like the dead, blanket falling off from his shoulders. Seokjin raises an eyebrow.
“You’re right,” Jungkook agrees.
“I know I am,” Seokjin interrupts. “You should listen to your elders every once in a while.”
“If I know Hoseok-hyung at all,” the youngest continues, ignoring him, “he’s going to want to have a cuddle puddle in the tub, and I don’t want a cuddle puddle in the tub if I’m going to be at the very bottom. That’s always how these things work out, right? The youngest doesn’t get a say in anything, and the tub is hard, and that’s how I’m going to break my hip before I’ve even reached adulthood.”
Seokjin opens his mouth to protest and Jungkook shoos him from the room, quickly rummaging through his things and washing his face as thoroughly he can at an ungodly hour, determined to finish before Seokjin can get Yoongi out of bed. His skin is still settling down (“The rest of us have already been through that tumultuous phase of life,” Namjoon teases, perfect skin gleaming in the light) but that’s what makeup is for. Jungkook figures that bad skin is just the first step into being a grownup, even though Jimin had told him the horror story about how even adults have acne, too-but Jimin is just barely old enough to drink and looked like he belonged at the children’s table, anyway.
Just as Jungkook piles up his pillow and blanket using one arm and attempts to open the door with his free hand, the door opens from the other side.
“Good morning?” a voice says from behind the bedding.
“Oh. Tae-hyung.” Jungkook’s face peeks out from his blanket.
Taehyung’s grumpy morning face squints back at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being rude or trying to be cute.” Jungkook wisely decides not to clarify. “You’re up earlier than usual this morning.”
“I’m trying to take initiative in life,” Jungkook explains flippantly.
Taehyung makes a noncommittal sound.
“Your knees are bruised,” is all that he says-a non sequitur, but it’s Taehyung. Nothing Taehyung says ever surprises him anymore. When Taehyung gently but firmly guides Jungkook out of the bathroom and shuts the door after him, Jungkook is left in the hallway, staring down at his feet, remembering how his toes stuck out in the tub. Only then does he realize how the usual height difference between Taehyung and him suddenly felt very, very small.