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With a gasp, Yoongi’s startled from his nap by his dog barking in the backyard.
It reminds him that he was never supposed to fall asleep in the first place, was only supposed to let him out for the remainder of this episode of Chopped. But work had been rough today and classes had been long, so it’s no surprise when he’s too comfortable in his plush sofa and a commercial break wanes him to sleep.
He wakes up with a patch of drool sticking his cheek to the wrist that rests beneath his head and he grimaces, promptly wiping it on his jeans and sitting up, sliding his phone from the coffee table to check the time. It’s just after two in the morning and Holly barks again like he’s well aware of how late it is, pulling Yoongi to his feet. He stretches his arms above his head, letting out a groan at the crack in his spine before shuffling his feet toward the kitchen. He may only be twenty five, but his bones tell him he’s well past retirement. Considering he gets most of his enjoyment from cooking shows and sleeping, he thinks they’re right.
He sets his hand on the double lock of his sliding door and freezes in his tracks.
It’s dark outside, nearly pitch save for the street lights but he can clearly see the figure of another person in his yard, and they’re hunched over his dog. They’re touching his dog. Yoongi’s heart drops into his ass.
That’s what serial killers and robbers did, didn’t they? Took out the family’s line of protection to make their heist go over as easily as possible. It’s one of Yoongi’s biggest nightmares, his dog being harmed, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He’s never had to kill someone before.
The bellow of a laugh rings out and Holly’s barks, sweet and interested, make Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow. Were they - playing with him? How sick was it to play with him first? He can make out a pair of hands running over his ears and fingers parting through his fur and Holly’s tail is thumping excitedly. His little body jumps all around, ready to have his stomach rubbed or to run and grab one of his toys. Yoongi feels sick.
He flips on the gold toned light, hoping to alert the trespasser that he’s awake and aware. He’s about to grab the first thing he sees off the counter - an awful vase his aunt had given him as a housewarming gift - ready to start swinging it, but in the glow of his kitchen through the glass, the stranger drops onto his back in the grass, allowing for Holly to jump onto his chest. There’s a bright smile plastered to his face, strawberry blonde fanning against the ground, and he’s dressed in normal clothes. Yoongi would think a robber would dress all in black, maybe wear a mask. Not the loudest striped sweater he’s ever laid eyes on.
The guy throws his head back and lets another loud laugh rip as Holly licks all over his face, and he looks like he’s having the time of his life. Yoongi finds himself just watching for a moment, a mix of confusion and amusement painting his own features. Was this guy lost? Of all the places to be at two in the morning, he’s rolling around in Yoongi’s yard with his dog?
When the stranger seems to melt into the grass for a moment, eyes looking far away and jaw going slack before he giggles again, Yoongi gets it.
He unlocks the back door and slides it open, stepping onto his back patio and closing the door louder than necessary. It grabs their attention, the blonde lifting his head and offering a huge smile in Yoongi’s direction. Holly bounds around like he’s showing his new friend to his dad, and goes back to begging for more pets. Yoongi folds his arms over his chest.
“What are you doing?”
The guy can barely get words out through his delighted little laughs. Yoongi almost thinks it’s cute. “Is - is this your dog?”
“Yes.”
“I love him! I love him so much, do you know you have the cutest dog in the entire world?” His words are slurred, dripping thick and slow from his lips like honey. “I was… I was walking home and I saw him and he saw me, a-and we saw each other, and we connected. It was instant. I knew he had something to tell me.”
He was either drunk out of his mind or baked. Maybe even both. Yoongi snorts.
“Are you drunk?”
Blondie hesitates, and then another giggle. “Maybe so.”
Yoongi sighs. Somehow dealing with a murderer almost sounded easier than getting a drunk stranger out of his yard and away from his dog, who he seemed to be bonded to now. “Drinking makes you break into people’s yards to play with their dogs?”
“In my defense,” he begins, carding his fingers through his own hair, “it’s not breaking in if you left your gate unlocked.”
“Get up,” Yoongi interrupts him, in no mood to defend his own forgetfulness. “Come on, up,” he repeats, walking to the guy and holding out his hand. Their palms meet, a tangle of long fingers as Yoongi pulls him to his feet and instantly wishes he’d left him on the ground.
The boy is taller than him and unsteady on his feet, leaning into Yoongi and planting his hands on his shoulders to steady himself. Yoongi instantly reaches to hold his waist, rolling his eyes for the first of what’s probably going to be many tonight. He knows he doesn’t have much room to judge the guy for being so wasted - Yoongi gets pretty sloppy when he goes out, too. People like to buy him shots and to him there’s probably nothing dumber than refusing free booze.
“Do you know where you are?” Yoongi asks when they’re stable, looking up at the stranger from beneath his dark fringe. He smells like tequila and salt and cologne, his cheeks tinged pink. This close to his face, Yoongi feels like he’s definitely in the danger zone of being puked on, but the guy smells good and his smile is pretty, too bright. It’s all only irritating Yoongi.
“I’m at your house,” he sneers, and Yoongi wants to pinch the skin that’s under his hand.
“Where did you come from, dickhead? If you say your mother I will call the police.”
The guy barks out a laugh like that’s exactly what he was going to say. It takes him a moment to calm down, Yoongi staring at him hard. He wants to drop him.
“I was at… I was at White’s,” he says, and Yoongi notes that that’s only a block away. “and like, I told my friends that they could… could l-leave without me because I was gonna call a. Call an Uber. And it was obvious all night, like, I knew they wanted to go fuck. I didn’t wanna be in a car with two people that want to go fuck, you know? But then my phone was dead so I was like okay, I’ll just walk. But I don’t… I don’t live here. Over here. Like at all.” He erupts into another round of laughter and Yoongi wishes he could see what was so god damn funny.
Another sigh at his situation. Yoongi really wishes he was as careless as he liked to make it seem. Anyone else would have called the cops on a drunk stranger on their lawn and let them deal with it, but Yoongi’s leading him toward the house, feeling sorry for him. If he was lost on - presumably - the other side of town with no phone, gone off who knew how much tequila, he’d hope someone would help him out. You’re getting too soft, he thinks.
“I’ll get you a ride, dude, just sit down,” he says, closing the door behind them and trying to navigate around Holly’s excitement of having a visitor. Yoongi takes the boy to his living room and sets him on the sofa. He lands with limp, heavy limbs, sinking into the cushions. “What’s your name?”
There’s a long pause from the blonde while Yoongi goes back to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, so he repeats himself. “Hoseok,” comes a grumble from the pillows. Yoongi tries the name on his tongue, whispering to himself as he turns the tap off. He returns to the living room and holds the glass out, using his free hand to grab one of Hoseok’s to wrap his fingers around the glass and accept it. The wrinkle in Hoseok’s nose is more annoying than it is cute in the moment.
“I don’t want any water,” he whines, huffing before taking the smallest of sips anyway.
“Well, you need water. Maybe if you’d been drinking more of it tonight you wouldn’t be here right now, being forced to drink it. Now drink it. Faster.”
“It’s not so bad that I’m here,” Hoseok says after a longer sip, “could’ve ended up anywhere and I end up in a hot guy’s yard. I think that’s pretty lucky.” He raises his eyebrows with a smile tugging at his wet lips and Yoongi hates that his cheeks go up in flames.
Hoseok tries to put his feet on the coffee table and Yoongi promptly nudges them off. “Is this your thing? You drink yourself stupid in hopes of running into someone that’ll take care of you and your charm will get you laid?” Hoseok’s smile widens.
“It is now,” he holds up his glass in a toast and takes another drink. His head lolls against the back of the couch, gazing at Yoongi with distant eyes. “You think I’m charming.”
Yoongi thinks this is his second eye roll, but he can’t be sure. Fishing his phone out of his pocket he thumbs through his apps, pulling up Uber. “Where do you live, Hoseok?”
“I uh,” he stretches out his legs and groans low in his throat, “like, Yonsei.”
“I need an address, Hoseok.”
He wrinkles his nose again. “Stoooop, it feels like I’m in trouble. And I could be older than you. You should be,” he hiccups, “respectful.”
“Oh? How old are you?”
“Twenty four.”
“I’m twenty five. So considering that and the fact you’re piss drunk on my couch at two in the morning you should be the respectful one, Hoseok.”
Hoseok lets out a long, dramatic sigh and closes his eyes. “Okay, hyuuuuung.”
Yoongi peers at him over the top of his phone and can’t help but smile. At least he’s goofy, albeit a little annoying, and not insufferable. It could be worse, he thinks. A lot worse.
It goes quiet while he logs into the app, Holly curled up on the floor between the sofa and the arm chair Yoongi’s sitting in. The sound of the clock in his little dining room and Hoseok’s steady breathing are all he can hear and he looks up again to make sure the boy hasn’t fallen asleep. “Hey, bro, stay with me. I need your address.”
Hoseok’s eyelids had started to droop but he opens them wide, like he’s forcing himself awake. He shifts on the couch to easier push himself up, leaning his top half forward like he’s about to stand. Yoongi watches his movements closely, worried when Hoseok purses his lips and tucks his chin in. He’s about to call his name to snap him out of it when a thick stream of vomit pours onto his carpet.
Yoongi’s on his feet faster than light. “What the fuck!” Hoseok just keeps puking, right there, right onto his cream colored carpet. Yoongi could fucking cry. He runs to the bathroom to grab the garbage bin and shoves it under Hoseok’s chin where he redirects his chunks, heaving like it hurts. Yoongi’s gonna be the next to throw up from the sight of it all.
“Why didn’t you say you were gonna puke! What the fuck is wrong with you!” Yoongi yells, tugging his fingers harshly through his own hair as he ponders how the fuck he’s gonna bring up that orange stain. When Hoseok’s face is bright prink and he can finally breathe again, he looks like he wants to die. Yoongi feels the same.
“I didn’t know,” he sobs, “I thought it was j-just gonna be a burp or like, l-like I had to shit or something I didn’t know I’m sorry!”
“So you would’ve shit on my couch is what you’re saying? Would that have been better than throwing up on my carpet? Did you think that would make me happy?”
“No! I don’t know, hyung, I’m sorry! I’m so sor-” Another round of nausea kicks him square in the stomach and brings his face back to the trash can.
By the time Yoongi’s locked Holly away so he can’t try to eat the mess and it’s mostly cleaned up, Hoseok is lying on his stomach on the couch, puke bin close by, snoring deeply. Yoongi sits on the floor with his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes and inhaling the potent scent of carpet cleaner. All he’d wanted when he came home from the longest Friday of his life was to have a good, relaxing night. He isn’t sure how he ended up nursing some drunk college student who’s now comatose on his couch, but at least it’s quiet now. Calm. He feels like a single parent that’s finally coaxed their restless toddler to sleep.
He wants to crawl into his bed and act like the scene in his living room isn’t really there, but he’s worried that Hoseok might throw up again and either miss the bucket or choke on it. So he puts his cleaning stuff away and grabs some blankets and a pillow from his bedroom, draping a quilt over Hoseok’s sleeping frame before he curls up in the arm chair. He keeps his eyes on the boy even in the low light, studying his serene features and he pities him, knows he’s going to be massively hungover when he comes to.
Yoongi laughs to himself, finally. He can’t believe his Friday night could end up like this.
With his swollen lips pouted and his lashes resting against his plum cheeks, Yoongi thinks Hoseok’s adorable. It’s almost like he hadn’t wanted to strangle him fifteen minutes ago.
He only wishes they could have met under less weird circumstances.
♡
When the late morning sun filters through his lids and pulls him awake, Hoseok is frozen with confusion. This isn’t his living room, or Namjoon’s, or Seokjin’s, or anyone’s he knows. His first assumption is that he’d let someone take him home from the bar last night, but he’s got all of his clothes on save for his shoes. He sits up and the pain in the back of his head nearly knocks him out. He squeezes his eyes shut and moans at the soreness he feels all over, resting his face in his hands. You said you were gonna pace yourself, you dumb shit.
Small yips trail in from another room and then there’s a little brown dog at his feet, sitting politely and waiting for acknowledgement. Hoseok pries his hands away and lets a wide grin consume his face because for some reason this dog is extremely familiar, but he still can’t place where the hell he is.
“Hey buddy, what’s going on? Look at you, you’re so pretty,” he coos, scratching the dog’s head and letting him lick his hand.
The air smells like vanilla and it’s warm, there’s clutter everywhere but it’s tasteful, and something about it feels like he’s at home. Like he could lie back and stay here forever - or at least all day. But he’s sure the owner won’t want to see that he’s still here, overstaying his welcome, so when the dog is satiated, Hoseok stands and arranges the pillows neatly.
He finds his shoes over by the front door and returns to the sofa to put them on. With his hands on his knees he scans the room for his phone and panics a little; did he really get robbed at someone else’s house? Did he leave it at the bar?
He’s about to start filing through the couch cushions when a key turns in a lock and the front door opens, stiffening Hoseok’s back. He suddenly feels extremely small, ready to get yelled at and kicked out as the homeowner steps through the door. He’s short yet he’s all legs, black hair a little messy atop his head. He’s in all black but it’s cozy, sweatpants and a jacket, contrasting starkly against his pale skin. Hoseok’s earlier words to their dog ring back in his head at full volume. Although he woke up fully clothed, he somehow hopes he got with that last night.
“Good morning,” the boy says, voice deep from sleep. Hoseok knows he’s staring and he probably looks as dumbfounded as he feels. He has a paper bag tucked under his arm and a to-go cup in each hand. He offers Hoseok a soft smile and one of the coffees, snorting when Hoseok hesitates to take it at first, like it’s a trick. “Uh, hey” he so eloquently replies.
“There’s a shit ton of muffins in here,” Hoseok is handed the bag, much heavier than it seemed. “I only ordered two but Jimin gave me a thousand. Chaotic good.” The guy disappears to the bathroom and Hoseok takes the moment to sit there going over calculations in his head of what the fuck is going on. Who is Jimin? Who is this guy and why does he look as familiar as his dog? Is Hoseok in the Twilight Zone?
“How are you feeling?”
What he assumes are two ibuprofen are dropped into Hoseok’s hand and he throws them back without question, washing them down with his coffee and gagging at the taste of bitter black. “Like I got hit by a plane.”
The boy laughs and takes Hoseok’s cup, heading to the kitchen with it. Hoseok watches him - doesn’t want to get poisoned - and finds him placing creamer and a container of sugar on the counter. “Sorry, I take my coffee black. Didn’t really wanna wake you to ask what you liked.” He looks at Hoseok expectantly, ready to pour the creamer.
“Oh, uh, just a lot of cream. And a lot of sugar. Just... sweet,” Hoseok says. “Please.” Something else familiar clicks in his head, then. “Hyung.”
He furrows his eyebrows and looks down at his hands, bending his fingers awkwardly. He hopes more details of last night will come back to him, but he’s drawing a blank. He tilts his head up to meet the guy’s tired eyes when he brings his coffee back. “Thank you,” Hoseok smiles tentatively, taking another sip. A beat of silence passes as they sit there on opposite sides of the couch, his host reaching for the remote and flicking through his TV’s channels.
“What… what happened?” he asks finally, rigid with anxiety to know what he might have done. If he did something weird or fucked up, the guy’s not showing it. He’s acting like he’s unfazed by Hoseok’s very presence.
He sighs, flicking his hair from his eyes. “We didn’t hook up, just so you know,” he begins. The temperature of Hoseok’s body immediately heightens at his words and he averts his gaze just before the guy gives a very gummy smile.
“According to you, you were walking home from the bar because your phone died so you couldn’t call an Uber, and you saw my dog so you broke into my yard,” he looks at Hoseok pointedly, “whether or not my gate was unlocked you entered my yard uninvited, so you broke in. I thought you were a burglar, and I found you playing with my dog and I was ready to kill you. I was literally going to come out and murder you. But then I found out you were just drunk and lost and you really like dogs.”
It’s embarrassing, but Hoseok honestly expected much worse from himself. He’s shocked, but he isn’t surprised. It’s like his mind is being read, though, because the guy continues:
“So I brought you inside so I could call you a ride, and you threw up on my floor and passed out. Now we’re here.” He takes a nonchalant drag of his coffee, draping one leg over the other. Hoseok is mortified.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah. You should have been there. It was wild.”
“I… am so sorry.”
“Yes, you are.” But the guy doesn’t seem mad. He’s laughing, in fact. Now Hoseok’s laughing because the situation is ridiculous and he hates himself. “What the fuck did you drink?”
Hoseok sighs as he ponders the memory. “Mostly Fireball… I think there was some Patrón involved. What a fucked up combination.”
“Well, now you know Fireball and Patrón will put you in stranger’s yards and your puke on their white carpet. Bet you won’t do that again.”
“Are you kidding? I’m doing this every weekend. Make sure your dog is out next Friday.” Hoseok grins and the boy beside him does too, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Hoseok peels the wrapping from one of the muffins in the bag, sitting in a silence that doesn’t feel awkward, surprisingly enough. “Why aren’t you mad at me? I wouldn’t expect anyone to be so chill after… that.”
The guy shrugs. “Oh, believe me, I was. But I had to clean up your chunky vomit for twenty minutes last night and I didn’t even know you. There’s nothing that could be awkward between us now. We’re bonded for life. You could pull down your pants and shit right here and I’d be like, ‘oh, there he goes.’”
Hoseok laughs louder than he meant to and reaches a hand out to smack the boy on the arm. He’s so sorry, so humiliated by who he was last night, but he’s grateful that he ended up with someone that took care of him. He could have gotten himself arrested or something, wandering to anyone else’s house. Lost in Seoul on his own in the middle of the night, he could have gotten himself hurt. He makes a point to tell his friends to never leave him alone drunk ever again, no matter how much he protests.
“God. I’m really fucking sorry.”
“Honestly, it’s fine. I'll pull the couch forward a few inches and I won't even remember the stain. And aside from you being a mess, you weren’t bad company. It was an interesting turn to my night, for sure.” He tilts his head to smirk at Hoseok. “But like, I definitely would have preferred if we had just hooked up.”
Hoseok wills himself not to let his high cheeks burst into flames.
“Still, thank you,” he murmurs. “Uh, I’m Hoseok.” He doesn’t know if he ever introduced himself last night (he’s too friendly sober or not, so he’s sure he did) but he mostly uses it as a catalyst to get this guy’s name, because there’s no way he’s going to remember it on his own if he ever told him.
“I know. I’m Yoongi.”
Hoseok nods and tries it out. “Yoongi. You’re really nice, Yoongi-hyung. I really appreciate it. Everything.”
“Don’t ever tell anyone that I was this nice,” Yoongi says, but he’s still smiling, and Hoseok hopes he never stops. “I can take you home after you eat. Do you need anything?”
He shakes his head. “I’m okay. Thank you.”
Yoongi tucks his feet beneath him and finally settles on a show for the two of them to watch, reaching into the bag and taking a muffin for himself. Hoseok raises his eyebrows at the screen, mouth full of blueberry. “Chopped?”
“It’s my TV. If I want to watch Chopped on my TV we’re going to watch Chopped.”
“No! I fuckin’ love Chopped. My friend Seokjin’s the only one that ever wants to watch it with me. I’m pleasantly surprised.” And a little bit in love. So he says that, too. Yoongi lets out a loud, beautiful laugh. It makes Hoseok beam.
“Yeah, you should be in love with me. You’re forever in my debt.”
They fall into another comfortable silence save for intermittent exchanges about the show, and it branches into easy conversation. Hoseok learns that Yoongi loves to cook but never really thought to pursue it, settling for a literature doctorate that he’s nearly done with. Hoseok had finished his public relations degree last year and had never really thought about going to grad school with it, but he admires Yoongi for his drive. He comes to find that there’s a lot to admire Yoongi for.
Hoseok doesn’t know what comes over him, but he takes the chance, leaning his head on his hand and gazing at Yoongi thoughtfully.
“Can I take you out sometime?”
Yoongi peeks at him from the corner of his eye and raises an eyebrow in a challenge. Hoseok is sure he’s going to get rejected but he’s ready for it; it was worth a try. He just knows that he definitely wants to see Yoongi again. In a normal setting at a normal time where he can only make as much of a fool of himself as he wants to. He at least owes Yoongi that.
“Why, so you can throw up in my car this time? Or maybe it’ll be your car. Will we be in a taxi? Maybe you’ll just throw up right at the table, that would be cute.” Yoongi snickers. Hoseok smacks his arm again, lightly, with the back of his hand. He can’t help but to giggle.
“Stop it, hyung! My dignity is already paper thin.”
Yoongi hums, drumming his fingertips on the side of his coffee cup. There’s the softest of smiles playing on his pink lips and he turns to look at Hoseok, nudging him with his elbow. “You’re paying.”
Hoseok perks up and nods once. “For sure. The least I could do.”
“You’re damn certain.”
“Thank you for taking care of me,” he says for the thundredth time. Yoongi rolls his eyes and that’s something Hoseok is already getting used to. Contrary to what Yoongi probably hopes to accomplish with them, they just egg him on. “It’ll be a fun story to tell our kids.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“Yah,” Yoongi laughs, picking out another muffin and thoroughly shoving it in Hoseok’s mouth. “Eat so you can get the hell out of here.”
♡
Yoongi has an affinity for taking care of Hoseok, and Hoseok spends the next three years thanking him for every little thing - holding the door, making dinner, even thanks him for the first kiss and, silently, every kiss after. ‘Thank you’ turns into ‘I love you,” and even two years after that, Hoseok only hopes the ring that’s been burning a hole in his pocket will show Yoongi well enough his gratitude for everything Yoongi’s ever done. For loving him so easily. For never holding anything against him.
(It does.)