Chapter Text
—🎶—
“And,” Yoongi says blankly, “it absolutely has to be a brachiosaurus?”
“Has to be,” Minkyung affirms solemnly.
“And it’s due…”
“Tomorrow.” His daughter looks contemplative. “But I could always be sick tomorrow.”
“Out of the question.”
That earns him a heavy, put-upon sigh. “I guess. That would ruin my perfect attendance. And it would be letting my partner down.”
“Oh, so someone else is involved in Operation Belated Brachiosaurus?”
“It won’t be belated if I finish my part tonight!” Minkyung insists. “All I need is modeling clay, foam board, and maybe some of that spongy stuff you stick plants in. Darae’s bringing the plants, so we can just put them together before class tomorrow.”
Yoongi blinks at her, fingers twitching over his synth. A spasm of discordant sound wheezes from the headphones slung around his neck. “I thought you didn’t get along with Kim Darae because she bad-mouthed Sanrio. Now suddenly she’s your partner in procrastination?”
“That was forever ago!” It was, in point of fact, less than two weeks ago, but Yoongi long ago accepted that elementary schoolers have their own concept of time and his child is a walking, talking Exhibit A. “The brachiosaurus was her idea, she said we’ll get a 100 for sure. And she let me use her Switch when you were late picking me up that one time. Remember? Her appa was late too.”
“Ah,” Yoongi says, setting the headphones aside because he can sense where this conversation is going. “The Switch you both tried to hide because you’re not supposed to have them at school? That one?”
Minkyung deftly avoids any acknowledgement of his questions. “She’s doing the background part, and we both did the writing already. I just need to do the dinosaur part.”
“Can you email her and see if she has clay she can bring to school early?”
“She won’t see it, her appa doesn’t let her have tablet time this late.”
“KakaoTalk?” Yoongi knows he sounds a little desperate but it’s already close to Minkyung’s usual bedtime. The window for modeling clay procurement is dangerously slim. “Phone number?”
Minkyung gives him a mournful look over the rims of her bright pink glasses. “Appa…if I had a phone, I’d know all this already.”
“You are in third grade. If you can’t be responsible for creating a brachiosaurus in a timely manner, how in the world can I trust you with a phone?”
“That is a false equivalence,” she says, jamming her knobbly fists against her hips, and oh is Yoongi going to have a few choice words with a certain someone for teaching her shit like how to call out false equivalencies. “Also, you’re not supposed to be working late either.”
She has a point. They have an agreement, sealed with a pinky promise and everything. Studio time is for work hours only. “Yah, who’s been giving you debate lessons?” he asks instead, despite already knowing the answer too damn well.
“I’m just saying,” she pokes a few synth keys and hums something that sounds vaguely like the Wii theme music. “You’re paying more attention to her again. I bet you need fresh air.”
He playfully swats her hands. “Leave Minimoog out of this. You already know you’re my favorite mini.” That makes her wrinkle her nose and groan, but he’s used to it. Anyone he shares living space with has to understand synth-based humor, not necessarily appreciate it.
“So can we get clay and the other stuff?”
Yoongi is fairly certain the most elaborate project he concocted in elementary school was a biographical report that utilized copious amounts of clipart, and the resulting debate with his teacher about whether Eminem was a suitable subject. Whatever studious inclinations Minkyung possesses, they certainly didn’t come from him. He also abhorred group projects and always volunteered to work alone when there was an odd number of students, specifically so he could put things off to the last minute.
That part, he supposes, might be his fault.
“Daiso and Emart both close at 10,” Minkyung adds cheerfully. “If we—” Her words dissolve into a cross between a giggle and a shriek as Yoongi heaves himself out of his chair and swings her up onto his shoulders in one smooth movement.
“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, let’s go make a brachiosaurus.”
—🎶—
“You said you were done with your part!” Minkyung yelps.
“I said it would be done in time! That’s not the same thing.”
The other girl standing in the art supply section is holding a tri-fold board and looking entirely unapologetic. Under other circumstances, Yoongi might admire that.
Under the current circumstances, Yoongi is feeling acutely useless and acutely gay. He’s also making uncomfortable eye contact with a man who looks like a conglomeration of two dozen make-yourself-hotter glamor filters brought to life.
It’s every ridiculous recordscratch romcom moment crashing into him at once. There might as well be violin-wielding angels serenading him. The world is reversing rotation under his feet at this very moment. Yoongi resents this immensely.
Fortunately, the other guy seems unaware of all this. There’s a possibility Yoongi can salvage this situation without coming off as completely unhinged.
Step one is shattering the freeze-frame he’s put himself in. He shuffles a half-step further down the aisle. So far, so good. Step two is actually saying something instead of gaping like a lunatic. This one is trickier. “Hi. Min Yoongi. I’m, ah, Kim Minkyung is my…she’s working with your…we’re here about a brachiosaurus,” he blurts out, and promptly wants to launch himself into the ceiling at his own idiocy.
“Kim Seokjin,” says the source of his despair, and of course he’s polite enough not to acknowledge Yoongi’s bumbling. And of course his voice has to be rich as velvet and light as champagne bubbles, he can’t have an awkward Mickey Mouse voice or anything remotely off-putting. The guy has to be a model, or a transplant from an unbearably sexy planet, or both. That or Yoongi has just forgotten how to interact with anyone outside of work, which is definitely a possibility.
“This one’s mine.” Seokjin nods towards the other girl. “What kind of drama did we just walk into?”
“Darae said she was done!” Minkyung squeaks.
“Minkyung isn’t done either!”
“This is very embarrassing indeed,” Seokjin says grimly. He makes a show of glancing over his shoulder. Yoongi could swear he winks at him but refuses to believe it; it’s easier that way. “We can’t be seen wearing the same outfit. My reputation as a trailblazing fashionista is at stake if my daughter’s classmate wears it better than me.”
“Appa,” Darae sighs. “This is serious.”
“It's okay,” Minkyung says, dimpling. “I think you look nice too.”
That’s when Yoongi notices Kim Seokjin, possible intergalactic supermodel, is wearing a pastel pink Gudetama hoodie that mirrors Minkyung’s own.
On Minkyung’s, Gudetama is dozing with a piece of bacon draped over him like a duvet. On Seokjin’s he’s sitting a bowl alongside other, presumably non-sentient, foodstuffs with the words, “are we born only to die?” cheerfully arching overhead in English.
Yoongi has never identified so strongly with the duality of a cartoon egg.
Darae, beside him, is in double denim and purple combat boots. Yoongi is almost positive he has the same pair in matte black.
“Huh,” he says.
“Can we get this?” Minkyung has honed in on a multicolored pack of modeling clay.
Yoongi claws his way back to the point of forming full sentences. “Hang on. Can it be two-dimensional or does it have to be three-dimensional?”
Darae answers him without hesitation. “3D! Because if we make it out of clay and decorate around it to look like a forest it’ll look really cool. My appa said we can use some of his plant clippings.”
Minkyung nods. “My appa said it would be more dynamic that way.”
Yoongi eyeballs her. “Wait. You told your appa about it, but not me?”
“You’re not her…?” Seokjin starts, his words painted with bewilderment.
“She has two,” Darae says breezily.
Minkyung nods again. “Yoon-appa and Joon-appa. They don’t both live with me, though.”
Seokjin looks a bit surprised. “Is that a problem?” Yoongi asks, involuntarily pitching his voice a little lower and tipping his chin a little higher. Sometimes it doesn’t take much at all to have him reverting to the closeted Daegu boy with a chip on his shoulder.
“Be awfully hypocritical of me if it was,” Seokjin says, gracing him with a star-white grin.
He’s turned around to examine Darae’s poster board before Yoongi can let that fully sink in.
As the girls are chattering about what they need to buy, he stealthily texts Namjoon.
Yoongi:
hey
thanks for telling me our darling child
needs to make a fucking brachiosaurus
Namjoon, who probably is working late because he isn’t pinky-promised into having a consistent schedule, replies instantly.
Joon:
I hope it’s not fucking 😆😆😆
that might not go over well in class
Yoongi:
don’t start. She didn’t tell me
about this until 30 minutes ago
Joon:
sorry…I didn’t think about that.
she tells you everything
Yoongi:
the next last-minute homework fiasco is on you
I don’t care what continent you’re on
Joon:
yeah ok
Joon:
text me if you need any anatomical resources!
Yoongi:
this is a third grade science project
not one of your archaeological digs
Namjoon’s PhD is in forensic anthropology. Yoongi knows this very well, and also knows exactly how much Namjoon bristles when anyone gets it wrong.
Joon:
ughhhh hyung
Then Seokjin looks at him, full lips curved into a smile, and says, “Min Yoongi. How do you feel about opening a one-night-only cram school to salvage the honor of our children?”
Right.
Yoongi snorts, plucking a three-pack of glitter gel pens from a shelf Minkyung can’t quite reach. “Kim Seokjin, for the honor of our children, I would love nothing more.”
—🎶—
It turns out Seokjin lives closer, so they end up at his apartment. It also happens to be where these vaunted plants are, which is why Yoongi is currently watching Minkyung jamming floristry foam with bits of ferns and pines and miscellaneous viny-looking things to make a dinosaur-appropriate habitat. They’ve already finished mounting the written portion of their work on the poster board, and Darae is busy poring over a tablet for sculpting inspiration.
Seokjin is blithely kicked back on the sofa. He’s wearing fuzzy house slippers and fiddling with a chunk of orange clay. “Do you think,” he says, “that this looks like anything in particular?”
Yoongi squints. “Ah. Maybe a rock?”
“Perfect.” Seokjin tips him a cheers with his limited edition Miffy mug.
Yoongi happens to know it’s a limited edition because he’s holding a matching one—Miffy is brandishing a paintbrush on his, a palette on Seokjin’s. The first thing Seokjin did after inviting them in was offer to make emergency coffee, which Yoongi immediately accepted. His first meeting tomorrow isn’t until ten, but he likes to get to work for studio time right after dropping Minkyung off at school. At this rate, if they’re home before 1 AM, the buzz should have worn off enough for him to get a decent amount of sleep. And if it goes later, maybe it means he’ll be a little grumpy tomorrow, but he refuses to be one of those parents who does their kid’s last-minute schoolwork for them. He’s relieved that Seokjin, more than content to sit back and let the girls figure out the consequences of their actions, seems to be the same way,
“Yah, goose—use this, I won’t even demand royalties.” Seokjin chucks the misshapen blob in Darae’s direction. “Yoongi-ssi, would you believe this is the first time we’ve had to make a late-night art supply run?”
“Honestly, no,” Yoongi says. “I think we bought one of everything.” At this point, it’ll be a wonder if the girls don’t turn out the most breathtaking brachiosaurus habitat known to humanity.
Despite the chaos scattered across the living room, he’s impressed by how neat the place is, how readily Seokjin had offered them snacks and urged them to get comfortable. Yoongi isn’t accustomed to having guests over, unless it’s Namjoon, who doesn’t count. He wouldn’t say his apartment is messy, but there’s a certain genericness to it that isn’t at all evident here. Seokjin’s living room is a medley of bright airy colors and a window nook brimming with greenery. Yoongi famously killed a succulent once, and it’s a running joke between them that Namjoon’s treasured bonsai lasted longer than their marriage.
He also can’t help noticing there doesn’t seem to be anyone else home and that Seokjin’s not wearing a ring. Just an observation.
Seokjin is picking clay from underneath the nails of his fascinatingly ringless fingers. “92 liner,” he offers.
Yoongi dips his head fractionally. “’93.”
“You might as well call me hyung, yeah? There’s no going back from this kind of bonding experience.” He grins at the fern-strewn spectacle before them. There’s a table under there somewhere, Yoongi’s fairly sure. He’s not looking away from Seokjin’s face to check.
“Hm. So, hyung, I really should have let you pay for everything at Daiso when you offered?”
“Probably, yeah. But you looked so proud of yourself for being able to lift the basket, I didn’t want to argue with you.”
“Wow, I call you hyung one time and it’s right into the short jokes, I see how it is.” Yoongi clicks his tongue.
“I never said a thing about your height! I just thought it was cute how you carried everything and didn’t let me buy it. If these two get full marks, though, I’ll buy you...” Seokjin drops his absurdly chiseled chin onto his fist, “at least one serving of kimbap.”
Yoongi squints. Seokjin is calling him cute and asking him out to…either a lunch date or a trip to a convenience store. He glances surreptitiously at his empty Miffy mug. The coffee can’t be doing its job because this has to be an absurd dream. “Two servings. I’m not a one-kimbap kind of guy. I need something to take home to Minkyung afterward.”
“Deal. Now come over here and help me make more rocks.”
—🌿—
Seokjin is used to keeping regular hours.
Jimin closes the shop most weekends, but weekdays are all him. Sunday evenings are normally when he takes time to make sure that Darae has neatly pressed uniforms prepared for the week, that his alarms are set, that his schedule is coherent, that any loose ends are tied off. There’s a ritualistic reset-button feeling to it. One loose end at the moment involves the plant care section of his shop’s website. The whole thing is organized by plant type and name, and normally Jungkook is the one in charge of updating it. But earlier in the day, someone messaged the store Instagram asking about alocasia and Seokjin wants to make sure the information is detailed enough before he responds.
Even though responding to social media queries is also technically Jungkook’s job.
It’s not that Seokjin is trying to micromanage, he just can’t move.
The girls are engrossed in their sculpting like a pair of miniature Michelangelos, the scents of japchae and arabica linger in the air, and Min Yoongi is slumped against Seokjin’s shoulder, snoring gently.
There are only so many things he can do without jostling him, and scrolling through his phone happens to be one of them. Waking him up is not an option worth considering. His hair tickling the side of Seokjin’s neck, the sleep-loose sprawl of his legs bringing their knees a hair’s breadth away from brushing—Seokjin would let the girls set the living room on fire rather than risk shattering the moment.
Minkyung, a tiny thing in braids and glittery glasses, looks over and notices. “Is he sleeping, abeonim? I can wake him up if you want.”
“Don’t you dare,” Seokjin says in the most authoritative whisper he can.
Minkyung does some whispering of her own, something that makes Darae giggle. It’s probably nothing. Seokjin goes back to skimming the alocasia page, telling the instagram commenter that it’s important to let about five to eight centimeters of soil dry completely before watering it.
A text pops up two minutes after he’s posted.
JK:
hyung
jsyk i get updates when you update
cause we share the account
Seokjin:
Im not doing your job on purpose
Im bored
JK:
ever heard of Netflix?
or going on grindr???
literally anything but work stuff????
Seokjin:
Can’t make too much noise
There;s someone sleeping on me
JK:
Awwww 😍😍😍
tell her hi when she wakes up
Seokjin:
Im about to blow your mind
JK:
omg
Hholy shit
holyshitholyshitholyshittttitjg
you really did go on grinder
hyung
I have literally never been more proud of u
I might cry
Seokjin:
Wait no
Darae has a school friend over
It’s her dad
JK:
More like DADDY
ayyyyy
Seokjin:
Pls don’t
He’s younger than me 🤨
JK:
Who isn’t lmao
JK:
Wait
Are they in the same class
Seokjin:
Yes
Why
JK:
Hang on
I sent that pic to taetae and jiminie and they’re freaking out
Seokjin:
Why is jimin still awake???
He has to open!
JK:
I think tae woke him up
when he saw your new side piece
Seokjin:
I have never been more
filled with regret in my life
JK:
Is is cuz you’d rather
be filled with something else
😉😉😉😉😉
Seokjin:
Listen
There are 2 brilliant kids here
trying to make the most
kickass dinosaur display
in the history of the world.
Do not make me interrupt them
just to yell at you
JK:
I’ll yell at you back
for doing my job for me
and making me obsolete 😇
JK:
Can’t believe you have a cute guy over
It’s like the whole world is changing
Seokjin:
It always does
when the fire nation attacks
JK:
???
Seokjin:
It’s me
I am the fire nation
and you are fired
JK:
pffffft
no im not
Seokjin:
You’re right, you’re not
Fuck fuck fycj hes moving
JK:
omg fighting!!!
🤠💥🎉
He ends up setting his phone down just as Yoongi blinks himself awake. Seokjin feels a bit guilty for taking a picture of him when he was at his most unguarded, but selfishly glad he has the moment documented. It’s been a long time since anyone’s dozed off on him other than Darae or a tipsy Taehyung.
Yoongi is knuckling at his eyes with his sweater-swathed hands, mouth downturned in a dazed pout. Seokjin can’t believe he just met this man tonight and already knows what he looks like rumpled from sleep, what the weight of his head on his shoulder feels like.
“Aigoo,” Yoongi mumbles, face scrunching. He’s like a cranky ahjussi and a befuddled kitten at the same time. It’s unfair on a cosmic level that Seokjin can’t reach out and smooth his hair for him.
“Feel better?”
“A little mortified,” Yoongi grimaces. “That was not supposed to happen.”
This won’t do at all. Seokjin can’t let him be mortified but he can’t outright say how it felt so nice to have that stolen moment of sweetness, nestled together with the clean scent of Yoongi’s shampoo wafting over him.
So, so nice.
His side feels oddly bare without Yoongi slumped warmly against it. “For what it’s worth, this doesn’t even crack the top hundred mortifying things I’ve witnessed. I promise I didn’t give you decaf, by the way.”
“I might have built up a caffeine immunity.” He’s smiling wryly, rubbing at the line on his cheek left by the shoulder seam of Seokjin’s shirt. “And you’re very cozy. Maybe I need to join the Gudetama hoodie club.”
His voice is sleep-raspy and shiver-inducing. Seokjin has a powerful urge to buy him an entire truckload of hoodies. “I’ll call in a favor with the egg himself and get back to you.”
Yoongi swivels his head gingerly, nose wrinkling. He must have a crick in his neck like nothing else. “Oh,” he says suddenly, mid-swivel. “When did this happen?”
Seokjin follows his gaze and does a double take. The girls have already cleaned up and are angelically looking up at them over the edge of the ipad. Off to the side, a more-than-serviceable brachiosaurus surveys its leafy domain. “I…don’t know? Wah, is this the set of the new Jurassic World movie?”
The girls are delighted.
“Doesn’t it look cool?”
“We used one of your rocks over there, see?”
“If we get a hundred percent, can I do all my projects the night before they’re due?”
“I did the glitter, can you see it?”
“Can Minkyung give you her appa’s number?”
Seokjin blinks.
“Oooh, that’s a good idea,” Minkyung agrees. “What if this happens again? Jung-seonsaengnim might pair us up for something else.”
“Or if we have a playdate. Could we do that, appa?” Darae has never uttered the word playdate without an accompanying eyeroll in her entire short life. Seokjin gives her a sidelong glance but lets that pass.
“Sure, if it’s okay with Yoongi-ssi. No pressure.”
Yoongi has an unreadable expression on his face, but is already rummaging in the depths of his pockets for his phone. “Yes, it looks very cool, and honestly, no one can prove there wasn’t glitter in the Jurassic period.” Minkyung looks enormously satisfied with this assessment. “And no, you cannot do all your assignments the night before even if Hoseok-saem turns in his teaching license and lets you two take over the class.” Minkyung visibly wilts a little bit at that. He tilts his phone towards Seokjin. “Here, put your number in and I’ll text you. I owe you for this anyway.”
“For what?” Seokjin levels him with a faux-aghast look. “You didn’t even let me pay! You should be honored that I’m even considering seeing you again.”
Yoongi stares back at him, nonplussed, with a small quirk of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “Um, your hospitality, for starters. Being a shoulder to lean on. Opening a cram school with a guy you randomly bumped into at the store. You know, the usual.”
“Yah, I’m sure you’d have done the same. But I did promise you kimbap if these two knock it out of the Jurassic park.”
“So maybe we both owe each other then.”
He smiles, a crooked little thing showing pearly little teeth. Seokjin taps his number into Yoongi’s phone and tries to ignore the strange course of heat that snakes down his spine.
“Maybe we do.”
—🌿—
“So,” Jimin greets him the next day.
There’s an untouched iced latte at his elbow and stream of sunlight backlighting him on his perch at the front counter. His hair is a golden ruffled-up riot, like he’s been raking his fingers through it, making him look even more cherubic than usual.
A Jimin at his most cherubic is also a Jimin at his most dangerous.
“Would you look at the time,” Seokjin exclaims, breezing past him. “Those peperomias aren’t just going to photosynthesize themselves!”
“They literally will because they are plants,” Jimin retorts, trotting after him. “Why are you running away? I haven’t even said anything yet!”
“That yet is doing a lot of heavy lifting and you know it,” Seokjin says. “Yah, stop following me and go back to the register! You’re going to scare off customers if they come in and no one’s here to greet them but disembodied yells. All it takes is one vengeful ajumma with too much time on her hands to tell all her ajumma friends, you know. Do you think we can weather such slanderous reviews?”
Jimin makes an unformed seething sound but does flounce back towards the front of the store. “Ajummas love me, hyung,” he tosses over his shoulder, which is unfortunately true. “You should love me too, by the way. I didn’t text you once after Jungkookie crashed into my DMs like the Kool-Aid man.”
Seokjin spends the rest of the day fending off Jimin’s questions every minute there aren't any customers present. It’s a very repetitive process. Either Jimin has short-term memory loss or he’s hoping Seokjin does.
“Nothing. Happened,” Seokjin enunciates for the umpteenth time as they lug a ficus altissima across the floor. “I’m not going to give you a different answer, no matter how you ask it.”
Jimin seems to find this incredibly disappointing. “But Jungkookie made it sound like you were two seconds away from making wild, ravenous love.”
“Jungkook was just being himself, which is really something he should get checked by a professional.”
“New question, then.”
“Oh no,” Seokjin mutters, pondering whether he can crawl into the pot alongside the ficus.
Jimin smiles winningly. “Be honest. Did you want to make wild, ravenous love?”
“The kids were there! It was a school project!”
“Okay, but if it wasn’t…”
“If it wasn’t,” Seokjin says in exasperation, “I have no idea why a hot guy would even be in my living room.”
Jimin pounces on the admission with the glee of a kitten catching a catnip mouse. “So you agree he’s hot. We're making progress. Do you have any other pictures? What’s his name again, Kim Yoongi?”
“Why, so you can try to stalk him?”
“Only a little bit.” Jimin gives a casual shrug. “For your safety. That’s what friends are for.”
By the time Jungkook comes in for his shift, Seokjin can’t send Jimin out for his lunch break fast enough. Jungkook, at least, seems somewhat abashed about what he’s unleashed. “I’ll talk to him, hyung,” he promises, giving Seokjin that big-eyed earnest look of his, so at odds with the shit talking he’d been doing last night that Seokjin can almost, almost believe it wasn’t him doing it after all. “But also…are you sure you don’t want to try for a second date?”
And there it is. No matter how convincingly Jungkook can play the innocent, his true nature always bubbles to the surface. “That,” Seokjin says, “is mathematically impossible since there hasn’t been a first date. But…” He pauses to check his phone, pretending he doesn’t notice Jungkook practically vibrating with anticipation beside him. “Oh, how interesting, there’s a cafe that wants a consultation about their patio, did you see that?”
“Hyung,” Jungkook whines.
“Is our rate for an hour-long consultation still one hundred fifty thousand or did we bump it up to one seventy-five? I can’t seem to remember.” Seokjin smiles sweetly.
“One fifty for indie, one seventy-five for chains,” Jungkook sighs. “Come on, are you gonna at least see him again?”
Seokjin makes Jungkook wait for him to send an email back to the cafe owner first, which is a bit of an asshole move. He enjoys every second of it. “If you must know, I have his number and I said I’d buy him food sometime.”
Jungkook’s eyes somehow grow even wider. “Holy shit. Holy shit, hyung. You have a date built in! You’ve paved the path for yourself, now you just need to sashay down it.”
“I have never sashayed a day in my life,” Seokjin lies.
Before Jungkook has a chance to dispute this, the shop’s little brass bell chimes to herald the arrival of patrons. To Seokjin’s immense pleasure, Jungkook’s mouth snaps shut.
From then on, things stay too busy for Seokjin to have his so-called personal life interrogated further. Jungkook steals away to the back counter to film his weekly video for their social media. According to the notes he’s drafted, this one is about how to check your plants’ roots to see if they need repotting and how to repot rootbound plants. He narrates as he goes along, even though the final product is going to have background music and a voiceover. “To start, we’ll be checking the roots of our plants and see if they need a bigger home. If so, we’re going to repot them into a pot about six centimeters larger in diameter. This gives the roots more space to grow and flourish, just like my boss, who is clearly going to move in with the hot dad from his daughter’s class and flourish all over him.”
Seokjin ignores him.
Jimin returns and charms his way into selling half their succulent gardens when a mahjong group comes in, then charms his way into scheduling the patio consultation with the cafe owner, then charms his way into stealing a kiss from Taehyung when he arrives to picks him up at the end of his shift. The two of them are revoltingly sweet, voices soft and heads close as they study something on Taehyung’s phone. Probably pictures of the walking puffball he calls his dog. Or possibly jointly scrutinizing the picture of Yoongi sleeping from the other night. Seokjin doesn’t ask.
By the time Darae hops out of the van from her math hagwon, he’s elbow-deep in potting soil. As per their normal routine, she scoots behind the counter to get a head start on her homework before he closes up and they go home for dinner.
She hones in right away on a tiny potted nasturtium a customer discarded earlier. “Can I have this little guy? I want to give it to Minkyung.” She doesn’t say why, just looks at him expectantly, waiting to be asked.
“Depends…” Seokjin steeples his fingers and does his best impression of a world-weary judge. “Do you have any news for me?”
This is all the prompting Darae needs before launching into a delighted tale of how she and Minkyung hadn’t needed any insider intel to dazzle their teacher after all.
“He wouldn’t tell us his favorite dinosaur because he said then the whole class would do it and he’d be too weak to grade us fairly. But Jungkook-ssi said his favorite is brachiosauruses and he has a feeling Jung-saem likes them too, so that's why we did it. And,” she finishes proudly, “it worked.”
Behind him, there’s a scuffle as Jungkook drops a ceramic pot and catches it like a circus performer.
“Those yuzu candles need to be restocked,” Jungkook says, and disappears into the back.
Seokjin cocks his head. “Jimin literally just put more out this morning.”
“They smell pretty,” Darae says simply. “Appa, did you hear me? We got a hundred percent!”
“That’s great, little goose. Does this mean I can finally pass third grade too? That rock was a work of art, you know.”
She grimaces. “Doubt it. Maybe next year. But if you let me have this plant, I can put in a good word for you.”
—🎶—
When Minkyung asks if Darae can come over, Yoongi doesn’t think much of it. Maybe he should. Minkung normally goes to other classmates’ houses rather than hosting friends at theirs. It’s not a conscious choice, it’s just that Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to mingle with other parents. He’s not very good at it, he can admit that much to himself. Namjoon was always the extrovert, and their kid is a smart-mouthed bookworm who enjoys her own company outside of school more often than not.
He texts Seokjin to confirm the details, but chickens out of mentioning their kimbap date. Then he scolds himself for even thinking the word date. Maybe he’ll casually bring up scheduling lunch when Seokjin comes by to drop off Darae. Maybe.
Unfortunately, Kim Darae gets dropped off by someone who isn’t Seokjin, a stunningly beautiful sprite of a man who gives Yoongi a penetrating look and the distinct impression he’s being uploaded into a database by the sheer sear of his gaze.
“This is Park Jimin-ssi, he’s friends with my appa,” Darae tells him, hopping over the apartment threshold and starting to unlace her shoes. Yoongi stares, a sudden dryness in his throat. If Park Jimin is Seokjin’s type, then Yoongi is screwed.
“So nice to meet you, Kim Yoongi-ssi,” he purrs, soft head dipping in a slight bow.
“Min,” Yoongi corrects him, nodding back. “You too.”
“Oh, I'm sorry, my mistake.” Jimin gives him another long look and a slow smile. “I'll remember, I promise.” Something about the way he says it lingers between delighted and ominous. Then he turns on a dime, suddenly avuncular. “Yoongi-ssi, don’t hesitate to let Jin-hyung know if she’s being a menace.”
“I am never a menace,” Darae says primly.
“Oh, but I am.” Jimin tweaks the edge of her bucket hat and dances out of reach when she rounds on him. “See? We know our own. Have fun!”
Darae has brought along a small potted plant, accompanied with a little fern-shaped thank you note. “From my appa, because of the brachiosaurus,” she says unceremoniously. “It’s a nasturtium.”
“Awww,” Minkyung coos, bounding into the foyer. “It’s so cute! Appa, can we keep it?”
Yoongi snorts. “It’s not a puppy.”
“Close enough,” Minkyung declares. “I’ll feed it and I’ll take it for walks. I’m naming it Norman.” She gives the side of the pot a proprietary pat, then grabs Darae’s hand. “Wanna watch Naruto? We can eat in a little while, appa’s making yukgaejang.”
Darae nods. “My appa likes to cook too and he always makes too much. He says his friends would starve if he didn’t, but I think he just likes it.” She looks at Yoongi seriously. “You should talk to him about nasturtiums so it doesn’t die.”
“And you can talk about cooking!” Minkyung chirps, already prancing down the hall with Darae in tow.
Yoongi waves them off and says he’ll think about it.
He checks on the beef brisket he’s simmering with vegetables for yukgaejang as the girls are watching Naruto and making rubber band bracelets, and he thinks about it. He looks up how to care for nasturtiums, which inevitably leads him to looking up Seokjin’s shop—Best Fronds, honestly?— and he thinks about it. He makes gamja jorim and scrolls through the shop’s entire instagram backlog, feeling a strange lift of relief when he recognizes Jimin as one of the employees, and he thinks about it. Namjoon would say this is empirical evidence, that Seokjin’s promise of kimbap and a plant delivered by his daughter still count as asking him out and giving him flowers. Namjoon is good at assuming the best of people, but he’s not here to do it for him anymore so Yoongi has to do it himself. Being optimistic is exhausting.
He serves them dinner and he thinks about it.
He hasn’t managed to stop thinking about it by the time Jimin picks up Darae, who says goodbye with a cheery wave of one friendship-bracelet bedecked arm. “Hope you like the plant, talk to my appa if you’re worried about killing it!”
Minkyung tells him that he’d better, they don’t want Norman’s plant blood on their hands. She has a point. Yoongi’s research has informed him that nasturtiums grow fast, not to mention they can climb and trail and hang. He eyes the fiery clump of flowers, looking deceptively small and innocent in its little earthenware pot, wondering how the plant knows whether to climb or hang.
Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow he’ll call Seokjin.