Work Text:
If somebody asked Yoongi what his dream job was, he definitely wouldn’t say working the night shift on shoe counter duty at the local bowling alley. Probably nobody would say that.
But as far as shitty part-time jobs go, he could definitely have it worse.
It's an uneventful shift, reserved mostly for the overly enthused league players. Sometimes kids from the nearby University stop by, reminiscing of memories of childhood birthday parties over laughter and pitchers of cheap beer. But mostly, it’s quiet.
And, yeah, it’s not exactly atmospheric. The neon lights cast an ugly sort of fluorescent glow on everything, the kind of shitty lighting that’s only really acceptable in places like this. It smells a little bit like feet and a lot like shitty concession stand food, but. It’s home.
He’s welcome to all the corn dogs and soggy pizza he wants if he hates himself enough to eat it. His boss also doesn’t care if he studies when it’s slow.
As an architecture student in his final year, study time is a luxury that’s hard to come by, so. It’s not a bad gig all things considered.
He leans forward, earbud in one ear and a pencil in his mouth, pouring over the textbooks he’s strewn haphazardly across the counter. Lost in his own world of inverse trigonometric functions, barely registering the dull murmur of conversation and occasional clatter of ball against pins. Barely registering the figure approaching the counter, until a shadow casts over his textbook as someone steps up, politely clearing their throat.
Yoongi sighs, allowing himself to feel put out for a good second before removing his earbud. “What can I do for you?” He asks without looking up, keeps his eyes on his books as he finishes up the last of a problem.
"Um. I guess I just need some shoes. And a ball.”
The voice is surprisingly pleasant, smooth and boyish and cute enough to get Yoongi's attention, but small, as though he's afraid he's imposing by being here.
Yoongi finally looks up. A little more up than he anticipated.
He’s young, younger than Yoongi but old enough that Yoongi hazards a guess he’s one of the college students. In fact, he’s got the college boy aesthetic down pact, form-fitting dark wash jeans tucked into his timbs and plain white t-shirt the perfect size, loose enough to be casual but tight enough to accentuate the promise of a toned chest underneath. Dark fluffy strands of hair poke out of a dark green beanie carefully placed and pulled halfway over his ears. But what really catches Yoongi’s attention are his eyes. Wide, dark, and expressive, blinking down at Yoongi almost hesitantly.
Yoongi doesn’t believe in love at first sight or anything, and if even if he did, he definitely wasn’t going to fall in love at 10:30 pm in a fucking bowling alley, but. He's not blind or anything, and this kid is cute. Like, really fuckin’ cute.
“Size?” He put his pencil down, sliding his textbooks to the side.
“I’m sorry?” The kid’s eyes widen, a faint blush creeping up his neck and Yoongi can’t help but silently chuckle at his sputtering.
“What’s your shoe size?” Yoongi gives him a small, reassuring smile. He looks nervous, eyes flitting back and forth like he’s never done this before. Like he’s doing something scandalous by bowling alone after the sun goes down.
“Oh. Um, 9 please,” he mutters quietly, bringing an arm up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. Yoongi nods, bringing out a clipboard from under the counter.
“Just sign in with your name here.”
Yoongi retreats back into the shoes, eyes scanning the numbered shelves until he finds what he’s looking for near the top of the racks. He sighs, sparing a sideways glance towards the boy before toeing a stool over, using it to grab the shoes he needs.
He returns to the counter, swinging the shoes over and setting them down with a plop.
“So,” he takes a glance at the sign-in sheet. “Jeongguk." Cute. "Just you then?”
He’s seemingly alone, which is a bit strange. Yoongi is used to the occasional group of frat boys passing through. Sometimes people bring their dates, playing on their nostalgic sentiments, but bowling is more of a social activity. It’s not often people come by themselves. Especially not cute college boys.
Jeongguk nods. His eyes are still flitting around as though he's afraid he’s going to be spotted. Yoongi shrugs it off. Bowling alleys after dark are a no judgment zone.
“Any preference on ball weight?” Yoongi peers up, watches Jeongguk chew on his lip thoughtfully. Tries not to let himself be distracted by it.
“Does it matter?” He’s really asking, curiosity shining in his big eyes, and Yoongi doesn’t know why that makes him feel a little softer.
“Don’t let any of the league players hear you ask that,” Yoongi says with a small laugh, rolling his eyes a little. “There’s discourse on ball size. You don’t want to get caught on the wrong side of that argument.”
“Really?” Jeongguk looks contemplative, as if he’s making a mental note of that fact. “Well, what do you recommend?”
Yoongi looks him up and down. Tries not to let his gaze linger any longer than necessary. Definitely does not take note of how his biceps are slightly peeking out of the sleeve of his shirt. Strictly business. “15 pounds should be fine. Is that too heavy?”
“15 pounds? Definitely not. Do you have anything heavier? I could probably do 20. 30 even.” He looks a little offended, and Yoongi is kind of amused. Kind of wants to tease him a little more.
“Okay, well, first of all, that’s not a thing,” Yoongi laughs. “15 pounds will be fine, trust me.”
Yoongi disappears under the counter, scanning the myriad of balls, different weights and colors and finishes, briefly considers pulling out the sparkliest purple, but settles instead on a dark, classy blue. Simple and dignified. He pulls it out, straining just a little, and hands it over to Jeongguk.
He takes the ball, lifting it much higher than necessary, and Yoongi snorts.
“Okay, Hercules. Gutters or not?”
Jeongguk’s nose scrunches in distaste. “Not.”
Yoongi nods, smiling a little in spite of himself. “Okay. You’ll be in lane two,” he explains, pointing to the lane closest to Jeongguk, a big neon two glowing invitingly overhead.
Jeongguk hums his agreement. He looks a little hesitant, carrying his ball in one hand and shoes in the other, glancing down at Yoongi as though unsure of what step to take next. He turns around slowly, backing towards his lane with a small wave goodbye. “Thanks.” He smiles, small but genuine, front teeth protruding ever so slightly, and Yoongi resists the urge to coo at a total stranger. He waves back instead.
Yoongi watches him retreat, watches him settle into his lane. Keeps watching as he bowls his first couple of sets, aim a little off and unsteady. Watches the look of pure despair when his balls roll helplessly into the gutter. Watches when he gets his first lucky spare, pumping his fist in the air in excitement before remembering where he is and sheepishly dropping his arm back to his side.
He keeps watching, and watching, maybe bordering on stalking, when he’s broken out of his reverie by the smell of grease and the plop of a corndog on the counter. He glances up to see Hoseok, best friend turned coworker turned bane of his existence, smirking, eyes flitting suggestively back and forth between Yoongi and the bowling lane he hasn’t taken his eyes off of. He’s a walking dress code violation as usual, brown hair pushed off his forehead with a snapback and his uniform shirt untucked and unkempt, but the customers love him a lot and Yoongi loves him a little too. He’s not getting paid enough to give a shit about the logistics of workplace attire anyway.
Yoongi levels him with a glare. “Do not.” He pushes the corndog back towards Hoseok. “I don’t eat this shit.”
Hoseok smiles, easy and familiar, shrugging and taking a big bite out of the corndog himself.
“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” His voice is muffled through mouthfuls of breading and questionable meat, and Yoongi isn’t sure how he’s supposed to take him seriously.
“Isn’t it kind of weird that he’s here alone?”
Hoseok shrugs. “Stress relief? Bowling kink? I dunno, my man. You could just ask.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I can’t just go up to a random customer and ask him why he’s bowling alone like some sort of loser.”
“But you’re not above eye-fucking a random customer.” Hoseok gives him a pointed look, and Yoongi flips him off.
“I’m not eye fucking anybody. Go back to work.”
“Whatever you say, Yoongs.” Hoseok gives him a salute and an exaggerated wink, sauntering back to his normal spot at the concession stand, but his words stick.
Maybe it’s because his shift is almost over and the exhaustion has made him softer around the edges, but something about the kid is just endearing. Endearing in how his face breaks into a smile that just gets wider and more sincere as he steadily improves, as his aim gets straighter and closer to a strike. Endearing in how his nerves seem to dissipate as the night goes on, giving way to genuine happiness just to be there, bowling by himself.
Yoongi opens his textbook up again, tries to get back into the swing of trigonometry, but he can’t seem to regain his focus. And maybe he’ll regret it later when he’s stuck studying into the early hours of the morning, but. He just can’t seem to take his eyes off the boy with the pretty smile in lane two.
The next time Yoongi sees Jeongguk, it’s a Thursday night and he’s working on a sketch for his Daylighting class. A modern home, designed to utilize windows and natural lighting. He’s surrounded by his sketchbooks and pencils, lost in the familiarity of pencil lightly scratching across graph paper when he sees a familiar pair of timbs in his peripheral.
He looks up, pointedly ignoring how he feels his own face light up at the sight of the younger. Pointedly ignoring the small flutter of excitement he feels in his chest.
Jeongguk is there, still annoyingly tall, still annoyingly cute, in almost the exact same get-up as before, save for the white t-shirt he’s swapped out for a nearly identical black. He’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder and a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, his breath slightly heavier than normal as if he’d been in a rush to get there.
He is also, Yoongi notes with a very blatant look of judgment, wearing a sleek, black, leather bowling glove on his right hand.
Jeongguk coughs, moving the gloved-hand to his chest and holding it there defensively. “It’s a bowling glove.”
Yoongi nods. “I can see that.”
“It’s to help with my grip.”
“Of course,” Yoongi deadpans, one judgemental brow raised. He sees the blush starting to creep up Jeongguk’s neck, and he almost feels a little bad. But it’s also really cute.
“On the ball. My grip on the bowling ball,” he mumbles. The tips of his ears have started turning a telling pink and Yoongi tries his best not to smile.
“Relax, kid.” Yoongi brings out the clipboard, already making his way to the back. “Just you? Same deal as before?”
“Yeah, please.”
He grabs a pair of shoes in Jeongguk’s size (doesn’t question why he still remembers) handing them over and disappearing under the counter to grab him a ball. This time he settles on a flashy, sparkly magenta. Jeongguk scrunches his nose a little, but he takes the ball without complaint.
“Lane two again. You good?”
Jeongguk nods. He looks down at Yoongi as though he wants to say more, but he doesn’t, stepping away from the counter instead. “Yeah, thanks. Nice to see you again.”
“You, too,” Yoongi speaks softly, maybe too softly to be heard, watching Jeongguk’s back as he walks away.
He refuses to be distracted for a second time by the weird lonely bowling kid. This design is due tomorrow and he can’t afford to be staring moony-eyed over a goddamn stranger. He turns his attention back to his sketch. Picks up his pencil with all intents and purposes of getting back to work. He rarely pays any attention to the bowlers, and tonight isn’t going to be any different.
It takes about three minutes before he glances up anyway.
Jeongguk is smiling gently down at his bowling glove, gently adjusting the straps as though it’s his most prized possession. Yoongi feels a twinge in his chest.
Goddamnit.
He throws his pencil down with more force than necessary, pushing his designs to the side and making his way out from behind the counter to skulk over to the concession counter. Hoseok is in his usual spot, leaning casually against the counter and fiddling with his phone. Hard at work. He glances up questioningly as Yoongi approaches, thumb still scrolling down his screen. Yoongi gives him the most imploring smile he can manage.
“Give me some nachos.”
Hoseok sets his phone down and grins, lopsided and mischievous, resting his elbows on the counter and propping his chin on his hands. “Nachos? You said you’d chew your own arm off before you ate any of the food here.’”
“It’s not for me,” he mumbles, avoiding Hoseok’s eyes in favor of picking at an invisible mark on the counter.
“Not for you?” Hoseok’s eyebrows waggle, and he leans closer. “Are you finally gonna go talk to thick stacks?”
“Thick stacks?” Yoongi’s brows furrow. “Actually, don’t tell me. Can you just,” he sighs, makes some vague and frustrated gestures with his arms. “You know.”
Hoseok’s eyes are shining with mischief but he takes pity and nods, making his way to the back and bringing out a small plastic container of chips and cheese that he holds just out of Yoongi’s reach.
“Don’t forget about me when you fall in love with bowler boy.” Hoseok is pouting, wiping the fake tears out of his eyes, and Yoongi wonders (not for the first time) if hitting him would get him fired. It might be worth it.
“Nobody is falling in love. Hand over the goods.”
The cheese smells like plastic and Yoongi doesn't even want to know how long these chips have been out, but he can't really afford to be picky in a place like this. And college boys are pretty much known to consume everything, right?
"Go get him, babe." Hoseok leans over the counter, giving Yoongi a light tap on the ass and preemptively stepping back before Yoongi can swat him away.
"Fuck off," he growls, stepping away from the stand, but then his gaze softens, flicking up to meet Hoseok's eyes. "Thanks."
Hoseok just nods, gives an easy smile of encouragement that only he could realize how much Yoongi really needs. “Yoongi.” His voice is lower now, all traces of mischief on his face replaced by something softer, something knowing. “You’re good, yeah?”
The thing is, this isn't really Yoongi's style at all. He’s got a small circle that he loves quietly but purposefully, and he’s good at his job, helpful and polite, but charming the customers is more of Hoseok’s gig. Yoongi is content to watch from the outskirts, content to do what’s needed without going the extra personable mile. But there's just something about this kid, something sincere and curious, that tugs at Yoongi's heartstrings a little. Something that makes him want to step outside of his comfort zone if only just this once.
“I’m good.” He allows a final sigh, braces himself, then slowly makes his way to lane two with a resolve that's sure to shatter any second.
Jeongguk is holding his ball and examining the lane, eyebrows furrowed in thoughtful calculation. Taking it quite a bit more seriously than Yoongi would expect.
Yoongi clears his throat, low and awkward, voice barely more than a mumble. “Hey. I brought you some nachos.”
Jeongguk looks up in surprise, big eyes wide with confusion, and Yoongi nearly has to avert his gaze because they’re almost fucking sparkling and he’s not about that life.
“Sorry, I didn’t order any-”
“I know,” Yoongi interrupts, shifts his eyes off to the side and smooths down his hair, “they’re on the house or whatever. If you want.”
Jeongguk looks confused, but he takes the container from Yoongi with a small thank you and pops a cheese coated chip into his mouth. His nose scrunches the tiniest bit, and Yoongi grimaces.
“Those are terrible. You don’t have to eat those. Please don’t eat those.” Yoongi sighs in frustration because he’s not sure what he’s doing and he’s not sure why he thought courting some stranger with nachos was ever a good idea. This is stupid. Everything is stupid. He reaches his hand out to take the chips back, ready to admit his defeat and hide under the shoe counter for the next five million years.
Jeongguk shakes his head. "I want to eat them. You gave them to me. I like them." He shoves another handful of chips into his mouth, face breaking out into exaggerated enjoyment. He throws Yoongi a thumbs up, and Yoongi knows it's mostly bullshit, but it's sweet. The kid is sweet, and he's cute, and now Yoongi remembers why he’s here.
He takes a deep breath, takes another step closer in distance and in faux confidence, and hoists himself up on the table. "I’m Yoongi, by the way."
Jeongguk smiles, a little unsure but genuine, front teeth protruding in that endearing way, and Yoongi is upset about it. “Jeongguk. Thanks for the nachos.”
Yoongi nods and the air turns a little awkward, like they both want to say more but can’t find the words. A part of him wants to slink back to his safe place, surround himself with a security fortress of counter space and textbooks. But the look Jeongguk is giving him is soft, so soft and imploring, that a bigger part of him wants to swallow his insecurities and take the next step.
“Why are you bowling alone this late at night?” It’s not smooth and it’s entirely too forward, but Yoongi manages to keep his voice steady and casual and he’ll consider that a victory.
Jeongguk laughs, cheeks flushed a little in embarrassment, but he doesn’t seem offended, and Yoongi is more than a little relieved. “Ah, yeah. It’s kinda silly. Promise you won’t laugh?”
“I promise that I probably won’t laugh.”
Jeongguk sighs, fiddles with the straps on his glove. “I’m practicing. I think I want to try out for a local league? I’m busy with classes during the day, and I figured there wouldn't be that many people here at night. My friends might think it’s lame. It is kinda lame, right?” His nose scrunches, and Yoongi feels the sudden urge to fight anyone who’s ever made him feel lame about anything.
“It’s not that lame,” Yoongi mumbles, voice low and sincere. “If you like it, it’s not lame,” he says, a little louder and more resolute.
Jeongguk’s face breaks out into a wide grin that lights up his entire face, and Yoongi resists the urge to clutch his chest. Goddamnit.
“Why bowling, though?”
“I don’t know. It’s fun .My Dad liked to bowl.” He looks down at his glove with a small smile, and something sour curdles in Yoongi’s stomach. He looks up slowly, an apology on his lips, but Jeongguk stops him with a frantic wave of the hand.
“He’s fine. Sorry. I’m an idiot. My dad is fine,” he cringes, realizing his mistake, but Yoongi sighs in relief.
“He has, like, all these pictures of him and his bowling buddies, and he’s always telling us stories from his ‘glory days.’ I don’t know, I just thought it might be nice to have a hobby in common. He gave me his old bowling glove!” Jeongguk lifts the gloved hand, waggling his fingers and smiling bright, and it’s endearing as fuck and Yoongi is mad about it. “I just started, but I don’t really know what I’m doing. I want to improve before tryouts. I’m going out for the Pocket Pounders.”
“The Pocket Pounders,” Yoongi keeps his face straight, voice deadpan, but there’s laughter in his eyes and maybe a little bit of playful judgment. Maybe a lot of playful judgment. The Pocket Pounders.
“You promised not to laugh,” Jeongguk reminds him, grinning, because it’s ridiculous and they both know it.
“I said probably.” Yoongi hops off the table and brushes off his pants, one brow raised in Jeongguk’s direction.
“It’s pretty nerdy, right?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty nerdy,” Yoongi agrees, but his lips are quirked in amusement as he takes another step closer to Jeongguk. “But what’s wrong with that?”
Jeongguk smiles, pleased, and Yoongi notes the pink that tints his cheeks.
He takes another step, close enough now to see the neon reflection in Jeongguk’s eyes. “I could give you some tips.” He nods his head towards the ball, holding his hands out expectantly.
Jeongguk blinks down at him, handing over the ball with more curiosity than hesitation. “You bowl?”
Yoongi smirks, adjusting the ball in his grip, rolling it between his hands to get a feel for the weight as he approaches the lane. He eyes the pins, keeps his shoulders square and straight, then swings, releasing the ball and watching it curve down the lane. He turns around as it travels, face unreadable as he walks back towards Jeongguk and wipes his palms on his jeans.
He hears the clatter of pins behind him, keeps his gaze trained on the shocked expression on Jeongguk’s face as all the pins collapse and the “Strike!” flashes on the overhead scoreboard.
He breathes a very heavy sigh of relief (on the inside) that he didn’t embarrass himself after all the theatrics.
Jeongguk is still staring down the lane, mouth agape, and Yoongi grins.
“Yeah, I bowl.”
They develop a rhythm, and it happens like this. Jeongguk comes to the alley every Tuesday and Thursday, and Yoongi woos him with free snacks and bowling tips. Jeongguk comes to the alley, and Yoongi abandons his post (keeps an eye on his counter, of course, he’s still a professional) and coveted study time to sit with him in his lane. Jeongguk comes to the alley, and Yoongi tries not to fall a little in love.
It's a Thursday now, and Yoongi has an exam on Urban Design that he should probably (definitely) be studying for, but instead he's sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic alley chairs, textbook lying lazily and uselessly across his lap, watching Jeongguk take confident swing after swing with his bowling ball.
Yoongi has come to learn a few things about Jeongguk over the weeks, and one of them is that he's extremely dedicated and passionate about the things he cares about. He'd taken each tip Yoongi gave him in stride, documenting every instruction in a little notebook he carried around in his pocket that Yoongi only teased him about a little.
It had only taken a couple of weeks before he didn't really even need tips anymore, but Yoongi kept looking for reasons to stay and Jeongguk kept giving them to him, until they both settled into silent agreement that enjoying each other’s company was enough.
“Did you see that one?” Jeongguk is smiling, a little smug and a lot excited, head nodding back towards the clattered pins. Another strike.
“Nice job, Guk. You’re on fire tonight,” Yoongi praises sincerely, and Jeongguk’s face lights up, smile widening at the validation. It hadn’t taken long for him to surpass Yoongi completely, but with the way Jeongguk still looks at him like this, dark eyes shining expectantly, he can’t really find it in himself to mind.
“I think it’s my lucky ball,” he picks up the ball from the return rack and hoists it into the air. It sparkles red and gold in the neon light, and Yoongi wrinkles his nose.
(“It’s Iron Man! Taehyung and Jimin got it for me. It’s custom made.”
“Oh my god, you’re a giant nerd lord.”
“Hey, you said there was nothing with being a little nerdy.”
“I didn’t realize you were this far gone.”)
“Maybe.” Yoongi turns the page of his textbook as though he hasn’t been ignoring it for the last hour. “Maybe you’ve just gotten better.”
“Dude, you’ve got to believe in the heart of the ball.”
“It’s the heart of the cards, dumbass. Seriously. You’ve really improved. I think you’re gonna do great at your try-out.” He means it, really. And if his heart tightens a little at the thought of what will happen to this, whatever this is, once Jeongguk has made the team, he doesn’t show it.
“If I do, it will be all thanks to you.”
And there it is again. That humbleness, that soft sincerity that Yoongi would never admit causes a summersault in his chest. Yoongi wills away the flush he feels threatening to travel up his neck and expose him for the sap he really is. He coughs instead, fixating his eyes on an invisible spot on the wall.
“Finish your set. It's almost close time and I'm not gonna stick around this shithole any longer than I'm being paid for.”
Jeongguk’s face almost falls. Just the slightest glimpse of something off before his expression returns to normal. So quick and subtle you wouldn't see it if you weren't really looking. (Yoongi always is.)
“As if you have anything better to do than watch my fine ass bowl.” He smirks, tone playful and light, and Yoongi watches (a little too closely) him retreat back to the lane.
Does he? More productive things, probably. He peeks at the textbook in his lap, turned to an irrelevant page that he doesn’t even recognize, more for show than anything. He’s spent a lot of late nights at home on schoolwork since Jeongguk came into the picture. But, even without the added incentive of a paycheck, would he rather be anywhere else?
That’s not a question Yoongi feels very ready for. Even if the answer is staring him in the face.
“Yoongi.” Jeongguk’s voice drops to something lower, something more expectant. He’s peeking down at Yoongi through his lashes, gnawing a little on his lip in a way Yoongi has come to recognize means he’s nervous.
“If I get a strike here...you have to let me take you out after.” His words come out rushed, and he immediately looks down, a pretty blush creeping over his cheeks.
“If you want, I mean. You don’t have to let me do anything. You can make your own decisions. I respect you.”
“Jeongguk, relax.” Yoongi’s heart is beating a little faster and he should probably learn to take his own advice.
Jeongguk sighs, scuffs his ugly bowling shoe into the ground. Finally looks up and meet Yoongi’s eyes. “Yoongi, if I get a strike, will you get coffee with me after your shift?”
“Like..on a thing?” Date. The word he’s looking for is date.
Jeongguk smiles, nodding. “Yeah, like on a thing. I know a place.”
Yoongi purses his lips. Pretends like he has to consider it. Pretends like the tips of his ears aren’t pink and his heart isn’t threatening to beat right out of his chest.
The thing is, Yoongi isn’t really sure how to define this thing outside of the bowling alley’s four walls. Or if even is anything to define once they’re gone, away from the neon escape they’ve created.
He supposes there's only one way to really find out.
“Okay, if you get a strike.” He keeps his face calm and impassive, voice steady
Jeongguk’s smile lights up the entire alley.
“I feel like I just got bamboozled,” Yoongi shrugs off his coat, draping it over the back of his chair. Jeongguk did know a place, and Yoongi likes it. Warm and cozy, with soft white lights flitted around the edges of the walls and local art in various sizes and styles covering every empty surface. Jeongguk had led them to a small table in the back, intimate, his table he said. It’s nice.
“Beginner's luck,” Jeongguk is grinning from ear to ear. He’d bowled a strike like it was nothing, whooping loudly and hoisting Yoongi into the air to spin him around before either of them could process it. “Is being here with me that bad?”
“No,” he answers immediately and truthfully. “Especially if you’re paying.” He taps his fingers on the table and clears his throat.
“I’m paying,” Jeongguk speaks softly, and now it’s really starting to feel like a thing. The lights throw a gentle glow over his cheeks, and he’s sitting across from Yoongi like a proper date. No stench of shoes and old fried food. No familiar neon lights. Yoongi is starting to feel out of his element.
What if he’s boring? What if they’ve got nothing to talk about? What if the reverie of the alley is broken, revealing Yoongi for what he really is? A disgruntled college student. Boring. Unremarkable in every way.
“Hey,” Jeongguk’s voice breaks through the self-induced panic. He’s smiling, and it’s genuine. “I’m really glad you came.” He places a tentative hand on Yoongi’s own, warm and steady.
Yeah, this is okay. This is good.
Jeongguk doesn’t take his hand off Yoongi’s until their drinks arrive, served by a very tall (and very handsome) man that drops off their coffee with big smile and a wink in Jeongguk’s direction. There’s an extra pastry that neither of them ordered and a heart steamed into Yoongi’s latte. Jeongguk just shrugs in embarrassment and takes a bite of the sweet.
Yoongi’s fingers are still tingling and warm and he’s pretty sure it’s not from the coffee.
“It’s weird seeing you in regular clothes,” Jeongguk says through a mouthful of pastry, taking a sip of his drink and wincing a little at the heat. He blows into the cup.
“Do you think I live in my work uniform or something?” Yoongi’s dressed down, a simple pair of jeans and black button down. The most presentable thing he’d had in his work locker. Now he feels a little self-conscious.
“Maybe,” Jeongguk teases. “You look...good. Not that you didn’t before,” he stumbles a little over his words. “You always look good.” He’s rambling now, ears turning pink. Yoongi laughs, feels the tension seeping out of his bones with the realization that Jeongguk is just as nervous as he is.
And just like that, they fall together. Yoongi tells him about his increasingly embarrassing novelty mug collection and his hidden talent for crochet. Jeongguk whips out his phone to show Yoongi his impressively large meme folder and his Overwatch play of the game collection. Yoongi tells him that he’s scared of cows and pours the milk in before the cereal and Jeongguk threatens to leave. They call a truce after Jeongguk reveals that he prefers instant coffee over the real stuff.
“Why architecture?” Their drinks are long past cold now, forgotten in the easy lull of conversation. People have come and gone around them and Yoongi notes that the cafe is nearly empty now. He’s barely noticed the time passing.
He hums. “It’s like...it’s art, but it’s tangible. Art that you can live and breathe. Our entire world revolves around these designs that someone created and brought to life, you know? We live the majority of our lives around architecture.” He takes a breath. Stirs a spoon lazily into his cold coffee.
Nobody’s ever actually asked him that before. He’s probably bored Jeongguk to death.
“That’s kind of awesome. I’ve never thought about it like that. I guess it’s one of those things we kind of take for granted, you know?” Yoongi risks a peek at his face. His eyes are bright with interest and curiosity and he’s either genuine or one hell of an actor. Huh. “I really want to find something I care about that much.”
“You will,” Yoongi reassures him, and he means it. Jeongguk is young and talented and passionate and Yoongi has zero doubts that he’ll kick ass at anything he puts his mind to. He hopes he’ll be around to see it.
He really wants to be around to see it.
A throat clears. Yoongi looks up to see the same waiter as before, hovering over their table like he’s hesitant to interrupt. “Hey, we’re getting ready to close to switch over for the morning shift, so..” Yoongi peeks at his phone. It’s very late or very early, depending on one’s perspective, and they’re the only ones left in the cafe. He smiles apologetically.
“Thanks, Jin,” Jeongguk gives the man a grateful smile. He nods, patting Jeongguk’s shoulder before walking away.
“So…” Yoongi stops. The night is over and it’s time to part ways and he has a bunch of homework and laundry to do and it’s late and he’s tired but he doesn’t want to leave.
“So.” They both laugh, silent acknowledgment of that awkward lull, the unspoken ‘what now’ lingering in the air between them.
Jeongguk makes the decision for the both of them. “Do you want to see me again sometime?”
“I see you all the time.”
“I mean, like..not at the bowling alley. Like..more things.” He takes a deep breath. Looks Yoongi square in the eye. “Dates.” There it is. “Do you want to go out with me again?”
Yoongi grins from ear to ear and this time he doesn’t even try to resist it. “Yeah. I think I’d really like that.”
Jeongguk’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are red and he’s making strangled noises that Yoongi is mildly concerned about.
“You good?”
“Sorry. Your smile is just….your smile’s really nice.”
“Shut up.” Now Yoongi is blushing too, the all-telling flush heating up his neck despite his best efforts to contain it. “Don’t be gross already.”
“Aw, it’s cute when you’re embarrassed, though.” The little shit is grinning cheekily, eyes twinkling under the soft cafe lighting. He moves to get up, throwing a few bills on the table and leading Yoongi out of the cafe with a steady hand on his back that Yoongi swears is burning right through his shirt.
It’s chilly outside, and Yoongi’s hoodie is stuffed somewhere in his disaster of a car, but he’s still hesitant to leave.
“Hey, I don’t think I have your number or anything, so..”
Yoongi hands him his phone without hesitation. “Give me yours. I’ll text you.”
Jeongguk takes the phone to input his number, pausing with a snort. “Hey, 2015 called. They’re asking why you haven’t deleted Neko Atsume yet.”
“Don’t app shame me, bitch. It relaxes me,” Yoongi pouts, taking his phone and thumbing over the new contact page with a reverent touch.
“Well..I guess I’ll see you?” Jeongguk looks hopeful and sweet and Yoongi wonders how many dates they have to go on before it’s acceptable to kiss him silly. He settles instead on a quick peck, leaning up to brush his lips gently against Jeongguk’s cheek.
“Yeah, I’ll text you.“ He gives Jeongguk’s hand a small squeeze and pulls away. Jeongguk is grinning from ear to ear, hand pressed to his cheek like he never wants to lose the moment.
Yoongi keeps his cool until he gets to his car, finally letting out a squeal he didn’t even know he was capable of making.
“You two look like idiots.”
Jimin and Taehyung look up in unison, completely oblivious. Staring back at Yoongi on their matching t-shirts is a giant print of Jeongguk’s face, scrunched up and ugly and clearly not prepared for a photograph. Taehyung is holding a banner with Jeongguk’s name written across it very sloppily and in glitter pen. There’s a very poorly done drawing of what Yoongi guesses are supposed to be bowling pins. They vaguely look like dicks.
It’s Jeongguk’s first tournament with the Pocket Pounders (which Yoongi still refuses to say out loud) and Yoongi expects nothing less from his two best friends, honestly kind of admires the ferocity of their love and support. He’d met them a few weeks ago, at Jeongguk’s try out which they’d insisted on attending no matter how many times Jeongguk told them it wasn’t a big deal. They’d immediately pulled Yoongi in for a big hug, and that was that. He was one of theirs now.
“Is it too much?” Taehyung pouts, wiping a bit of rogue glitter off the leg of his pants.
Yoongi sighs. He supposes it could be worse with these two. At one point there’d been talk of skywriting, until Jimin had gently reminded Taehyung that they wouldn’t even be able to see it indoors.
“Are you guys going to do this at every time?”
“That’s our literal baby, you bitch.” Taehyung holds up his sign, waving it around. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” he shouts in Jeongguk’s direction. Jeongguk is standing by the bowling lane with his new teammates, pink Pocket Pounders t-shirt proudly spanning the width of his chest. He smiles fondly back at Taehyung and dabs, and the three of them groan in unison.
“Should I get out the confetti cannon?” Taehyung reaches down into a very large duffel bag sitting at his feet. It’s filled to the brim and Yoongi can see several air horns peeking out and what appears to be a battery operated fog machine.
“Baby, no,” Jimin takes Taehyung’s hands gently into his own and Yoongi is relieved. “Wait until he’s up to bowl.” Or maybe he’s not.
He catches Jeongguk’s eye and gives him a soft smile. Jeongguk looks happy and nerdy and embarrassing and Yoongi has never been prouder. His addition to the team had come as a surprise to nobody, he was young and cute and could bowl a mean set thanks to Yoongi’s help. He’d come out of try-outs with a brand new harem of adoring bowling boys and an opinion on ball weights.
Jeongguk turns to a teammate, muttering something before jogging over to Yoongi. He’s beaming and Yoongi would love nothing more than to kiss his smiling face all over.
“You came,” he says like it’s a surprise, but where else would Yoongi be?
Yoongi smirks, lifting his plain black band tee just enough to reveal what he’s wearing underneath, the same ridiculous t-shirt with Jeongguk’s big ugly face on it. Jeongguk laughs delightedly, wrapping Yoongi up in his arms in a big hug that he immediately melts into.
“I’m kind of nervous, though?” His eyebrows are furrowing cutely.
“Don’t be nervous, you’ll be great.” He’s always great. This isn’t even an official game, but Jeongguk is competitive as hell and Yoongi knows he wants to impress his new teammates.
“I think I need some sort of token..for good luck, you know?”
“I thought your ball was lucky.”
“I dunno..it’s my first game, and we’re up against Split Happens. I heard they’re pretty good, I think I need even more luck. I could probably use a good luck kiss or something.”
Yoongi hums like he even has to contemplate it.
“Yoongi.” Jeongguk pouts, and Yoongi knows he’s done for now. “Kiss me.”
And who can say no to that? He grabs Jeongguk by the collar of his ridiculous embarrassing shirt, dragging him down until they’re face to face, close enough that he can feel the warmth of Jeongguk’s breath tickle his cheek. He slots their lips together and breathes him in, that subtle citrus scent of the overpriced perfume Jeongguk insists on buying. It’s warm and perfect and Yoongi doesn’t even care that there are about 10 people watching. Jimin and Taehyung are cheering. Yoongi frees one hand from where it’s fisted in Jeongguk’s shirt to flip them off.
Yoongi can feel Jeongguk’s lips smiling against his own and there’s probably nothing better. He pulls away reluctantly, pressing a final kiss to the corner of Jeongguk’s mouth. “Good luck, baby.”
“More kisses.”
“Later. Without the audience.” Yoongi clears his throat, throwing a pointed look at their onlookers.
“But you said you like an audie-” Yoongi cuts him off with a hand over his mouth and Jeongguk’s eyes twinkle like the little shit that he is.
“Go get ‘em, tiger.”
“Victory coffee afterward? My treat.”
Yoongi nods. “I’ll text Jin and tell him to have our table ready.” Our table. Jeongguk gives his nose a small nuzzle that has the entire alley groaning in disgust.
If you asked Yoongi what his dream job was, he still wouldn’t say the bowling alley. Probably nobody would say that. But, all things considered… He looks at Jeongguk, arms still warm and steady around his waist, smiling down at him with the soft sincerity and affection that makes Yoongi’s heart skip a bit without fail. It’s still the best job he’s ever had.
“Hey, maybe bowling alleys will be our always.”
“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.”