Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Jimin” 

Yoongi's voice sounded rougher, quieter than normal. 

“Yes?”

It was almost midnight when the streets were starting to clear, which was unusual for an early June evening. The duo walked slow and unsteady, but not because of the weather; just because Yoongi couldn’t quite walk straight. Jimin stayed half a step behind him, not crowding, but close enough to catch him if he fell sideways.

Yoongi suddenly stopped and turned on his feet to face him.

“Did you ever love someone?”

The blond studied him for a second, taking in the unfocused gaze and the way his thin lips pressed together. 

“Hyung, you know I do.” A pause. “ I love Hobi.”

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it seemed to sink further.

He finally scoffed, shaking his head. “Seven years, Jimin.” His voice softened on the number, like it weighed more than the rest of whatever he was saying. “Seven years and he just …” He cut himself off, jaw tight. “He just left.”

What was the point anyway? 

He was alone.

Choi had left him. 

His boyfriend of seven years, the person Yoongi believed that was his forever, was gone. 

“I keep thinking I did something wrong.” He went on, quieter now. “Like I missed it. Like there was a moment I could’ve fixed it, I could’ve loved more and I just…” He laughed again, softer this time. Emptier. “I don’t even know what happened.”

Jimin reached out, touching Yoongi’s arm. “Hyung, you don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

“He said he was tired.” The eldest murmured. “Tired of us.” He swallowed hard. “Tired of me not loving him.”

A pause.

“He was right, wasn’t he?”

Jimin didn’t answer right away. 

There wasn’t a good answer.

They both knew it.

“I didn’t love him anymore. Maybe I never did.”

Jimin pursed his lips, but said nothing.

“I’m not even heartbroken, I’m just…”

Lonely.

Alone.

You had comfort, and you don’t have it anymore.

Yoongi was waiting for Jimin to say the words, but he didn’t.

“I’m stupid.” Almost a whisper. “I’m a horrible person, trying to keep someone that I don’t love just because I don’t want to be alone.”

“Hyung, you’re not stupid.” Jimin said immediately, softly that Yoongi deserved. “It’s normal. Sometimes love changes, it takes new shapes. Maybe you were friends instead of lovers and that happens. For what people say, it is normal.”

“It’s not normal if you never loved the person in the first place, isn’t it?”

Yoongi knew.

Oh, he knew. 

Everyone knew.

It had lingered for years.

Unspoken implications from his friends that, while Choi was lovely, there had never really been a spark.

He knew. 

Jimin stepped closer again, closing the space between them this time, not giving Yoongi room to drift too far.

“Hyung, it will be okay. Trust me.”

Yoongi let out a long breath, his body swaying slightly.

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I don’t really think I’ll miss him.”

“I know.”

Jimin suddenly glanced at his phone, eyes widening slightly. 

“Shit… I have to go. My shift.”

Another pause, eyes alarmed.

Yoongi didn’t love that look on his oldest friend.

“Hey, call Namjoon, or Seokjin, okay? Hobi is still at work but… don’t just stay alone.”

Yoongi gave him a small nod. “I will.”

Jimin searched his face for a second, like he was trying to decide if that was true, then sighed and reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

It was a lie, but what could Jimin even do?

“Text me when you get home.”

“Okay.”

Jimin hesitated one last time, then turned and hurried off, disappearing down the street.

Yoongi stood there long after he was gone.

He just felt disconnect from his body.

Like it was somewhere else, far away from him.

He felt odd.

Invisible.

He released a quiet, bitter laugh under his breath, shaking his head.

Some days, he felt so alone he was sure not even a ghost would see him.

(…)

The hospital doors slid open, the cold from outside vanishing in an instant. Jimin shrugged his coat off his shoulders and started walking towards the private area before the doors had completely closed behind him.

The emergency room was a mess.

It was never a good sign. 

“Nurse Park! Motorbike accident.” Someone called from down the corridor. “They just brought him in. Head trauma. Can you go ahead and help?”

“Got it.” He replied, already moving faster than before. 

The routine took over. 

Water running. Fingers, palms, wrists; methodical, practiced. His mind caught up as his hands worked: late hour, likely poor visibility, probably impact speed. There were so many possibilities. He exhaled, then reached for gloves, snapping them on. 

He would never say it out loud, but he always hoped the person wasn’t that young.

By the time he stepped back into the hallway, he was ready, walking quickly towards the main urgent care room.

However, he barely made it two steps before someone grabbed his arm.

A young man stood in front of him, like he hadn’t even realised he was so close. His hands were wrapped around Jimin’s arm, grip trembling. Ink ran along his arms, disappearing under pushed-up black shirt sleeves. 

“Please… ” His voice came out uneven. “They won’t tell me anything.”

Jimin glanced briefly toward the room, then back at him.

“Is he… ” The man tried again, but the words stalled in his throat. 

He swallowed hard, shaking his head like he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Jimin looked at him properly.

Messy hair, like he’d been pulling at it. Chest rising too fast. Eyes wide, glassy, almost too open. 

And as usual, as the many faces he had been before, no filter or attempt to hide it; just fear.

As an emergency nurse, Jimin knew that look better than his own reflection.

Still, the familiarity didn’t make it any better.

He shifted his hands, placing them over the man’s wrists. “I’m going in now.” His voice was low. “I’ll come back with more information, yes?”

He just stared at Jimin, searching his face. His grip loosened, though his fingers still lingered for a second more before falling away completely.

Jimin gave him a small nod, something meant to reassure even if he knew it didn’t. 

“I’ll come back and talk to you.”

He swallowed. 

“Please.”

Jimin didn’t answer. 

He just entered the room. 

And it was loud.

It was never a good sign when it was so loud. 

Monitors beeping too fast, voices overlapping, nurses moving, hands passing instruments, someone calling out numbers.

A young man.

About his age. Maybe a little younger. Definitely taller, even laid out like this that was obvious. His body jolted under compressions, chest rising and falling in unnatural and forced movements.

And his face…

Soft curls, damp and clinging to his forehead. Features that didn’t match the chaos around him; too calm, too soft, even like this. 

There was something striking about him.

Angelic, maybe? 

Beautiful, Jimin registered distantly.

And then…

“Still no pulse.”

Jimin’s focus snapped back to his colleagues.

Someone adjusted position. Another round. Another attempt.

Nothing.

The frantic rhythm in the room started to slow down.

Like everyone could feel it slipping.

Jimin swallowed, his jaw tightening slightly as he looked at the monitor again.

Flat.

A pause.

Then the doctor sighed, stepping back.

“I think we should call it.”

He hated those words. 

Every time, no matter how many times he had heard them.

There was a brief silence.

“Time of death?”

Maybe angels really weren’t meant to stay on this level.

(…)

7 months later

Yoongi was sitting hunched on the bus, head leaning against the window, watching the city blur past him. 

His phone was still open in his hand, the message staring right back at him.

The apartment is yours if you want it. You can move in whenever you want. I will mail you the keys. 

He reread it again.

Then again.

It made no sense. Nothing ever went this smoothly. Not for him. Not lately. Especially not apartments in Gangnam, of all places.

He looked up the phone again.

Yep.

Still there. 

Still absurd. 

Fully furnished. Cheap enough to feel suspicious, but not cheap enough to be obviously fake. 

No negotiations, no documents, just that and another e-mail with payments details and a form to fill. 

Yoongi exhaled through his nose.

“Yeah, okay…” He muttered under his breath. “Sure.”

A man across the aisle glanced at him, and Yoongi quickly looked away, thumb locking his phone screen.

He should’ve been relieved. 

He was relieved, technically. 

He needed a place. Needed it badly enough that he’d been refreshing listings at 3 a.m. like something was magically going to pop up. He desperately needed to stop invading the privacy of Jimin and Hoseok. 

After Choi had left him, Yoongi decided not to renew their joint lease, since it wasn’t his dream apartment. Another point he could add to his “dodged a bullet” list: his taste in decoration had nothing to do with his ex-boyfriend’s.

Yoongi couldn’t avoid thinking that Choi had premeditated leaving him; it was too much of a coincidence that the lease was expiring in two months.

Funny, no?

Anyways.

The bus jerked slightly as it stopped. Someone got off near the front, the doors hissing shut again.

Yoongi adjusted in his seat. “You’re overthinking it.” He told himself. “Maybe the guy is just in a rush.”

Still.

15 minutes.

That was all it took for someone to decide Yoongi was a good fit. 

He stared out the window again. He leaned his head back against the glass and let his eyes close for a moment.

After a few minutes, he decided to call Hoseok before he could talk himself out of it.

It rang twice.

“Yo?” 

“I’m moving out.”

There was a pause.

“You’re what?”

“I found a place.” Yoongi said, trying to sound casual about it. “In Gangnam.”

Another beat of silence.

“In Gangnam?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok laughed immediately, loud and disbelieving. “Okay, wait. Since when do you just find places in Gangnam? Hyung, I didn’t even know you had more visits scheduled!”

“It was available.” Yoongi said flatly.

“Nothing is just available in freaking Gangnam.” Hoseok shot back. “Did you sell your soul? Are you secretly rich? Did you finally join a cult? I’ve been telling Jimin we need to be careful about it, you are an easy target.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, though his friend couldn’t see it. “It was up for like fifteen minutes, I e-mailed the guy immediately and that was it. He told me it was mine. Already sent me the forms and shit.”

“Fifteen…” Hoseok repeated, then laughed again, softer this time, like he was actually amused now. “I’m sorry, that sounds fake.”

“I know.” Yoongi admitted. 

“The landlord just… gave it to you?”

“Basically.”

“Without payslips?”

“…Yes.”

There was a long pause on the other end.

Then Hoseok let out a slow whistle. “Yoongi hyung.”

“What.”

“You’re either the luckiest man alive…” He said, still laughing a little. “Or you’re about to be the main star in a true crime documentary.”

Yoongi huffed, but there was a faint edge of something lighter in it now. “It’s fine.”

“It’s never ‘fine’ when you say it like that.”

“It’s fine.” Yoongi repeated. “My luck is finally changing.”

It was cringe.

Yoongi hated it. 

That made his friend laugh properly again, full and bright. “Oh, my luck is finally changing.” He echoed. “Look at you. New apartment, positive mindset, what’s next? You gonna adopt a cat?”

“Don’t push it.”

There was a short pause, then Hoseok’s voice softened. 

“Hey. I’m happy for you, you know.”

Yoongi hesitated for half a second.

“…Yeah.”

“I am.” Hoseok spoke again, softer this time. “Alright, please get some shrimp for dinner on your way back. We will celebrate with a nice dish.”

“I will.”

Yoongi lowered the phone slowly, staring at the screen as it went dark.

Then he slipped it into his pocket and started getting up, preparing to leave the bus at the next stop.

He felt ridiculous.

(…)

A few days later, Yoongi stood in front of the door, his bags resting at his feet. He lingered on the house number a beat too long, before shaking himself out of it and unlocking it.

As soon as he entered the apartment, an overwhelming wave of relief washed over him.

It had clean lines, warm lighting and all the furniture had already been placed; as if someone had been in the middle of building a life here and simply walked away. Nothing felt out of place. Honestly, only Yoongi himself.

Yoongi let out a breath, only then realising he’d been holding it.

Sure, renting an apartment without even seeing it first had probably been reckless.

And yes, it sounded even worse when he admitted it out loud.

But he’d needed something; fast.

He set his luggage down, then moved a couple of boxes in, and finally his guitar, careful as he leaned it against the wall. His eyes moved around the room again, slower this time.

The couch seemed comfortable. A small table. The kitchen looked barely touched but usable. Even the curtains were already hung.

A quiet huff of amusement slipped out of him.

He wasn’t someone who collected things. Never had been. A few clothes, his guitar, the basics, that was enough. Everything else just felt like extra weight. So this place, already put together, fit him better than he expected.

There were also paintings he didn’t recognise, but they held his attention a little too long, like they meant something. Like they’d been chosen carefully. Like they were unique.

A vinyl player sat low on a shelf, old but clearly looked after. Next to it, a single record half left in its sleeve, as if someone had meant to come back to it.

Yoongi crouched slightly, squinting at it. “Tasteful.”

Then his gaze shifted.

Soft lighting pooled in the corners, warm lamps placed like someone had cared about how the room would feel in the evenings. 

It was beautiful. Too beautifully curated to be just… left behind.

Yoongi straightened up, his earlier relief starting to fade into something less certain. He dragged a hand through his hair.

Whoever lived here before had taste. Good taste. Maybe expensive taste. So why leave all of this behind?

He moved further into the apartment. 

One room was empty, perfect for an office. That, at least, made sense.

The second door he opened told a complete different story.

There was bed, which was made like it was actually used, the blanket folded neatly at the foot, edges a little too precise. A small lamp sat on the nightstand, warm even when it was off. The bookshelf was scattered: books, random objects that didn’t quite match, like pieces from different versions of the same person. Above it, more framed photos.

Always the same subject.

A Pomeranian.

Everywhere.

On a couch. In what looked like a park. Wrapped in a tiny sweater that made Yoongi let out a quiet, confused giggle before he even realised it.

He crouched by the bedside table and picked up one of the frames. The dog stared back at him, bright-eyed, tongue slightly out, caught mid-expression, pure, uncomplicated happiness. It was… soft. Unmistakably soft.

And that only made everything else feel stranger.

Because none of it was gone.

No empty spaces. No missing frames. No signs that someone had taken anything from the room.

After a few minutes of wondering and not coming up without a terrible explanation, he decided to leave it for now. He closed the bedroom door behind him, a little harder than he meant to. Back in the living room, he reached for his phone without really thinking, more of an habit than anything else.

His bags were still by the couch.

Everything exactly where it should be.

Except—

Someone was sitting on the sofa.

Yoongi stopped dead in his shoes, his whole body going rigid.

His brain didn’t process it at first. It just refused to.

Because the man was too out of place to compute immediately. Like an error in a system that had otherwise been functioning fine. Like the matrix had just exploded. 

He was sitting there as if he belonged.

Relaxed posture. One leg slightly bent, the other angled loosely. And in his hands…

Yoongi’s guitar.

The understanding struck suddenly, intense enough to cause his head to whirl.

Yoongi parted his lips.

Nothing came out.

The man glanced up at the same moment.

All other things faded away.

Hazel eyes, astonished and open, the response instant and raw. His lips opened a bit, as if he was caught off guard, like Yoongi’s presence made just as little sense to him as his did to Yoongi. His gentle brown curls across his forehead matched the relaxed brown sweater, he was wearing, the sleeves long enough to almost cover his fingers completely.

And Yoongi’s brain, unhelpfully, registered all of it at once.

Soft.

Real.

Here.

The man didn’t move. Not a single step, not a shift to stand, not even an attempt to put the guitar down immediately.  Just froze in place, eyes locked on Yoongi like whatever explanation possible hadn’t caught up to his body yet.

Yoongi was the first to move, stepping closer to him, like distance alone would fix whatever the hell this was.

“Who are you?” He was sharp, eyes flicking from the man’s face to the guitar in his hands and back again.

The man blinked once, remaining seated, still grasping the instrument as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“What are you doing here?” He shot back.

That made Yoongi halter for half a second.

Then his expression hardened.

“This is my apartment.”

The man’s eyes widened slightly. He glanced around the room, slow, like he was checking if Yoongi was joking.

He then bite his lip.

“…I’m shocked.”

Yoongi frowned.

A pause.

The man’s grip tightened slightly on the guitar. His voice came softer this time, but heavier.

“He really let someone else move in.”

Yoongi’s brows pulled together instantly. “What on earth does that even mean!?”

The man looked up at him again, and there was something unreadable in his expression now.

“I live here.”

Yoongi let out a snort.

“No.” He said immediately. “No, you don’t. I rented this place. I signed the lease for this place. There was no mention of…” He gestured vaguely at him. “… you!”

The man didn’t react much, except for a small shift in posture, like he was adjusting to a conversation he also didn’t want to be having.

“I’ve always lived here.”

Yoongi stared at him.

“…You’ve always lived here?”

“Yes.”

What?

What on earth?

Yoongi tousled his hair, pushing it back in annoyance.

“I’m not supposed to have a roommate.”

That finally got a reaction.

The man observed him closely now, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were trying to determine whether Yoongi was being serious or merely slow. Then, very calmly, like he had just reached a conclusion he wasn’t happy about but accepted anyway, he continued:

“Then I guess we’re roommates now.”

Yoongi went very still.

The other glanced back at him, his expression unwavering, as if this was non-negotiable.

“I live here.” He repeated. “You live here. So now we both live here.”

Yoongi stared at him for a moment too long, completely at a loss for words. And then he just turned on his heel and walked straight down the hallway, fast enough that his steps were sharp against the floor, frustration already burning up his throat.

However, before he could completely enter in the furnished room, he heard a voice. 

“That’s my room.”

Yoongi stopped.

Slowly turned his head.

The man, who was now sporting a kind of boyish teasing smile, tilted his chin toward the hallway like it was obvious. “The bedroom you are about to enter. That’s mine.”

For fuck’s sake. 

He  turned on his feet and pushed open the empty room instead, stepping inside and closing the door behind him a little too hard.

Silence.

Good. 

Finally!

“Unbelievable.”

He pulled his phone out, already dialling.

The landlord.

It rang. Once. Twice.

Yoongi tapped his foot, jaw tight.

Voicemail.

Of course.

Then the automated message came through.

“I will be out of the country for the next two weeks. Thank you for calling me after that.”

He stared at the phone like it had personally betrayed him.

“Two fucking weeks?”

He tried again anyway.

Voicemail.

Yoongi let out a short, disbelieving laugh that had no humor in it at all. 

There was a stranger in his apartment, who claimed to live there, and the idiot landlord was out of the country for two weeks. 

Great.

Fantastic. 

Yoongi turned in a slow circle, dragging both hands through his hair now, breath starting to come a little faster. “No, no, no.”

It was a dream.

It was a bad dream.

It had to be a bad dream. 

Yoongi opened the door so fast it almost slammed into the wall.

But he was still there.

Much worse, he was now crouching by Yoongi’s boxes in the living room, halfway through opening one. The flaps were already pulled apart, his fingers hovering over whatever was inside with curiosity.

Yoongi’s stomach dropped.

“What are you doing?” 

The man looked up, completely unfazed.

“Trying to see what you brought.”

“These are my things.” Yoongi said, walking over fast. “Stop touching them.”

He reached the boxes at the same time the man shifted slightly back and, in the middle of movement, Yoongi’s hand caught his hand, just briefly, a passing brush as he grabbed for the cardboard.

It was nothing.

Except the man reacted like it was something.

He visually flinched.

Sharp, sudden, like the contact had startled him. 

His head snapped up, eyes widening, locking onto Yoongi with something closet to disbelief.

Yoongi froze mid-motion.

Shit.

He had crossed some fucking line with this kid. 

“…Sorry.” He apologised immediately, pulling his hand back. “I didn’t mean to touch you.”

The bright eyed boy didn’t respond right away.

He just stared at him.

Like he was trying to confirm something that didn’t make sense.

“You can see me.”

Yoongi blinked. “What?”

The man’s gaze dropped for a second to Yoongi’s hand, then back up to his face.

“And… you can touch me.”

There was a beat of silence.

Yoongi stared at him.

Then his expression shifted sharply.

“Are you trying to flirt with me or something?” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

The man’s eyes widened instantly.

“What? No!” The answer came so fast it almost sounded offended.

Yoongi felt heat rush up his neck immediately.

“Oh my god.” He muttered, turning away and dragging a hand down his face. “Forget I said anything.”

“I wasn’t…” The other started, then stopped, clearly searching for the right words. “I mean… That’s not what I meant!”

“Yeah.” Yoongi said quickly, still not looking at him. “I got that. I just… said it wrong?”

Silence again.

Worse this time.

Yoongi finally glanced at him again. 

The beautiful specimen was still there, standing by the boxes, hands slightly raised like he didn’t know where to put them anymore.

And Yoongi, against his will, suddenly felt very aware of how ridiculous he must have looked.

Great.

Just great.

“Can we start over?” 

His voice was deep.

Honey thick, he would say.

Not that it mattered.

Yoongi still hesitated. 

Then let out a slow breath, shoulders dropping a fraction, as the tension finally stopped having somewhere to go.

“Fine.”

The man’s expression changed immediately. Whatever confusion or shock had been sitting there a moment ago just… shifted. Like a switch had been flipped. 

And then he smiled.

Bright. Effortless. Completely out of place in the middle of everything that had just happened.

It hit Yoongi a little too directly, and he hated that it did.

“I am Taehyung.” That damn boxy smile. “Your almost roommate.”

Yoongi paused.

“My what?”

“Almost roommate.”

Yoongi stared at him for a beat, trying to make the words behave logically in his head.

They didn’t.

“What does ‘almost’ even means?”

Taehyung tilted his head slightly, like the answer should be obvious but he was willing to explain anyway.

“It means I live here.” He said, as it was the simplest thing in the world. “And you live here. So… we are almost roommates.”

This was already exhausting, and it had been—what—thirty minutes? Less? He decided to give up on the logic for now.

“Yoongi.” he said instead. “My name is Min Yoongi.”

Taehyung’s smile widened slightly, like he’d successfully gotten past a very important step. 

“Nice to meet you.”

Yoongi nodded once. “Yeah… Same?”

A pause.

Neither of them moved.

Yoongi looked at the boxes.

Then at the couch.

Then at the man still standing in front of him.

“This is going to be difficult.” Yoongi muttered under his breath.

(…)

It had been a week.

A very unsettling week.

Yoongi had expected a lot of things when he moved in with a stranger. Arguments, maybe. Boundary issues. Noise. Chaos.

Not this.

Taehyung wasn’t unpleasant. Simply, because Taehyung was never near Yoongi.

Yoongi would come home from the record label late in the evening, exhausted, shoulders tight from hours of work, keys still warm in his hand, and every single time, without fail, Taehyung would run to his bedroom.

He would go still for half a second, then quietly, almost carefully, stand up. A short greeting, with no eye contact, and a brief ‘good night’ at 7 pm. 

That was it.

The bedroom door would close behind him and he wouldn’t come out again. Yoongi would see him again at 7 pm the next day. 

That was odd, right? Or was Yoongi the freaky one that was craving some type of interaction?

And those damn pyjamas?

Loose, soft-looking and unchanged since the first day. 

Did Taehyung have multiple pairs of the same pyjamas like an obsessive compulsive person or something? 

Honestly, at this point, he didn’t even care. This whole situation was driving him borderline insane. At first, Yoongi had thought it was avoidance. Then maybe some passive-aggressive strategy tho make him move out.

But after week, it didn’t feel like any of that.

It just felt… wrong.

Specially because Taehyung was always home.

He never left.

Yoongi had never once heard the front door open or close when he was home. Never seen shoes missing. Never caught even the faintest sign of routine that involved the outside world. No food gone from the fridge. No signs of cooking. No movement in the apartment during the night, besides one or two days where he could hear the television. Honestly, it was like the place was split in two and only one side was actually being lived in. Just the same pattern every day of Taehyung vanishing into his room the second Yoongi returned.

It didn’t add up.

And the rent—

Yoongi frowned slightly as he leaned against the counter.

Was he paying for all of it?

A flash crossed his mind. 

The landlord.

The fucking landlord.

The landlord who didn’t answer his phone and was apparently out of the country for two weeks.

Yoongi exhaled sharply through his nose.

He was so confused.

(…)

On Saturday, Yoongi was doing his groceries when Jimin called, saying that he, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin were going out for drinks later.

“You’re coming, right?”

Yoongi exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze drifting over neatly stacked shelves without really seeing them. He already knew what the night would look like without being there, how it had been for the past few months: his friends would try to not look like infatuated couples all evening, afraid of hurting the recently single Yoongi, and they would fail miserably. They had good intentions, but he would prefer they acted normal. They never did. 

Not that he blamed them. He loved them. That had never been the problem.

The problem was that he was… well, he was bitter, okay?

It happens. 

Not even because he missed Choi, but because he didn’t have that.

“I can’t join tonight.” He lied.

There was a brief silence on the line.

“…Really?” Jimin asked, softer now.

“Yeah…” Yoongi replied, shifting the basket from one hand to the other. “I… I’ll eat with my roommate.”

Alarm bells.

What the fuck?

The huge lie. 

That earned him an immediate laugh.

“Oh my god, seriously?

“Yep.”

Jimin sounded delighted. “You’ve been complaining all week about him in the groupchat, are you happy that you finally managed to make him interact with you?”

“I wasn’t complaining that much.”

“You absolutely were.”

“I was stating facts!”

Jimin laughed again, lighter this time. “Okay, reporter. By the way, is he at least handsome?”

Yoongi froze, just for a second.

Heat crept up his face before he could stop it.

“I don’t know.”

It was a lie.

A very obvious one.

He heard Jimin hum on the other end, like he’d caught him immediately.

“Mhm.”

“Bye, Jimin.” Yoongi said, a little too fast.

“Bye, hyung. Have fun?”

The call ended, but he could still hear Jimin’s giggles on the other side of the line.

That blond bastard. 

He then moved through the store a little faster, grabbing things without thinking; noodles, broth, vegetables, eggs. 

He was clearly buying ingredients for more than one person. 

Because somewhere in the back of his mind, a second place at the table had already formed without asking.

By the time he left the store, his bag was heavier than it should have been. Yoongi adjusted the weight on his shoulder as he walked home, eyes fixed ahead, with a clear goal in mind.

That evening, Min Yoongi would make Taehyung interact with him.

(…)

Yoongi got home later than he anticipated, the grocery bag pressing against his fingers, keys halfway out of his pocket before he even reached the entrance. He opened it, stepped a foot inside, and instantly sensed it.

When he looked up, Taehyung had already made it halfway down the corridor. Bare feet, those same soft pyjamas, curls slightly messier than before. He looked like he was actively trying to disappear into the bedroom before being noticed.

Yoongi wouldn’t let him.

Not this time.

“Yo, Taehyung!”

Taehyung froze for half a second.

Then moved faster.

“No, wait!” Yoongi added, stepping in properly and shutting the door behind him with his left foot. “Stop!”

Taehyung didn’t stop.

Yoongi clicked his tongue. “I bought food for two!”

Jesus, what was he doing?

That was incredibly humiliating.

But it was that who got him an immediate pause.

Not a full turn. Just a hesitation in Taehyung’s shoulders, like his body was listening even if he refused to face him.

Fuck it.

The humiliation was already happening anyway.

“If we’re apparently living together, then we should at least interact as normal human beings.”

Silence.

Taehyung gradually shifted his head to glance at him over his shoulder.

“No.”

Yoongi stared at him. “No?”

“No.” Taehyung repeated, like that settled it.

And then, as if the conversation was over, he turned away again.

Yoongi blinked.

“Are you serious?”

Taehyung kept walking.

That was apparently answer enough.

Yoongi followed him a few steps, his insides boiling. 

“Why are being such a weirdo?”

“I’m not a weirdo.” Taehyung replied without turning around.

“Liar!” Yoongi said. “This shit is seriously bothering me.”

Dear lord Yoongi, shut the fuck up.

Taehyung stopped again, finally turning properly now. 

His expression was flat, unreadable in a way that only made Yoongi more annoyed.

This brat?

“What are you, like nineteen?”

“I am not nineteen.” Taehyung fought back immediately, almost… pouting?

“Then how old are you?”

A pause.

“…Twenty six.”

Yoongi let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “I’m twenty nine. I am your hyung, so you should respect  me.”

SHUT THE FUCK UP MIN YOONGI.

“Since I’m older than you, you can show a little respect.”

The words were just rolling over his tongue, the self respect completely gone.

Taehyung’s eyes flickered briefly, something like surprise, or irritation, or both, but he didn’t immediately respond.

“You’re avoiding me, you shut doors in my face, and you act like I’m intruding in my own apartment. It’s not normal.”

“I am not weird.”

That was what stuck?

Great.

Whatever.

Yoongi exhaled through his nose. “Then stop acting as one.”

Silence.

Big hazel eyes. 

But silence.

Yoongi shook his head slightly. “You know what? Whatever.”

He turned towards the kitchen, already done with it.

Behind him, he heard Taehyung shift, like he might say something else, but instead, there was only movement. And then bam. The bedroom door slammed shut so hard, it echoed down the hallway.

He glanced at the closed door, then down at his grocery bag.

Honestly? Fuck Taehyung. 

(…)

Yoongi was stretched out on the sofa later that night, the TV volume low, something random playing; he wasn’t really watching it anyway. He just liked the background noise.

Then his bedroom door opened.

He heard the careful pause in the hallway, the hesitation.

Was he going to move or what?

“Are you going to take long?”

Yoongi finally turned his head slightly.

Taehyung was standing there, again in his usual pyjamas, hair a little messier than before, arms crossed. He looked annoyed in a very specific, restrained way, like he was trying not to show that he was annoyed.

Well, he was clearly failing. 

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I want to watch something.”

Yoongi snorted, sitting up a bit. “You can watch it after.”

“It will start in a bit.”

“Then wait.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you going to be here all night?”

Yoongi gestured vaguely at the TV. “I live here.”

That earned him a look.

The audacity of this kid?

Yoongi leaned back again, crossing one arm over his stomach. “If you’re that impatient, go eat something while you wait.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then I cannot help you.”

Taehyung hesitated, just a fraction.

Then, flatly. “You’re taking too long, I only have 30 minutes until the new episode starts.”

Yoongi let out a short laugh. “Dramatic.”

He was pushing, he knew it.

For some reason, he couldn’t resist it either. “I was here first.” 

A pause.

Then Taehyung walked a little further into the room, stopping just behind the arm of the sofa.

“…So how long?”

Yoongi tilted his head up at him. “What?”

“How long until you leave?”

Yoongi sighed. “What, you want a schedule?”

“I want the TV.” Taehyung said bluntly.

“Then wait. Or eat what I cooked, whatever.”

Another pause.

Then the younger boy exhaled, like he was making a deeply inconvenient decision.

“…Fine.”

Yoongi blinked. “Fine?”

“I’ll try it.”

Yoongi glanced up. “Try what?”

Taehyung nodded at the kitchen. “Your food.”

Oh? Was the brat giving in?

“Help yourself.”

Yoongi looked back at the TV. After a second, he heard his roommate moving around, quietly. He peeked over. By the corner of his eye, he could see Taehyung hovering over the ramen, suspicious. 

He wasn’t touching it.

Finally, Taehyung took a bowl from the cupboard and chopsticks from the drawer. He dropped some ramen in, a few noodles falling onto the counter, and proceeded to sit at the table.

Yoongi couldn’t avoid watching him by the corner of his eye. He looked odd and beautiful at the same intensity.

This is truly not the time Yoongi, but whatever.

He hesitated.

And Yoongi, once again, didn’t resist bickering him.   

“It’s not going to kill you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, I cooked it.”

After a few seconds and the biggest pout Yoongi has ever seen in a grown ass man, Taehyung finally tasted it.

After a total of 3 seconds - that Yoongi was totally not counting - Taehyung’s eyes widened like a cartoon character who’s just been hit with a ton of bricks. His entire face shifted, as if his brain had just received a shocking revelation. He swallowed too quickly, coughed, and set the chopsticks down like it were on fire.

What the hell?

Yoongi shot up from his seat. “Hey, are you…”

Taehyung coughed again, this time harder, one hand clutching the table for support while the other instinctively went to his mouth. His face flared red, his ears too, and tears started to spill as he struggled to regain his composure.

He was red.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It was too spicy for him.

Shit.

This big baby?

Yoongi was already on the move.

“Are you okay?” He asked, crossing the kitchen in a hurry.

Taehyung tried to speak, but only managed another harsh cough, shaking his head as if that would somehow help.

Yoongi grabbed a glass, filled it with milk, and shoved it into Taehyung’s hands. “Drink!”

His roommate took it, still coughing, and gulped down the milk too quickly, his shoulders tensing up. Finally, after the longest 17 seconds of Yoongi’s life, Taehyung caught his breath, still flushed and glaring at Yoongi.

“Were you trying to kill me?”

His rough voice was… yeah, his voice was something Yoongi didn’t have the time to analyse right now.

He had to say something.

Something different from “hey, you sound sexy as fuck or whatever”.

“It’s just ramen.”

“It’s super spicy!” Taehyung replied, his voice still raspy.

Yoongi crossed his arms, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. “You’re weak.”

Taehyung turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “This was too spicy.”

“You’re such a brat.”

“I am not a brat!”

Taehyung straightened, still recovering, cheeks still hot. 

“This is not normal food.”

“It’s totally normal food.”

“It’s violence in ramen form.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

Taehyung narrowed his gaze again. “You’re suspicious.”

“Oh my god!” Yoongi muttered, rolling his eyes. “Just eat something else then! Or don’t, I don’t really care!”

Taehyung stood up, one hand resting lightly on the counter, while he was in the move to throw the remaining of his bowl away. A waste, if Yoongi was being honest. 

“Well… at least I can eat.”

Fun fact about Yoongi: even thought he was a music producer, and he was beating all the statistics when it came to the topic, he had great audition skills. So even if Taehyung had meant it as a whisper to himself, he had absolutely heard it very well. 

Yoongi stared at him, eyebrows raised. “What does that even mean?”

Taehyung turned, startled by the fact that Yoongi had heard him. “Nothing.”

“Don’t be weird again.”

“Don’t call me weird.”

Yoongi blinked. “You just said something extremely weird!”

“That’s not weird!” Taehyung insisted, though his voice was softening.

“It was objectively weird.” Yoongi countered, crossing his arms.

A faint pink crept up Taehyung’s ears, quickly spreading across his cheeks. He looked like he regretted saying anything, which only made Yoongi more aware of it.

“I asked you to stop calling me that…” Taehyung mumbled, glancing away.

Yoongi tilted his head slightly. “Weird?”

Taehyung was fully flushed now. “Stop!”

For a moment, he stood there, awkwardly uncomfortable, caught between irritation and embarrassment.

Then, suddenly, he moved.

Too fast.

He snatched a handful of snacks from the counter, some of the ones Yoongi had picked up earlier with little thought, and clutched them to his chest like treasures. He looked a last time to Yoongi, irritation visible in his features, and then spun on his heel and hurried down the hallway.

“Are you seriously—” Yoongi began, already trailing after him.

Taehyung reached the bedroom first.

The door swung open.

Yoongi stepped closer. 

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

BAM.

The door slammed shut in his face. From the other side, silence reigned. But Yoongi could see it clearly. He knew if he closed his eyes, he would still be able to see it. 

The hurt on Taehyung’s face when the word was thrown at him. 

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Yeah.” He said to the closed door. “This one is on me.”

(…)

On Monday morning, Yoongi was half out the door when he heard noise in the kitchen. He paused, keys in hand and jacket only half-zipped, and turned slightly.

Taehyung was sitting at the counter by the window in the kitchen, an enormous bowl of chocolate cereal right in front of him. And the way Taehyung was devouring that cereal suggested to Yoongi that this was probably the single most important event of the day for him.

Yoongi stared for a moment.

He was pretty.

That was extremely annoying.

Taehyung didn’t even look up when he finally spoke. 

“You’re late.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “How would you even know?”

Well, he actually was right and that was why Yoongi turned on his wheel before hearing an answer, getting ready to sprint to catch the metro that arrived to the office only 10 minutes after 9. 

He was halfway out the door when Taehyung’s voice stopped him.

“Hey.”

Yoongi turned very slowly with a suspicious look. “What?”

Taehyung was still sitting at the counter. The cereal bowl was almost empty. There was just a slight tint of chocolate to the milk. He looked hesitant, which was a new look on him. 

“Can you do me a favour?”

That made Yoongi blink. 

A favour.

“It depends.” He replied, narrowing his eyes.

Taehyung reached into his pyjama pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, sliding it across the counter. 

Yoongi didn’t move at first. His curiosity finally got the best of him, and he started walking towards the counter. When he eventually arrived, he picked up the note from Taehyung. 

The list was absurd: chocolate cereal, strawberry milk, candy, biscuits, ice cream, three different types of chocolate bars, and something just labeled “sweet fuzzy things.” It looked less like a grocery list and more like a kid’s wishlist with no regard for health.

Yoongi looked at the list. Then he looked back at Taehyung. “Are you trying to develop diabetes on purpose?”

Taehyung blinked. “No.”

“This is basically it.”

“It’s food.” Taehyung’s expression didn’t change. “Just buy it for me.”

Wait, what?

“Why would I buy you this?”

Taehyung replied, calm as ever, “Because you are the hyung.”

Yoongi stopped cold. “Excuse me?”

Taehyung repeated it, like it explained everything. “The other day you said you were my hyung. Well, hyung pays.”

Yoongi stared at him for a full second before laughing, short and disbelieving. “I’m not paying for your sugar addiction just because I’m older than you. We are not friends.”

“You do have a point.” Taehyung shrugged. “But you are still older than me.”

“That doesn’t mean I should fund your destruction.”

“It’s not destruction.”

“It literally is.”

Taehyung leaned forward, pointing at the list. “Just buy it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not your sponsor.” Yoongi said, turning back toward the door.

Yoongi thanked the gods for preventing him from saying sugar daddy.

“But a hyung should take care of his younger roommate!” Taehyung called after him.

Yoongi froze and slowly turned his head, seeing that giant pout on his face again.

“Buy your own sugar, kid.”

“I don’t have any money.”

Well, that got to him.

Whatever?

He thought about how Taehyung would probably just whine until he gave in anyway.

And he was already late.

It wasn’t worthy it, right? Right.

Finally, Yoongi shoved the list into his pocket with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Whatever.”

Taehyung’s eyes flicked up. “You’ll buy it?”

Yoongi replied immediately. “I’ll think about it.”

“That means yes.”

“It means I’m leaving because I’m indeed late.”

Taehyung watched him for a moment before going back to his cereal like nothing had happened.

Yoongi opened the door, paused, and glanced back at the kitchen.

“At least he’s eating.” Yoongi muttered to himself once he was already outside.

(…)

A few days later, Yoongi came home earlier than usual. 

During the past few days he hadn’t interact with Taehyung much, besides delivering him the candies collection that he religiously kept in the kitchen counter. They would exchange polite words, some bickering there and then, and that was it.

Yoongi would confess that it wasn’t terrible.

It was definitely better than before.

It was definitely not enough.

Once he pushed the entry door open, he was surprised by a faint scraping sound coming from the living room. He paused, slowly stepped forward, and stopped at the doorway.

Taehyung was on the floor, legs folded under him, surrounded by scattered papers, brushes, and small jars of paint. The coffee table had been pushed aside to make space, and the light from the window fell across his bone cheeks in the softest possible angles.

Taehyung was painting.

Suddenly, Yoongi couldn’t didn’t move.

The work on the paper was beautiful. Not in a hobby way, it was something practiced and deliberate, almost too precise for the mess that usually surrounded his roommate. 

Rolling landscapes, soft skies, layered mountains, colours blending seamlessly as if they were never meant to be separated.

And suddenly it clicked.

The paintings on the walls.

It was the same style. 

Same strokes.

Same hand.

Taehyung’s hand.

Taehyung was the one who gave life to the beautiful paintings that adorned their apartment.

Yoongi stepped forward without thinking, pointing at the wall. “You painted those.”

Taehyung jolted slightly, his hand freezing mid-brush, clearly startled by the oldest’s sudden presence. He was so focused that he hadn’t listen to him. 

“Hyung.”

Oh.

Oh.

Yoongi ignored the first time he called him hyung, eyes scanning now the scattered pages. 

“Those paintings on the walls are yours.”

Was he thunderstruck?

Most likely.

This was a new whole side of Taehyung that he had never expected. 

For once, he never saw the painting supplies. He never even noticed the small drops of dry paint that he could observe now in the carpet, probably because Taehyung always painted on the exact same place on the floor. 

How could he have missed it?

Taehyung’s movements snapped him back to reality. He started gathering the papers, pulling them closer, stacking them too quickly, as if being seen was a real issue.

Yoongi frowned. “Hey, I wasn’t…”

Taehyung kept moving, avoiding his gaze entirely.

Yoongi stepped closer anyway, reaching down to grab one of the sheets before Taehyung could hide it. As he did, their fingers briefly touched, startling him with a sudden shriver.

Yoongi blinked and moved his gaze to the draft.

And there it was.

A signature in the corner. 

Vante.

“Oh.”

Taehyung’s hands froze, hovering near Yoongi’s, and the air in the room felt suffocating. 

Then he finally pulled his hand away, brushing paint-stained fingers against his sleeves, gathering the rest of his things in a rush that contrasted the careful way Yoongi had found him not even five minutes before.

“Wait…” Yoongi started, but Taehyung wasn’t listening. He could tell as much, since he just kept moving.

And then Taehyung stood up, finally at eye level with Yoongi.

And he saw it.

His face. 

Red-rimmed eyes. 

Wet lashes. 

A tear track still visible.

He was beginning to tear up.

Yoongi’s expression changed immediately. “Are you okay?”

Stupid question.

Yoongi hated that question.

The answer was as clear as soju.

But Taehyung didn’t answer. 

He turned away, arms tightening around the papers. Yoongi reached out instinctively, lightly touching Taehyung’s hand once again. It was barely anything,  but Taehyung flinched hard. He pulled himself away so fast that the papers slipped slightly, and without looking back at Yoongi, he walked towards the hallway.

Fuck, right.

Taehyung didn’t like when Yoongi touched him. 

Fucking hell.

“Taehyung…” Yoongi began, but the bedroom door closed before he even knew what to say.

He was borderline speechless.

Things Yoongi knew about Taehyung: he always wore the same pyjamas, he didn’t like going outside, he watched silly reality shows, he didn’t like spicy food and he was an artist.

Oh, and he despised Yoongi. 

That he couldn’t forget.

(…)

That night, Yoongi was halfway through making dinner when he heard footsteps again. 

A few moments later, Taehyung appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking unsure if he should be there. He wore grey fluffy sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, a change from his usual pyjamas. Yoongi blinked in surprise; if he was being honest, he hadn’t expected to see him in any other outfit.

Taehyung lingered away from him, as if contemplating whether to step further in.

He hesitated.

Yoongi turned to the stove again.

God forbid him to open his mouth and saying something stupid again.

“You’re cooking.”

“That’s usually what people do when they are in the kitchen.” Yoongi replied, stirring the pot without turning around.

Why was he acting as a prick?

Damn Yoongi, get it together. 

There was silence. 

Then, quietly, Taehyung finally spoke.

“Can I sit?”

That made Yoongi stop for half a second. He turned his head slightly, studying him. 

This was new.

“…Yeah.” Yoongi said after a moment. “I guess I have enough for two.”

He always cooked enough for two, but Taehyung didn’t need to know that.

Taehyung nodded once and carefully took a seat at the kitchen counter. For a while, neither of them spoke. After 10 minutes, Yoongi served the food without any comments, setting down two bowls of pasta, and sitting across from his roommate. 

Taehyung watched him for a second, then slowly picked up his chopsticks, and started eating. After a few seconds, he let out a pleasing hum.

Luckily, Yoongi haven’t added a ounce of spicy to the broth. 

And if lately he had decreased his spicy intake, waiting for the moment Taehyung would come and finally eat with him, that was another completely different story.

“So, what do you do?” Taehyung suddenly asked.

Yoongi leaned back slightly. “I’m a music producer.”

That earned him the smallest flicker of amusement from his roommate.

“So you’re basically surrounded by chaos.”

“Pretty much.”

“Do you like it?”

“I like it.” Yoongi said simply. Then, after a pause, he added. “I love it.”

Silence. 

Should he ask what he does when it’s clear Taehyung is a painter and does not want to speak about it?

Taehyung looked down at his bowl for a moment, then asked. “Where are you from?”

“Daegu.” Yoongi answered without thinking.

“Daegu?” 

“Yes?”

Taehyung looked up at him this time, like he was seeing him differently now.

“Me too.”

Yoongi blinked. “You’re from Daegu?”

Taehyung nodded.

It wasn’t a big thing. Just a detail, really.

But Yoongi still found himself looking at him properly now.

Taehyung held his gaze this time.

Well, this was also new.

And difficult to sustain when the other side had those bright hazel eyes. 

God damn it. 

Yoongi cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how still everything had become.

“So…” He started now, pushing his bowl slightly aside. “When are you going home?”

The question didn’t land the way he expected.

Taehyung went still.

Not in an obvious way. Just… something shifted. His chopsticks paused mid-air, then lowered slowly back into the bowl.

And then his eyes were not facing Yoongi anymore.

They were avoiding him.

Great.

Another misstep. 

“Okay.” He muttered, almost to himself. “That was a bad question.”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

The silence stretched, too long this time.

Maybe he should try again. Or maybe not.

Whatever.

“Do you have a lot of friends in Seoul? This city is complicated and I moved directly after high school, you must know how it is.”

That made it worse.

He saw it immediately.

The way Taehyung’s gaze dipped even more, just slightly out of focus. The faint tightening of his jaw. It wasn’t anger. Not even sadness. It was something more complicated than that.

Yoongi sighed. “I’m never asking you anything again.”

And then Taehyung said it.

“Jungkook.”

The way Taehyung said the name seemed to change the whole mood of the room.

Yoongi glanced up. “Huh?”

His hands tightened around his chopsticks. “He’s my best friend.” Taehyung said, voice low but steady. “The closest person I have.”

Yoongi stayed quiet. It was obvious Taehyung found it easier to stare at the table than to meet his eyes.

“We used to live together here.” Taehyung added.

There was a brief pause as Yoongi took that in.

Oh.

Oh.

“We went to high school together.” Taehyung continued, a little slower now, like he was weighing each word. “And Jungkook… he’s nothing like me.” A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “We’re not alike at all.”

Yoongi kept silent, listening.

Somehow, he could tell this was important for Taehyung, maybe even more than he could understand.

“He’s a biker. A tattoo artist. He’s always loud, always chasing something new. I always tease him that the only time he’s still is when he’s working.”

Taehyung hesitated, then almost whispered, like he couldn’t help it. 

“I have a tiny sun on my thigh.”

Yoongi blinked. “…You what?”

A faint blush crept up Taehyung’s cheeks.

“…He did it.” He said quickly. “Kookie. It was supposed to be a lot bigger, but I cried.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lifted.

“I cried for, like, fifteen minutes!” Taehyung admitted, the words tumbling out faster now. “He kept telling me it wasn’t that bad, but I just couldn’t stop. So he finished as fast as he could, then bought me food after. I am his hyung and he bought me food!”

Yoongi watched him for a moment. For the first time, something in him let go a little.

“…a sun?” Yoongi echoed.

“Yeah. Tiny.”

And then they laughed.

They just laughed.

It wasn’t even funny, but they couldn’t help it. For a while, Yoongi just laughed with his eyes shut, wiping at the corners as tears slipped out. When the laughter finally faded and his vision cleared, he glanced over.

Taehyung was still laughing.

There were crinkles at the edges of his eyes, a soft dimple in the middle of his cheek, golden skin glowing, curls falling messily across his forehead. He looked lighter than Yoongi had ever seen him.

Yoongi found himself staring a moment longer than he meant to.

God, this boy was such a problem.

He leaned back in his chair, quietly studying him. For the first time, Taehyung felt real—someone you could actually understand, if you took the time to notice every little piece.

“...He sounds as if he takes good care of you.” Yoongi said quietly, once Taehyung’s laugh subsided.

Taehyung did not answer right away. 

Yoongi leaned back in the chair. “I would like to meet this Jungkook sometime, I always wanted to do a tattoo.”

Liar.

He was terrified of them.

He just wanted the conversation to keep going.

Taehyung’s smile faded a little bit.

“...he doesn't come by much.” He quickly added.

Yoongi blinked. “What do you mean?”

Taehyung looked down at his bowl again, but he wasn’t eating anymore. He just sat there, unmoving.

“He’s busy.”

It didn’t sound completely true.

And for that reason, he finally gave in.

“Were you two… you know… together?” Yoongi’s voice came out smaller than he intended, and he felt his ears burning. 

What the hell, Min Yoongi?

Taehyung’s head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise, then narrowing with mischief. 

“What makes you think I like men, Yoongi hyung?”

He was smirking. 

He was definitely teasing him.

The brat.

Yoongi wanted to crawl under the table. 

“Sorry, stupid question.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it cracked anyway. God, why couldn’t he just stop talking? “I just meant—it’s not offensive to ask, right? Like, people should be able to ask. It’s normal!” Oh my god. “Actually, it’s kind of homophobic to act weird about it and, um…” Train wreck. “Just so you know, I’m bisexual. So… yeah. I hope you’re okay with that and…”

“Yoongi hyung, relax.” 

Taehyung was giggling now, his shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling up in a way that made it impossible to be mad.

Why was he giggling?

Yoongi was genuinely about to pass out.

“Hyung, I’m gay.”

Oh.

Oh.

Okay. 

Cool, cool, cool. 

Totally fine.

Taehyung grinned, softer now. “But I don’t love Jungkook like that.” He added. “He’s just like a younger brother to me.”

Yoongi let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, feeling a weird kind of warmth settle in his chest.

What was wrong with him?

Yoongi cleared his throat, deciding that it was enough conversation for the evening.

“Do you want to watch something? I can make popcorn or whatever.”

Great, Yoongi.

Ask your roommate if he loved his best friend, then tell him you’re bisexual, then accuse him of homophobia, then find out he’s gay and then just invite him to watch a movie.

Extremely smooth.

The smoothest operator.

“Are you planning to poison me again?”

Yoongi stared at him.

 “Oh my god, will you ever let it go?”

“You poisoned me last time with aggressive ramen.” Taehyung stated matter-of-factly.

“It was not…" Yoongi stopped himself, rubbing his face. “I am not going to poison you. It is popcorn. No spiciness.”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “No shenanigans?”

“No."

“Can you add extra sugar?”

“Fine."

“... Suspicious.”

“You are impossible to please.”

“You're older, you need to at least try.”

"That is not an argument!"

"It is in our home."

Yoongi shook his head, already getting up from where he sat. “I choose the movie.”

Taehyung stood also, promptly.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Hyung!”

Damn, Yoongi could get used to the sound of that word on Taehyung’s pouty lips.

While Yoongi headed to the kitchen to prepare popcorn, Taehyung followed closely behind, grumbling under his breath about “mean hyung” and “questionable food safety concerns” and “let me choose the movie, I’m younger, my brain is brighter”. 

By the time they sat down on the couch, the argument had lost its intensity.

Yoongi ended up on one end of the sofa with the popcorn bowl between them. Taehyung was seated on the other hand, but closer than what Yoongi would have expected of him. 

And the little brat managed to grab the remote control before he could.

“Having long arms is a blessing, hyung!”

Yoongi looked at him. “Don’t you dare.”

A brightly coloured and extremely melodramatic romantic comedy started to play before Yoongi could intervene.

“… Just watch it”, he quickly said, with the brightest smile on his face.

Yoongi paused.

Letting Taehyung have his way, just this once, couldn’t possibly hurt.

Right?

Right.

(…)

A couple of days after everything had... calmed down.

Dinner together became a routine that neither of them officially named it as such. Yoongi cooked; Taehyung showed up, more or less on time, every night. He’d just sit and eat, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d always belonged there.

They still bickered, of course.

All the time.

Now, however, it was relatively quiet and much less volatile. The arguing had begun to be somewhat background noise that both of them pretended it wasn’t comforting.

Taehyung had started making changes, too. He showered at least once a day now; Yoongi could tell because his shampoo and body wash were running low way faster than usual. And he actually wore real clothes: shirts and jeans, sometimes even a sweater, instead of the same old pyjamas or sweats.

During their first dinner together, Yoongi noticed the change without saying anything about it.

The second time around, he raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

The third time around, Yoongi looked at him as he mumbled to himself: “Can you believe I could have been doing this all the time…”

Yoongi paused mid-step, looked at him, and then very deliberately chose not to comment.

That was the thing with Taehyung—half the time, he talked like he was just discovering how the world worked. And Yoongi was learning not to tease him for it.

He also... stopped calling him "weird".

Not in his head.

Not completely.

However the word in Yoongi's mind had softened. It has been replaced by something less sharp, less dismissive than before. 

Peculiar.

Taehyung was peculiar.

If Yoongi were being honest, it no longer bothered him.

Actually what still bothered Yoongi was the fact Taehyung never left the house.

He never expressed going on errands. Never mentioned anything about making plans. Never had brought a single soul over. In reality, the front door could have just as easily been decorative for all the use it received from him.

And, for some reason, that started to bother Yoongi's mind more than it probably should have. 

Because everything else was changing.

Except that.

(…)

Yoongi got the call in the late afternoon, just as he was packing up to leave the studio.

“Gas inspection.” The building syndic said. “Someone will come by within the hour. You’ll need to let them into your apartment.”

Yoongi hesitated, then let out a quiet sigh. “My roommate’s home.”

A short acknowledgment on the other end, then the line went dead. Yoongi thought about texting Taehyung, but… well, Taehyung didn’t have a phone.

“I broke mine, hyung. And I’m tired of buying new ones. I hate tech anyway.”

Odd.

Whatever.

He’d be home. Taehyung was always home.

Yoongi tried not to think too hard about it. He didn’t really care, anyway.

Except he wasn’t.

Because later that evening, Yoongi found a man from the building waiting in the hallway outside the apartment, a folder tucked under his arm, looking a little put out.

“Do you live here?” The man asked the moment Yoongi walked up to the door.

“Yes. Why?”

“We couldn’t complete the inspection. No one was home. My shift’s over, so I’ll have to come back in two weeks when my schedule allows. Next time, if we call, please let us know if you’re not going to be here. It helps us get these things done.”

Yoongi frowned. “Are you sure no one was home?”

“The apartment was empty.”

A sudden chill of irritation prickled through Yoongi’s chest.

“My roommate was supposed to be here. Are you sure you knocked?”

The worker shifted, clearly annoyed. “Sir, the apartment was empty.” He said again, sharper this time. “Have a good evening.”

By the time Yoongi got the door unlocked, the man was gone.

And as soon as he stepped inside…

There he was.

Taehyung.

Yoongi slammed the door harder than he intended.

“Why didn’t you open the door?” Yoongi blurted the moment he stepped inside.

Taehyung looked up slowly, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

“The gas guy said nobody was home.” Yoongi pressed, voice rising. “He said the apartment was empty. Why didn’t you open the door?”

Taehyung’s expression didn’t change. Calm, almost blank. 

“I was here.”

Yoongi blinked. “So you just… didn’t open it?”

“I did.” Taehyung replied.

“Taehyung… the guy literally said no one answered.”

For the first time, something shifted in Taehyung’s eyes.

“He didn’t see me.”

That made Yoongi pause. He stared. “He… didn’t see you?”

Taehyung shook his head. “No.”

Yoongi let out a short, incredulous laugh. “What does that even mean? Are you invisible now?”

Taehyung didn’t answer right away.

The silence stretched, turning heavy. 

Yoongi’s frustration sharpened.

“Look, if you have social anxiety or something, I get it. But can you just tell me? We live together, I need to know if I’m supposed to handle this stuff alone.”

Taehyung’s voice was steady, but there was an odd urgency in it. 

“He’s wrong. I was here. I opened the door. He was the one who didn’t come in.”

Yoongi studied him. 

Cheeks flushed, eyebrows raised. 

He looked honest. 

Too honest. 

Except it didn’t make sense.

Yoongi sighed hard. “This is ridiculous.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. “I was here.”

“Then why didn’t he see you?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer!” Yoongi dragged a hand down his face. “Do you get how this looks?”

Taehyung said nothing.

That’s when Yoongi really saw it; the way Taehyung seemed smaller, his shoulders hunched in, gaze shuttered. He looked like he wanted to disappear. And his eyes weren’t just defensive.

They were hurt.

“You think I’m lying.” 

A quite whisper.

Yoongi hesitated, guilt flashing through him. 

“I didn’t say that.”

But maybe he had. 

Maybe that’s exactly what he’d said.

“You don’t trust me.”

“That’s not—” Yoongi stopped, frustrated. “I just don’t get you!”

Taehyung stared down at the floor. He stopped trying to explain.

“I was here.” He whispered, softer now. “I didn’t leave.”

It didn’t sound stubborn anymore. It sounded… defeated.

Yoongi opened his mouth, then closed it again. Because whatever this was, whatever strange, impossible thing was happening…

Taehyung looked genuinely upset.

And Yoongi didn’t know if he was supposed to be angry, or just lost. 

Because, right now, he felt a little bit of both.

(…)

The next day, Yoongi walked out of the studio with Namjoon. His friend had appeared earlier that morning, wearing his usual calm but slightly remorseful look when he wanted to help someone else with their problems.

“I'm afraid your plants are dead.” He'd told Yoongi.

“They're okay.” Yoongi immediately shot back.

“You don't have a clue about how to care for them. Hyung, I used to come by every week to make sure they weren't dying, but since you've moved into this place you've never invited me in…”

“They're okay.”

And they were because Taehyung was taking care of them.

But he couldn’t quite mention that, could he? 

It was difficult to speak about Taehyung with his friends. For some reason, they were always teasing him and pointing out something like his ears turning red or whatever. He didn’t have the patience for those idiotic implications. 

Namjoon gave him a full three-second stare. “Are you kidding? I bought these for you. Let's go home so we can inspect.”

So that’s how they ended up outside Yoongi’s apartment building: Namjoon hauling a duffel bag stuffed with dirt and gardening tools, like he was about to stage a crazy gardening mission. Honestly, it was a bit much, considering he only had three tiny plants; but that was Namjoon for you. 

Yoongi had a sneaking suspicion it was really Seokjin’s idea anyway, finding some excuse for Namjoon to “check in” on him. Jin was as sweet as he was nosy.

Yoongi unlocked his front door with a mix of apathy and resignation.

As soon as the door creaked open—

He froze.

Taehyung was in the living room.

Sitting on the couch.

And he seemed frozen as well the moment they stepped in the apartment.

For a split second, Yoongi couldn't think clearly. 

Shit. 

He forgot. 

He forgot to tell him.

That was so rude of him. 

“Okay…Right…” Yoongi stuttered, rushing in a bit too late. “This is my roommate.” He motioned aimlessly inward, already cringing on the inside. “And this is my friend Namjoon. Apologies for not giving you a heads up about him passing by, he kind of invited himself and… My bad.”

Taehyung seemed petrified.

Shit, he really had social anxiety.

Fucking hell.

And then… then it happened.

The moment that would end up changing Yoongi’s entire life began almost casually.

Namjoon gazed first at the sofa.

Then back at Yoongi. 

Then at the sofa.

Then at Yoongi.

And then finally back at the sofa again.

“Am I being mocked?” He asked bluntly.

Yoongi blinked. “What?”

Namjoon narrowed his eyes. “Hyung, are you doing ok?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you have a fever?”

“What the fuck Joon?”

“There’s no one seated in the sofa so you must be hallucinating or mocking me.”

Yoongi lost all sense of direction within the space of a second.

The words hit wrong.

Immediately wrong.

Yoongi’s stomach dropped.

“What are you talking about… he is literally sitting there.” Yoongi stammered, pointing at the pillows.

Taehyung remained seated.

However, now he looked different than usual.

He was shaking.

Yoongi's eyes moved to his friend once and again and his mouth opened to argue.

“Hyung, this is funny and all, but I cannot believe you have been telling us you have a roommate just to not invite us in!” Namjoon laughed. “I will be telling the others.”

Then he just shrugged and headed straight to search for the plants.

Yoongi watched Namjoon head off, still baffled. “Namjoon, what are you even talking about—”

He stopped. He could feel someone beside him.

He turned, and Taehyung was suddenly there, standing way too close.

Yoongi barely had a second to react before Taehyung reached out and grabbed his hand. The grip was tight. Almost desperate.

Taehyung’s eyes were huge, locked onto Yoongi like he was the only solid thing in the world.

“Hyung…” Taehyung whispered, his voice shaking. “You’re the only one who can see me.”

Yoongi froze. 

Everything inside him just… stopped. 

The apartment around them felt both deafeningly loud and impossibly far away.

From across the room, Namjoon’s voice floated over, light and oblivious: “Wow, you’re actually doing a good job! The plants look great!”

Yoongi didn’t answer.

Taehyung was still holding his hand.

And suddenly, nothing about this felt like a simple misunderstanding anymore.

(…)

Namjoon left after 20 minutes, but Yoongi could swear he had stayed in the apartment for 3 days. 

Yoongi didn’t even close the door properly before he turned back around.

All of a sudden, his mind was racing. 

Trying to figure out what the hell was happening. 

Trying to connect the dots. 

It was like he was going crazy.

Actually, maybe that was the issue, right? Taehyung was a fucking hallucination.

He should have guessed it, no man as beautiful as he was could actually exist, right?

Obviously.

“You’re mocking me!” Yoongi yelled out, harder than he wanted, staring at taehyung so intensely that the truth might rewrite itself.  “This is some kind of prank, right?”

Taehyung didn't answer.

He was again seated at the sofa, perfectly still, his hands loosely by his side now, as though they were unsure of what to do with themselves. His expression was tight, controlled, but there was something underneath it that looked almost… ready to flee.

Not today, Yoongi thought.

Definitely not fucking today.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step away, then back again.

“No, seriously. This makes absolutely no sense. Are you telling me he simply didn't see you? That am I the only person capable of seeing you? That's not… That’s not fucking possible!”

He stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head once. “I think I have brain damage.” He said flatly, more to himself than anything else. “That’s the only explanation.”

Still, Taehyung said nothing.

Yoongi spun back to him. raising his voice now, with something akin to panic rather than anger. “Say something” You have to say something. It can't be just dropped on me and you’re standing there acting as nothing is happening!”

Taehyung’s gaze flickered, just slightly, but he didn’t open his mouth.

A short, incredulous laugh escaped from Yoongi. 

“I'm crazy! That's what this is. The bullies at school are finally right, Min Yoongi is a coucounet!”

Taehyung's jaw clenched. 

Nothing.

Yoongi exhaled harshly. 

Frustration and confusion became intertwined.

“Taehyung.” He was ready to beg. “Please Taehyung, please say something.” 

For the first time, Taehyung actually looked at him.

There was no avoidance in those eyes.

Something heavy and uncertain hung in the balance, as though he'd been waiting for this exact moment, yet didn't know how to survive it.

Still, not a word uttered. 

Yoongi’s heart was pounding way too loudly.

He was terrified.

Then it occurred to him.

The landlord.

He could call the landlord.

It had been a month, he had completely forgotten about contacting him, and for sure he was already back from his stupid vacation.

He could ask him directly about Taehyung, right? 

Right.

His hand moved before he even finished thinking about it. He took his phone from his pocket. Taehyung noticed immediately. His head lifted slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction, like he already knew where this was going.

Yoongi placed the phone on speakerphone and held it between them, his jaw locked in place as the line rang.

Once...

Twice...

Then—

“Hello?”

Something changed in Taehyung’s expression.

Just a slight tensing, a twitch so minuscule Yoongi nearly missed it. But it happened. As if hearing the sound of that man's voice was punching his gut.

“This is your tenant.” He said far too quickly, far too sharply. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” The landlord replied nonchalantly. “Is everything okay with the apartment?”

A dry laugh escaped Yoongi. 

“Okay? That depends upon how you define ‘okay.’” Calm down Yoongi, just calm the fuck down. Or not, whatever. “How come there was a person named Taehyung living in this place?”

Silence.

Different than usual.

Unlike anything else Yoongi had ever experienced.

It lasted long enough.

Taehyung didn’t move.

Yoongi watched him without meaning to.

Finally, the landlord spoke again.

“Taehyung is dead.”

No.

No.

No.

Yoongi’s grip tightened around the phone instantly, his whole body going still in a way that felt almost detached, like his mind was a step behind what he had just heard.

Dead.

No.

No.

He opened his mouth. 

Nothing.

The landlord continued speaking. “I should have removed all his stuff, I am terribly sorry.” His tone had grown softer. Slower. “I... I couldn’t. He was my best friend. He’s not here anymore because of my actions and I… I mean he’s in this situation because of me and… I mean, he’s practically dead and… I’m so sorry. I can try to fix it asap, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi stopped listening.

Jungkook.

That was Jungkook, wasn’t it?

Yoongi’s landlord was Jungkook. His last name was probably Jeon or whatever.

Jungkook was Taehyung’s best friend.

Oh.

Taehyung.

“Do not worry, his things can stay.” He had no idea how he was still speaking. “Have a nice evening.”

His thumb moved on instinct and he ended the call.

For a second, he didn’t look at Taehyung.

He couldn’t.

Because the sentence was still repeating in his head in the exact same tone.

Taehyung is dead.

Dead.

When he finally did look up, the room hadn’t changed.

But everything in it had.

And yet, Taehyung was still there.

Taehyung didn’t move at first.

As if it would take some time for the words to find their way to him, like they had to go through a material thicker than air before landing exactly where they belonged.

Then he broke.

His face collapsed in on itself all at once, like something inside him finally gave up after holding for too long. His body leaned forward somewhat, a gasp escaped from his chest in an irregular rhythm which changed into something worse when he attempted to stop it.

And he was crying.

He was crying so hard. 

He was crying so loud.

He was desperately crying.

Still standing rigidly in place, his phone clutched firmly within his hand, Yoongi's brain refused to accept the meaning of dead, considering the individual to whom that adjective pertained was currently positioned directly in front of him.

“Thought…” Taehyung stammered through a broken voice. “Thought I was simply… gone. That this was my heaven, even if it seemed like a purgatory for so long.”

His shaking hands grasped his face as if he could physically keep himself intact. 

It didn’t work.

“No one could see me.” He stated rapidly now. “No one answered. No one—when I was here, I was just…”

He paused. 

Swallowed. 

“I thought I imagined it.” He admitted, smaller now, almost swallowed by it. “That I never had a life and this was the normal. I don’t know, I don’t know what was happening inside my brain.”

Yoongi’s throat tightened, but he still didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He honestly couldn’t.

Taehyung shook his head rapidly as though he could shake free the notion and replace it with something less fatal.

“But then you…” Taehyung exclaimed, looking up at Yoongi, his eyes red and wet and completely exposed. “You saw me.”

His voice cracked.

“You spoke to me.” Taehyung continued as though he could no longer stop now that it had began. “You touched me. You could touch me. And then I realised I could eat, even if I didn’t feel hunger. That I could shower and change. My god, I had no idea. And I don’t even know how long it passed. So then I was thinking… I was thinking maybe I was just sick in the head? I don’t fucking know!”

His breathing turned uneven again, sharper now.

“And Jungkook…” He added, his voice cracking completely. “And Yeontan. My god. Did I mention Tannie? Oh my god, oh my god. I miss them. I don’t know where they are. Jungkook took him in the only time he passed by. I tried to speak with him, I tried to play with Yeontan, they didn’t see me… They…”

He stopped speaking abruptly, pressing his clenched fists against his eyes as though it could prevent the tears from falling, but instead it worsened everything.

“Only you can see me… only…”

Yoongi’s heart was breaking.

“I am dead.”

No.

No.

“Hyung, I am dead.”

Something in Yoongi finally snapped.

It was just instinct, slow, uncertain and completely unprepared for any of it to make sense.

He crossed the space between them and Taehyung barely registered it before Yoongi’s arms were around him, holding tighter than life had. 

The contact was warm. 

Solid. 

Real in way Yoongi’s mind still couldn’t reconcile with what he had just heard.

Taehyung froze for half a second. Then he broke down completely.

He clung to Yoongi like he was the only thing preventing him to vanish, shaking in a way that felt too intense to belong to someone who was supposed to be gone. Taehyung’s breath stuttered against his hyung’s shoulder, completely desperate, like he had been holding it in for an eternity. 

Yoongi didn’t speak.

He just held him.

Tighter than he expected to.

Taehyung could be dead to the world, but not to him.

To Yoongi, Taehyung’s heart was still beating next to his.