Chapter Text
The first thing on Yoongi's mind when he wakes up is: no.
So, when the bright lights rudely interrupt his slumber, he immediately groans, grabs a handful of blankets, and cocoons himself. Hazily, Yoongi can hear an exasperated sigh along with the sound of more curtains being swept open.
“You have to wake up, hyung.”
He disagrees.
A sigh is heaved from above, and Yoongi feels tugging on his blanket. He’s far too weak to fight back, limbs lying uselessly on the side as he lets the rude hands peel the covering off his body. Is this what being picked on feels like?
“Hyuuuung, wake up!” the person almost shrieks in his ears, and with a final tug, Yoongi is detached from the love of his life.
I hate my manager, he thinks as he opens his eyes to an exasperated Namjoon, who looks equally suicidal and murderous. Not a good look on the younger man, Yoongi decides.
“It’s already well past noon, and you’re yet to even brush your teeth. We have to meet the realtor in an hour and you smell like”—Namjoon sniffs the air—“a pigeon.”
“What.” he gruffs out, throwing a glare at his manager, who shrugs.
“I’m just stating the truth, hyung. Now wake—” he pushes Yoongi’s back, making him sit up, “up.”
Yoongi wants to flop his body back to the warm, comforting sheets, but Namjoon’s arms are cemented on his shoulders, holding them there with no room to bulge. He tries wiggling out of the grasp but sighs when the beefy young man is determined to keep him upright.
“I’m not a child, Joon-ah.”
“You sure act like one, hyung. I tried calling you for the past four hours and you didn’t pick up—”
“I was sleeping!” Yoongi slumps, trying to figure out whether or not he could fall back asleep like this.
“Clearly you were. Anyway, you have to get up. We are meeting the realtor in an hour and you need to look reasonable—”
“Why do you sound like a butler, Joon-ah?”
“I’m your manager, might as well be one. Now hurry up and get your ass in the bathroom!” Namjoon says with decisiveness to his tone, leaving no room for argument.
Usually, Yoongi would reply with a witty comment or even outsmart the man, but he’s just woken up; his brain has yet to fully prepare for the day at hand, much less a verbal spar with Namjoon. He sighs as he trudges into the bathroom, eyeing the amenities. Surely, he doesn’t need to look that presentable, right?
Yoongi sighs as he squints at his phone screen, trying to make out the time. It’s 12:03, not too late into the day, and since he is on vacation, he should be able to sleep at least until 1:00 pm — but no, his manager just has to be a heartless bastard who can’t let him live in peace.
He guesses there are worse things to wake up to than splurging money on an overly expensive house. Yoongi would know — he spent the last 10 years working his ass off to become the producer he is today. Starting from just a tiny basement with a digital keyboard that seems older than time itself, Yoongi has now established his career as a successful musician.
He likes to think that he’s talented, but he knows he wouldn’t have made it this far without luck and Namjoon — his number one supporter, manager, tax fraud extraordinaire (considering how smart he is, though Yoongi can’t be sure since he had tried convincing Namjoon into it, but was declined every time), but most importantly, his best friend.
They met when Yoongi was handing out fliers for his upcoming song, and Namjoon, ever the sweetheart, offered help. Their friendship was as easy-going as the younger is, so it didn’t take much back and forth before Namjoon became his manager.
While Yoongi started out — and is still — based in Korea, his producing works have put him on the map, extending his works to international regions, especially America.
He frequents the country, needing to fly back and forth between here and his home country every few months for gigs. It’s fortunate that he’s even able to do this, but Yoongi gets tired of the hotel rooms after a while, and even if that sounds like the capitalistic nightmare that Yoongi doesn’t want to see himself as, it is the case. He wants to have a place to stay temporarily without switching every few days, leading him to the decision of getting a house.
Yoongi doesn’t particularly love Bel Air more than any part of Los Angeles, but the place is a luxury that most people can’t afford — and Yoongi isn’t most people. Plus, it really helps that Bel Air’s population is low since Yoongi hates socialization and anything of that sort.
And while the neighborhood has that particular aspect of opulence, as most of the people living there are probably above the law since money is apparently solvable to most things criminal, Yoongi has been warned that his neighbors could be throwing lavish parties up into the dark, dark night. He became visibly sullen at that, leading to the request for an isolated estate. He’s been told that it could up the starting price, but what good is money for — if not to spend?
At this moment, he’s trying to shave off his stubble, the hairs unnoticeable but unhelpful in pursuit of the clean look that Namjoon requires of him. Yoongi sighs. Namjoon really is like his mom, even if the man is over 180cm tall, has arms bigger than a column, and destroys everything he touches.
Yoongi sighs again as he thinks of his outfit — the agency Namjoon connected him to didn’t state that there were any dress codes, and simply, it would be ridiculous if there were. Nonetheless, Yoongi doesn’t think that his hotel robe is too appropriate of a fit to be meeting an estate agent — especially if there’s a reputation to uphold.
He looks at the neatly folded clothes in his wardrobe and takes the ones that are more suitable for the glaring heat that he is about to unwillingly subject himself to. Apparently, that means skinny jeans and an oversized t-shirt because Yoongi’s fashion sense is that of an emo high schooler.
He heaves yet another sigh; there’s no need to impress whoever he’s about to meet. Yoongi is just looking to buy a house. And even if the agency that contacted him had ensured that they’d send their best realtor, he doesn't feel the need to over-dress. Yeah, this outfit will do, he thinks to himself as he looks for his underwear — then grimaces when there aren’t any clean ones.
Scowling, Yoongi looks outside of the hotel door where atop the side table is a cotton bag embedded with the words Hotel Bel-Air. Inside is his underwear, cleaned and dried and Yoongi silently thanks the gods above.
He dresses up relatively quickly, only struggling with pulling the damned jeans up. He curses his big fat ass before looking back and mumbling, ‘I hope you know I didn’t mean that.’
Yoongi glances at the clock; only fifteen minutes have passed. Damn, Namjoon better thank him for this.
Yoongi texts the younger that he’d be in the restaurant for breakfast, and when Namjoon replies with a confirmation, he grabs the key and struts out.
♡
Yoongi is thankful that Namjoon is here.
The kid gives good advice, even if he’s a little bum sometimes. Plus, it’s not manager duties by any means, but Namjoon is present and ready to give his unasked-for but highly-appreciated opinion about the house they’re about to visit.
The agency had curated a shortlist beforehand, giving Yoongi a selection of suitable houses to his needs: recently built, modern, lots of sunlight, no (loud) neighbors nearby, lots of greenery, etc.
But he is a busy man, or so he tells himself. He doesn’t have time to look through every single house on that list.
Thanks to technology and the agency's understanding, he has been able to narrow down The One, along with another one as backup, but The One is good enough for him and gratifies all of his wishes.
Namjoon whisks him away in the middle of his second bite of toast. At least Yoongi has had his fill of coffee — and Namjoon even brought him another one! A considerate young man, Yoongi is sure to put a good word in for him when he meets satan or god, though the general public had made it clear that his sexual orientation would ultimately doom him for eternity beside the former. Not that he’d mind.
Nonetheless, Yoongi is dragged into a Jeep, his chauffeur bowing and holding the door open while Namjoon goes on and on about the importance of punctuality — even if they’re not late.
Yoongi lets out a sigh (there are too many at this point, he doesn’t think he can keep track) and takes his phone out to play with it before hearing Namjoon whine as he types something out. When Yoongi peers over, it’s a long-ass essay — yes, essay, of Namjoon apologizing to the realtor for being late. Yoongi takes a look at the digital clock — no they’re not.
In fact, they’re leaving the hotel with twenty minutes to spare, and Bel Air is fucking tiny. It can’t take them that long to reach the place.
Yoongi considers raising this point, but the incessant “We’re going to be late, hyung, we’re going to be late,” leaves no room for argument.
He sighs each time Namjoon peeks at his phone, which is apparently every forty-five seconds because he is a worrywart, and Yoongi is way too lax about this. When Yoongi tells him to loosen up and that they can be fashionably late, Namjoon shoots him an intense glare before looking at the time again.
Yoongi thinks that he’s supposed to scold Namjoon for that — isn’t he Namjoon’s boss? But before Yoongi can even form the thoughts, they’ve arrived at the driveway. Plus, all that worry is for nothing as they arrive at the estate five minutes before the designated meetup.
And while they’re not so early as to seem like acceptable citizens, they’re not late either — which makes it a win in Yoongi’s book. What he considers a loss though, is that it’s really fucking hot outside.
When Yoongi steps out of the car, he tries going back in. This makes Namjoon, who was following him to get out, squeak indignantly from the blob of a human trying his best to embrace the car's air conditioning.
“What are you doing?”
Namjoon hisses, and Yoongi just shrugs, perfectly content to stay in the car, even if he’s sitting in his manager’s lap. The running air-con blowing at his face makes it all worth it.
To his surprise, Namjoon manhandles him out of the car, the older of the two cursing “motherfucking himbo” under his breath while the younger one pretends he didn’t hear shit.
Yoongi almost wants to screech at the sky, not because he’s a vampire and needs to express his disdain for sunlight, but because he wants to shoot Apollo and his stupid fucking face for existing.
He really thought that his day couldn’t get any worse, from being pulled out of bed before the afternoon and made to go out and be a responsible adult to the sun quite literally setting him on fire, but fate had to fuck with him instead of eating his ass like a good boy — because standing in front of Yoongi is this realtor, and the sight of the man alone makes his eyes twitch.
Yoongi doesn’t know which is worse: the fact that the man doesn’t seem to be even slightly affected by the heat underneath his elegant suit or how downright gorgeous he looks in said outfit.
Are realtors required to be hot? Is that, like, a necessity in order to hire them? Because why the hell is he so hot?
“Hello,” the man says in a voice. A voice. Yoongi refuses to describe it, but he would deny having any amount of attraction to said voice.
“Hello! I’m really sorry that we’re late! Something came up and we were unable to leave at last minute and—”
Namjoon’s words go in one ear and out another since Yoongi is slightly more occupied with the realtor, who clasps his hands together and shakes his head while Namjoon apologizes excessively. He squints at the man — who introduces himself as Kim Seokjin and knows Korean, which is great because that’s Yoongi’s preferred language of communication, even if his grunts and yahs take up half of the sentences.
There’s something, something slightly off about Seokjin, that Yoongi cannot put his fingers on. Maybe it’s because the sun is literally burning them to death, and this man is wearing a darned suit. A diggly darned suit! His collar is folded neatly, the cream necktie with subtle Gucci imprint contrasts with the cold, black material of his blazer. He’s not too sure where the suit is from, but undoubtedly somewhere expensive if the necktie is any indication.
And the face.
Gosh, the face. Yoongi hates it. He hates it so much.
Seokjin is handsome — but not just any kind of handsome, he’s handsome handsome. And Yoongi knows he isn’t making much sense right now, but when has he ever? Seokjin’s face, though, makes every goddamn sense in the whole universe. As a matter of fact, Yoongi is pretty damn positive that this face is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. If Seokjin were alive in Archimedes' time, man would’ve eureka-ed a whole lot sooner.
When Yoongi turns his head away from the man, he is met with the sight of a car parked in the driveway — which he assumes is Seokjin’s, that looks impeccable as well. Yoongi glowers, his scowl deepening.
Surely, not everything this guy owns is perfect — to a T?
But no! Oh no! It just has to be, because even with his limited eyesight and the insolent sunlight blocking half of his vision, Yoongi can still make out the Porsche logo glistening near the headlights like it’s a damn trophy.
Yoongi sighs in defeat, right in time when Namjoon introduces him to Seokjin.
Seokjin raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, “Are you not thrilled to be looking for a new place?”
The guy speaks with no dialect, Yoongi realizes. Of course he has to be a city boy.
“Not really,” he answers, “didn’t get enough coffee.”
Yoongi expects to be left alone like a child, and Namjoon and Seokjin would come back to conversing like they were before, outside, in the heat, letting Yoongi wither like the old man that he is. But to his surprise, Seokjin bursts out in a squeaky staccato laughter, and Yoongi wonders if it is rude to cover his ears right then.
The man looks very attractive laughing even if he is technically stripping Yoongi’s ears free of his eardrums. His whole body moves along with mirth, his perfectly plump lips parted and his shoulders shaking with each second.
Why can’t he tear his eyes away? Yoongi wonders. Is it because he wants to smother the man, or is it because he wants to kiss him? Maybe he'll never know for sure, since emotional constipation has been a lifetime companion to a point where it took him years to even acknowledge Namjoon as his best friend
For now, Yoongi has come to the conclusion that Seokjin irritates him to the core.
It’s a strange sight to see the man straighten up after his fit, face transformed into such a severe expression that it was as if he never so much as chuckled in the first place. This only works to further irritate Yoongi, as here he is, in jeans and t-shirts and goddamn sweating out of his buttcrack while the man in suit looks like he just got out of a magazine shoot.
“Well, Yoongi-ssi, don’t be so…” Seokjin takes a dramatic pause, causing both Yoongi and Namjoon to stare at him to continue, “bitter.”
Yoongi groans. Namjoon groans. Seokjin once again laughs like a hyena.
At the back of his mind, Yoongi is rationalizing whether he could hit the impeccably dressed man because of it. Maybe he’s being dramatic, because no, Yoongi doesn’t condone violence — but he despises the pun so much that his thought is teetering on just that.
The realtor continues, “I’m sure you will cheer up once you get in. the air conditioner is on so I don’t know why we’re talking out here really.” Yoongi sighs in relief at that. “Now, shall we take a look at this brewtiful place?”
Yoongi wants to die.
♡
The house is indeed — brewtiful , as one might say. Yoongi cringes internally at the sound of the wordplay still echoing in his brain.
The stone entrance takes them to the main door; clouded glass said to give as much sunlight and privacy as possible. Succulents are lining the path, and of course Namjoon is more interested in them than the house in itself.
It's a three-bedroom, three-bathroom house — perfect for a family, Seokjin said, eyes darting between him and Namjoon. Yoongi doesn’t know why, but the need to deny it was there, so he did. Seokjin was taken aback by the statement but regained composure rather quickly when it was explained that he and Namjoon are strictly business.
It’s a one-story house as well, with no stairs in sight, which is excellent for Yoongi because he’s so unfit that the presence of stairs alone would make him sweat. The rooms are decorated primarily in beige and brown, the color palette warm and homey. There’s a big stone fireplace in the living room; the gray stands out from the lighter color of the walls and furniture.
“The doors in the living room,” Seokjin notes, “are floors to ceiling, made to open effortlessly,” he says with a tug of his finger, opening them out to the patio, “giving us indoor-outdoor living that is exclusive to Bel Air.”
Yoongi would have taken time to appreciate it a bit more if it weren’t for the cold air being flown right out and hot air-flown right in.
When Seokjin notices Yoongi glaring at the doors like they offended his mother, he lets out the squeaky laugh of his then tug it back closed. The furniture is tasteful, varying from different shades of white to beige. The space looks cozy, and Yoongi likes it.
The kitchen counter space is covered by a massive marble slab. Seokjin seems to have a weird fascination with marble decor, as he speaks highly of it, from how the material is heatproof — he can set the pots and pan straight from the induction cooker — to the way they are intricately made.
“These scars right here are evidence of a Calacatta slab, if you will, one of the most expensive kinds of marble yet—” he smooths his hand over the slight crack that Yoongi has trouble seeing — even when squinting.
Yoongi only half-understands what Seokjin is saying next, partly because his mind is on Seokjin’s hand caressing the cold stone with the tip of his slender and slightly crooked fingers, partly because he doesn’t understand what he was saying.
Seokjin is intoxicating, he concludes after a short while. And Yoongi just wants to taste the cool of the realtor’s fingertips against his own tongue. He doesn’t know what got into him, but this man is… scary.
Perhaps ‘scary’ isn’t the right word, more like… ‘otherworldly.’
Nobody should be this perfect — it’s a rule, Yoongi thinks. If someone can look this good, in those clothes, in this scorching weather, then they’re probably not human. And Seokjin looks like a human. Which is not good. Because that means Seokjin is disguising as a human, which is even worse for Yoongi because he would really like to be kissed until he’s breathless right now.
On second thought, maybe monsters aren’t that bad. Like, maybe Seokjin would have a weird dick, which is okay, right? Monsters should be treated with love, too; his mother taught him to treat everyone with kindness — and that applies to monsters as well, right?
Embarrassingly, Seokjin says his name multiple times before Yoongi replies.
“Is there something wrong, Yoongi-ssi?” Seokjin asks, his head tilted in confusion but Yoongi just wants to lean up and kiss him.
“No, no,” Yoongi replies, hands waving in front of him, pointing forwards to the furniture, “I’m just thinking about... the decoration, and uh, all that.”
Silence.
It takes approximately three and a half seconds for Yoongi to realize.
They’re in the bathroom.
Seokjin gives him a smirk, and it takes everything in Yoongi not to shove his head into the toilet and flush himself away from the situation.
He wants to scream and then hit Seokjin on the arm, where he fills out his suit a bit too well; the biceps look scrumptious whenever he flexes. Namjoon isn’t here to help him. The manager opted to admire the garden while Seokjin and Yoongi explored the interior.
Seokjin seems to pay little mind to Yoongi’s embarrassment as he brushes through the topic with light giggles before leading him to the art studio.
It’s a bit secluded from the main house, taking up most of the west wing.
“The previous owners were artists,” Seokjin says as he motions to the decorative paintings in the studio, “this art room is the center of the property, boasting natural sunlight—” he points to the doors, “and includes secured heating and cooling, perfect for the paint conditions. They were very meticulous about it too, installing numerous air conditioners to make sure it’s never moist here.”
Yoongi nods along to the rhythm of Seokjin’s words; this time, his mind is wandering to how he can turn this room into his own studio. The area seems to be well equipped with enough amenities to conserve his belongings, so that is a plus.
This time, when Yoongi snaps out of his daze, it’s because of his own volition. Seokjin has quietened and is now looking at him.
Yoongi looks up, confusion evident in his eyes, but Seokjin smiles in response. Not the guffaw when he says a bad pun, making both Namjoon and him facepalm so hard the muscles temporarily turn to stone, but a genuine, honest-to-god smile.
It does something to Yoongi, makes his stomach do little weird flips and skin a little tingly, but it shouldn’t because he has just met Seokjin, and while the fact that the man is better looking than the entirety of Los Angeles right now is quite damning, it isn’t normal.
Yet again, he doesn’t strive to be normal by any means — does he really care?
“Um…?” That is the epitome of Min Yoongi not caring. A goddamn ‘um.’ Not even a slightly cool one, just an ‘um’ that is uttered out by a shy gay man confronted by a handsome man whose sexual orientation is unknown.
Life isn’t easy on him.
But that’s not all because Seokjin lets his smile grow a bit wider, his eyes scrunching a bit more, and Yoongi’s stomach is tap dancing now.
“I never asked what your occupation is, I wonder if this kind of room would be helpful for you. After all, your files mention wanting a ‘closed off’ space — and I thought this fit the description.”
Oh.
Yeah, of course, it’s work for Seokjin right now. Yoongi doesn’t know why, but his heart sinks just a little.
“I’m a music producer.” Maybe from irritation, Yoongi lets his dialect slip. He then collects himself, though, coughing a bit, “I operate mainly in Korea, but since I’ve been coming to America for gigs and award shows, it’d be nice to have a place to stay and actually work.”
Seokjin lets out a little ‘ah’ at the explanation before shooting Yoongi another smile.
His stomach is beat-boxing now.
“That’s amazing! Sorry, I’m more of a ballad person, but now that you say it, I think I’ve heard of you before,” another smile, god, Yoongi is going to combust, “my little brother is a fan, I’m pretty sure.”
“You’re pretty sure?” Yoongi asks, tone more amused than quizzical.
“He has many phases.”
“Ah,” he giggles, Yoongi isn’t too unfamiliar with phases himself, “understandable of course, let the kid figure out what he’s into.”
“Men. He’s into men.” Seokjin says with a giggle, hand coming up to cover his laugh.
“Huh?” Yoongi replies, a bit incredulous.
Seokjin seems taken aback by what he’s said as his whole body jolts, seeming like he’s just fully processed the words.
“O-oh-” Seokjin stammers, his pupils shaking, looking at anywhere but Yoongi, “I-I’m sorry, that was a weird joke to make, and wildly inappropriate too.” Seokjin bows and Yoongi follows, even if he wants to cut Seokjin off right then and there, “I shouldn’t have just said something like that out of the blue, I’m really sorry.”
Seokjin is apologizing profusely for something Yoongi isn’t even remotely upset over.
“Don’t be?” Yoongi tries to reassure him, but it comes out as more of a question than something reassuring. Still, he’s allowed to take Seokjin’s joking manners as… acceptance, right?
Seokjin’s slightly bowed head now looks at him — who is very much out of words. Yoongi tries to scourge up the remaining ones that are floating in his walnut-size brain.
“Me...too?”
How eloquent of him.
Seokjin’s perfect eyebrows raise.
Coming out to your hot realtor less than two hours after you've met the guy isn’t the most insane thing Yoongi has done to date, but indeed, it’s up there in the top ten. Nonetheless, he swallows and adds, “you know, like men?” timidly, as if he’s afraid of a bad reaction, as if he didn’t come out to the entire world a few years prior.
Lips parted into an ‘o’, and Seokjin's mouth stayed in that position for a while. The air between them befalls into a silence, tension so thick that it’s cuttable.
Yoongi’s just about to pull a lol jk like Seokjin just did when they both hear a smashing sound.
Seokjin looks horrified, eyebrows glued to the top of his forehead at the sudden noise but Yoongi, having been a veteran at being Namjoon’s friend, knows exactly what just happened.
In a haste, he takes Seokjin’s hand in his and bolts out, ignoring how well Seokjin’s fit perfectly into his. Namjoon is a hazard in and of himself, so Yoongi pretends that the handholding is not an excuse to actually hold Seokjin’s perfectly sculpted hand but to drag them out to the patio in case Namjoon has hurt himself — or possibly damaged something that would get them in trouble.
Seokjin follows him with long strides whereas Yoongi is almost sprinting. Size difference, his traitorous mind supplies, but before he can tell it to shut the fuck up, they’ve arrived at the crime scene.
And there it is — the culprit, hunched over a potted plant, except the plant is not in a pot but on the ground, and the pot is broken into pieces on the sidewalk.
Yoongi heaves a huge sigh.
“Kim Namjoon.”
“Hyung, I swear I have no idea what happened.”
He needs to take a seat.
And a seat Yoongi takes, pinching the bridge of his nose while trying his best not to curse at Namjoon. He opts for something less vulgar, but threatening still. “Kim Namjoon, you squeaky grocery cart,” he grumbles and feels Seokjin’s body stiffening before vibrating with quiet giggles, ”what did you do.”
It doesn’t sound like a question because it isn’t one.
“So… I may or may not have gotten excited and picked up these friends right there-” his pronunciation of friend is kinda screechy once Yoongi’s glare hardens on him, “and they may or may not have slipped from my hands and fell down the floor. Sorry bud.”
It’s hard to stay mad at him.
“They…?” and apparently Seokjin agrees, as his only takeaway from this is how Namjoon addresses the succulent.
“Yeah! They! Since this is an Echeveria succulent, a monoecious kind of succulent, they have both male and female reproductive parts.” Namjoon sits up, hand grabbing the plant, and points to its part as if he’s in biology class.
Seokjin looks amazed, so Yoongi doesn’t shoot Namjoon with a threat just yet… but he will. Soon.
And in fact, when they are leaving from the place, Seokjin waving at them, Yoongi tells Namjoon that he’d harvest the younger’s toes when he’s asleep.
But that doesn’t deter from the fact that Namjoon has broken a property of… the property , Seokjin says, and Yoongi pulls a mildly annoyed face in order to hide how much he wants to giggle at the statement.
He assures doesn’t mind paying for it as Seokjin bites his lip when he explains the process of compensation. It’s all kind of worth it in the end, though, since Seokjin gives him a personal business card. The material feels expensive in his hand, the name Kim Seokjin is printed and centered along with his number and email.
Minimalistic, but elegant.
Somehow, it describes Seokjin quite well; Yoongi smiles to himself as he puts the card in his wallet.
Seokjin leads both men to their waiting car, and he asks if Yoongi has any questions.
Yoongi has so many questions, but unfortunately, none of them are about the house he’s supposed to buy. He bites back an urge to ask Seokjin about whether he’d be free later, mainly because Namjoon would be chewing him out, partly because he's too shy to speak like an average person when in the proximity of a relatively attractive human being.
And the guy in front of him is nowhere near ‘relatively attractive’; he’s the Korean personification of Adonis if Yoongi hasn’t been reminded enough.
Yoongi is so, so screwed — or at least he wishes to be.
♡
Yoongi’s body moves automatically to the bed once he opens his room door. By the time that they arrived back at the hotel, it’s already half-past seven, and Namjoon’s stomach was growling.
The poor kid has been feeling bad the whole trip back, having caused an ordeal. Yoongi didn’t mind that much after all; it got him a personal (personal!) business card.
But Namjoon’s a good kid, and he has a lot of emotions building up inside those muscles, so when Yoongi tells him to meet up at the restaurant and to celebrate since Yoongi is quite optimistic about getting the house, Namjoon looks as if he’s on the verge of tears. Whether it be from Yoongi liking the place in one go or him not getting berated, Yoongi doesn’t ask.
As long as he’s happy, right?
But Yoongi needs a little time to process everything. Buying a house should be kind of scary, now that he wants to drop this kind of money in a foreign country, but all Yoongi can think about is Seokjin, Seokjin with his stupidly pink lips, all pouty and pretty whenever Yoongi shares tidbits about himself. Seokjin, who is so fascinated by the marble countertops that he spent one-third of the tour talking about them, even when they had already moved to the next room in the tour.
Yoongi decides that he immensely enjoys Seokjin's presence.
But where to go from here?
They’re in a professional relationship. Yoongi is the customer, and Seokjin is the seller. It’s hard enough to befriend the grandma who sells fish cakes near his apartment in Korea, much less an incredibly successful realtor whom he had met once in America.
Yoongi sighs against the sheets.
Why is he so bummed over this, over finding a great house that he likes?
Perhaps it’s because, once he’s made the purchase, there will be no excuse to contact Seokjin?
But this is the first time they’d made contact. Why does the other man have such a grasp on him?
There’s something inexplicable, but Yoongi tries to push the thought away. Tonight, he’s going to celebrate with his (one) friend in one of the most luxurious hotels in America. They don’t need a reason to, but Yoongi chalks it up to the new house anyway.
So, with great effort, he pushes his body up from the bed, resisting the siren call to plop right back down. Shoving his keys, phone, and wallet into his pocket, Yoongi leaves the room, and hopefully his thoughts, behind.
♡
At this point, Yoongi doesn’t even remember what they had ordered. What first started out as a celebratory dinner then moved to the location of the bar.
The hotel’s bar is beautiful, and it helps that there aren’t many people on weekdays, so Yoongi and Namjoon don’t really have to hold themselves back when ordering drinks. Since Namjoon has been feeling off all afternoon, Yoongi decides to treat the kid, letting him get whatever at the bar.
Three Sexes on the Beach and two tequila shots later, Namjoon is stuttering on his words, and they are both barely able to sit up straight. Namjoon’s muttering something regarding the environmental impact of NFTs while Yoongi is too out of it to listen.
His head, once again, is littered with thoughts of Seokjin, though this time, it treads into a more dangerous zone.
Seokjin’s body shape, God, Yoongi would die to see him shirtless. The man in a suit is already a spectacle, shoulders broad with long, lithe legs looking like the picture-perfect personification of a god. Yoongi should have taken a picture, damn it. He could have had a pathetic handjob over the image. Why the hell didn’t he take one?
Angrily, Yoongi eyes the empty shot glass in his hand and is about to ask for another glass before he sees him.
Seokjin, in the flesh, strutting into the restaurant section of hotel Bel Air, where he’s staying at. Seokjin, who Yoongi has been fantasizing about for the past hours. Seokjin, the very guy that Yoongi thought about masturbating to a picture of.
It’s not a good look.
Seokjin is accompanied by three other men, and they are good-looking, but they aren’t on Seokjin’s level as the man possesses a drool-worthy face, a get-on-all-fours-while-letting-him-walk-over-his-body kind of handsome. These guys are more Yoongi’s would-hook-up-with-once-and-spend-the-following-week-daydreaming-about-them level of good-looking.
Something is brewing up inside him, looking at those beautiful men surrounding Seokjin.
Yoongi squints. There’s a guy with a whole sleeve of tattoos clinging onto Seokjin! Does the realtor like guys with tattoos? Yoongi doesn’t have tattoos. He should get a tattoo.
Turning to Namjoon, who’s explaining something to the bartender — something along the lines of crabs… and directions… and Yoongi’s head hurts.
“Joon-ah,” he nudges the younger, “Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon-ah—”
Namjoon turns to him, question evident in his gaze.
“What tattoo should I get?”
The way Namjoon’s pupils widen is comical, looking like they’re about to pop out of the eye sockets.
“Why’d you want-” Namjoon makes vague motions in the air, “tattoos?”
Yoongi sulks.
“Seokjin likes tattoos.”
“The realtor?”
Yoongi nods enthusiastically, maybe a bit too much for his head as it starts throbbing. Namjoon makes thinking motions, eyes deep in thought as he lets Yoongi broods on his barstool.
Yoongi waits for Namjoon to speak up, eyes trained on the younger one as he contemplates with his hand under his chin. At first, it looks like an overzealous display of thinking, but after a while, Yoongi’s pretty sure that Namjoon has fallen asleep — his whole body slumping onto the bar with an indignant thump .
Yoongi sighs, then he turns to Seokjin, sneakily, of course.
The man’s laughing along with the trio, hitting a guy with permed hair. Yoongi glares at him. Who thought it was a good idea, having a perm with dirty blonde hair? It looks like the guy’s wearing ramen noodles. Yoongi kind of wonders what it would taste like.
Namjoon’s snoring now, breaths steady as he fidgets in his sleep. Yoongi has an undeniable urge to smack his head.
Shaking off the thought, Yoongi stares at Seokjin again, now being hugged and tugged away by the tattooed boy. Yoongi has a distaste for that guy, and totally not because he has big muscular arms that look way better than Yoongi’s dainty ones. Tattoos aside, the guy looks good, too good. And Yoongi doesn’t like him being all touchy-feely with Seokjin, who is by no means Yoongi’s, but still.
And Seokjin just gave the guy a kiss on the cheek!
Yoongi hiccups. He turns to Namjoon, who is still out cold, and flicks his ear. Namjoon bolts right up and he darts his eyes around, looking like a deer lost in headlights. When he looks at Yoongi again, Namjoon makes a face.
“You okay, hyung?”
“Peachy.” Yoongi shrugs as he replies, fingers moving to his glass, but there’s no liquor inside.
“Somehow I doubt that.” A foreign voice, which both Yoongi and Namjoon turn their heads to. It’s the bartender, wiping his mixer and shooting them a bright smile.
Yoongi squints. That smile is really bright, too bright, and quite literally blinding. He kind of wants to duck under the bar and hide — but he figures that wouldn’t be a good idea, considering he has some — though very little — dignity to uphold. Instead, Yoongi just stares dumbly before asking, “what do you mean?”
The bartender laughs.
“I’ve seen you moping all night,” he points to Yoongi, “plus, ordering two separate shots of tequila while your friend is out like a light is kind of a dead giveaway.”
“I didn’t order two…” Yoongi mumbles.
Namjoon laughs.
God, everyone is laughing — except for Yoongi. He wants to laugh too, but his brain doesn’t allow it. Instead, it instructs him to pout. Yoongi turns the stool like a child, so his back is facing Namjoon and the bartender, but that means Yoongi is face to face with Seokjin’s table. Grumbling to himself, Yoongi turns back around, making a 360 on the barstool, eliciting snickers out of the two.
He gives them both a glare — but much to Yoongi’s chagrin, his drunken eyes mixed with a glare turns to be quite halfhearted, and Namjoon coos over him.
Yoongi fights back the urge to fire him on the spot, opts to just glare at the younger to little to no effect, as Namjoon gives him a lopsided grin. The bartender giggles at the wordless conversation as he continues to clean the glasses, and if Yoongi squints, he can make out the name tag: Hoseok.
Yoongi kind of wants to ask Hoseok for an opinion on what to do about Seokjin, considering he’s with Namjoon right now, and lord knows Namjoon gives shit love advice.
Love? Who said anything about love? Yoongi’s head asks, but he doesn’t reply.
“Say, Hoseok-ssi.” Yoongi speaks up, words a bit slurred from how heavy his tongue feels, “If you meet a really hot person in a really professional setting but you really want them to fuck you, what do you do?”
Namjoon gives him a dirty look, and Hoseok looks as if he’s about to drop that cup.
“Well?” Yoongi urges, raising an eyebrow to the best of his abilities.
“Who could you even be into?” Namjoon asks, “you’re a literal rock doing a poor job at cosplaying as a human. I haven’t seen you show emotions in years.” He kicks Yoongi in the shins.
“None of your business.” Yoongi replies, fingers finding the glass and downing its content.
“I’m literally his manager.” Namjoon says to Hoseok, who was just watching bemusedly from the side now nods, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Then shouldn’t you know who he’s talking about?” Hoseok prompts, and Namjoon makes a face.
“I should, shouldn’t I?” Namjoon trails off, and he’s back to that thinking position that he fell asleep in. Hoseok pats his head softly, and soon enough, they both hear soft snores radiating from Namjoon.
Turning his head to Yoongi, Hoseok asks, “Was it that professional?”
“Huh?”
“The setting,” Hoseok takes Yoongi’s glass, then brings out water instead, “Was it that professional?”
Yoongi thinks, then shakes his head. “Nah, but it is business between us. We haven’t met before but, Jesus,” Yoongi drawls out, “his face, his shoulders, his legs — everything about him — he’s perfect! And I'm like, fifteen leagues of attractiveness away, and like…” Yoongi thinks of the words, “I can’t contact him.”
“Why not?”
“It’s business!” Yoongi almost shrieks, “it’s strictly business, and once I buy the house, I can’t even talk to him anymore. I’m just a client to him!” Yoongi looks at Hoseok, who looks like he’s trying his best not to smile- which irritates Yoongi.
“What.” he shoots a glare at the bartender, who only shrugs.
“Well, I shouldn’t give you any advice now since you’re clearly intoxicated and I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret-”
Namjoon mumbles, interrupting him mid sentence. “Don’t buy the house then, hyung.”
Hoseok only smiles, his shoulders vibrating as he nudges the glass closer to Yoongi.
He takes a sip begrudgingly, the water somewhat clearing off the fog clogging up his brain. Hoseok doesn’t say anything else — not by choice since he gets called over by a couple sitting at the end of the bar. Yoongi sees them eyeing Namjoon’s sleeping form quizzically, and honestly, he can’t blame them.
♡
Yoongi tried to ask Hoseok for advice, but the bartender had his hands full as the bar started filling up. Yoongi would have stayed back longer — but he saw one of Seokjin’s friends pointing to the bar, and everyone at that table nodded enthusiastically at the motion. He figured that they wanted to get some drinks, and Yoongi tried to flee the scene as soon as possible.
Unfortunately for Yoongi, he has a heart, and so he couldn’t just leave dear Namjoon sleeping on the bar like that. Fortunately for Yoongi, though, his heart is half the size of a normal human being, which prompts him to wake Namjoon up by flicking his forehead until it turns red instead of carrying the taller man to his hotel room like a normal person.
Namjoon was understandably moody after that, but Yoongi reasoned with him that he was far too big for Yoongi to carry. What if Yoongi dropped him? Granted, Namjoon’s I.Q. deteriorates when he’s sleepy, so Yoongi didn’t have much trouble convincing the guy that he is indeed a good boss, and the marks on his forehead are mostly due to the unconventional sleeping pose.
Yoongi sent Namjoon off to bed like a mother tending to a child — even if they’re both well past 25. His head, no longer inconvenienced by the sight of Namjoon, crawls back to the thought of Seokjin. When he gets back to his room, Yoongi’s mind is occupied by only Seokjin, and Hoseok’s advice sparks up again.
‘Just don’t buy a house, then.’ he said, and now that Yoongi thinks about it, it’s pretty reasonable, the advice.
Yoongi likes the current estate, but it wouldn’t hurt to look at a few more, right? It’ll give him more options, and perhaps he’ll find one that he even likes more than the current house.
Yoongi convinces himself as he drifts to sleep that it doesn’t have anything to do with Seokjin, even if it has everything to do with Seokjin.