#( sir are you not gonna button up ur self? )

[diabelskoga]

once again I am staring respectfully

[yourmomni]

When You Were Mine(1)

summary: What happenes when you smart mouth bostons richest man and the 2nd richst man in the world WARNING: language, suggestive (future parts) , 18+ (in future parts), weapons, blood, drinking chris evans x oc

Growing up in Florida snow wasnt a thing you saw every year like other states, rain was the closing thing you were going to get. But in Boston it just seems it never stops snowing. You were currently running down the side walk in your 6 inch heels to work cursing at your self for waking up so late. The thick snow not helping you at all with your voyage. You opened your Offices door and waltzed in like you didnt just run 1 mile in the snow in heels, while wearing a puffer jacket and holding a coffee. " Good morning Ms. Simmons thier asking for you upstairs." The front dest worker greeted me as i walked past her desk " Good morning Ms. Smith thank you"

I quickly made my way on to the elevator once the door closed i pratically threw my puffer off and straightened my skirt and fixed my white top. Applying more red lipstick to my lips and fluffing my hair a little. "Be calm be firm" I repeated to myself over and over. The elevator door opened and i immediatly smiled greeting everyone i passed by on my way to the confrence room. I throwed my purse at my desk chair and grabbed the papers on the desk and walked into the room ''Good morning everyone sorry for the wait" I passed out the papers i had to the people who were in the meeting. "The snow kind of got to me this morning." My boss was glaring at me from the corner probably for being 30 minutes late. "Okay lets talk about our company's numbers."

The meeting was over and i was currently waiting for my boss to call me into his office. his assitant came out and pointed to his door signaling that he was ready for me. I smoothed down my skirt again and slowly walked to his office i hesitated before opening his door " Close the door behind you." i closed the door and walked closer to his desk. " Mr.stance." i acknowledged him " Nina you embarrased me today." i shifted in embarrasment " You were 30 minutes late to the most important meeting of this companys future and mine." i nodded " im really sorry sir it wont happen again." " Your damn right it wont your lucky the meeting went well today or you would of been be out of a job." I hung my head. " Next time your late dont even bother walking through those doors, now get out."

It was now time for you to clock out and the walk home to the parking garage was longer than usual. You were so ready to get home and pour yourself a glass of wine to ease your mind and hopefully make you forget about what happened today.

You made it to ur car and start making your way home. The drive was nice and calm at first until a black cadalac pulls infront of you completly cutting you off. You hunked your horn " DUMBASS YOUR GONNA GET SOMEONE KILLED." You pulled into the next lane and back into the other cutting the guy off. "asshole" you mudder. over the day entirely. coming to that conclusion you feel like wine just isnt going to cut it tonight and type in "Bar" into your GPS, which to your luck was the next left turn

you parked your car infront of the bar, walked in and ordered the strongest drink they had. Waiting for your drink a man slides in the seat beside you "can i get a gin & tonic." he said tapping the table. You swirled the straw that was in your drink around around " add her drink to my tab." you wipped your head towards the man. He wore a white button up with black dress pants. He was handsome with light blue eyes. He smirked at you, you rolled your eyes. "Thanks but no thanks i can pay for it myself." He sipped his drink in amusement " Some people would be greatful to have a drink payed for them especially when they look like that." you chuckled and turned ur seat towards him "Okay listen here buddy ive had a very shitty day and i would like to enjoy my drink in peace with out some prick trying to hit on me or pay for my drink so please if you really want to do me a favor, how about you sit their and drink your white boy gin & tonic and leave me the fuck alone." he looked stunned but amused. He swallowed the rest of his gin and got up walking towards the door. I let go of the breath i was holding back " you know cutting someone off is very rude." my eyes widend and he smirked "have a nice night."he winked and left the bar. A couple minutes later a black cadalac drove away

[borderlinedennisr]

fic: mac/dennis, dennis-centric

i started thinking about what dennis would do if ur heard that ms kl*nsky had just passed, and i got carried away

warnings: csa mentions, suicidal ideation, self harm mentions, alcohol abuse

.

Dennis is drunk. It’s not out of the ordinary. What is, however, is the fact that he’s wearing a half-buttoned suit, Italian leather shoes, and he’s sat in a waiting cell with three other arrestees.

His head is swimming. Every noise reverberating through the police station is starting to chip away at his patience. Could someone just get him some fucking ibuprofen? He’d happily comply to anything for 400 mg of Advil and a cup of hot coffee.

He tries to focus. He taps a steady rhythm on his knee. His vision is cloudy. He had a lot to drink tonight. And this afternoon. And this morning. His stomach gives a wrench and he involuntarily groans.

“Turn the other direction,” someone hisses at him. “I just bought these shoes.”

Dennis wants to laugh, but everything hurts.

“Hey, this dude’s ‘bout to hurl! Can we get a trash can or something.”

“I’m fine,” Dennis protests. He holds up a hand, but it trembles.

“Dennis Reynolds?”

He points his head in the direction of the voice, but closes his eyes against his blurred vision. He might actually throw up if he doesn’t get it under control.

“It’s time for your phone call.”

Dennis is hoisted upward involuntarily. He’s glad he doesn’t have to think about who he’s going to call. His head is pounding.

.

Mac’s woken up by the sound of his phone vibrating against the coffee table. The sad part is it’s only 9:30 P.M. He’d clearly fallen asleep watching some ... game. His hand grabs the phone and answers it automatically.

“What’s up?”

“Mac? It’s Dennis.”

Mac’s heart stumbles a little. Dennis sounds weird.

“Dude, where are you? Are you okay?”

Dennis heaves a long sigh. “Look - I’m a little bit drunk and I, uh - well - just come to the police station, okay? I’ll explain in person, when ... when I’m more sober.”

Mac blinks. “You got arrested?”

“I’ll explain when you get here,” Dennis insists.

“Dennis, are you okay? What were you doing tonight?”

“Mac, I’m kind of on a tight schedule, here.”

Mac doesn’t seem to register that, because he continues waxing poetic.

“It’s just - you’ve seemed off lately.”

“Mac,” Dennis says sharply.

“Yes?” Mac asks

“Just come to the police station. I have to go.”

He hangs up, leaving Mac listening to the dial tone. Mac sighs.

.

Nobody at the police station knows how to do their goddamn job. Mac just needs to make sure Dennis is okay. He seemed spooked on the phone. In that way that Mac knows to associate with dissociative episodes.

“I’m just looking for my roommate,” Mac presses, pleading with the officer currently on desk duty.

“Sir, you’re gonna have to wait a minute; I’m on in important call,” she snaps out.

“You don’t understand,” Mac retorts. “He’s - he’s vulnerable. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

“Sir, if you just give me one second - “

“I can’t wait a second. I need to know he’s okay. He - he gets in these moods sometimes, and well - I don’t really know what he did to end up here, but he’s usually more of a danger to himself when he’s like that, and - “

“Dietrich?! Get over here, and get this man out of my face.”

Mac watches an officer at least a foot taller than him round the desk. He falters.

“Look, I’m not trying to cause, trouble. I’m just worried about my friend - “

“Mac!”

He turns, a grin of relief spreading across his face. Dennis is walking down a hallway, hands cuffed, being lead by the arm of another, nicer-looking officer.

Mac makes a dash for it, skirting the freakishly tall Dietrich, and heading for Dennis. The officer holding his arm grips tighter.

“Excuse me, sir. Please take a step back.”

Mac does. “I’m his roommate. Just tell me what his bail is, so I can get him out of here.”

The officer sighs. “He doesn’t have a bail yet. We’re on the way to his initial hearing right now.”

“What? What are you charging him with?”

“Indecent exposure - “

“It’s not what you think,” Dennis immediately protests. “I - uh - “

“Disorderly intoxication.”

“That’s just downright - “

“And grave desecration.”

Dennis just purses his lips in respond.

“Not to mention your priors.” The officer tugs him roughly. “Now let’s go.”

“Wait - “ Mac starts.

“Boyfriend! You can come too,” the officer says. “Now, quit wasting my time.”

Mac pulls out his cell phone as he follows after them.

“I’m calling Frank,” he tells Dennis. “We’ll figure this out.”

.

“Mr. Dennis Reynolds.”

“That’s me,” Dennis mutters.

“You’ve been brought to council under the chargers of indecent exposure, disorderly intoxication, and grave desecration. Do you understand these terms.”

“Yes,” Dennis says shortly, “but if I could just explain - “

“You’ll get your chance in a minute. Now, - “

“Ayooooooooo!”

The doors to the room fly open, and through them walk Frank, Charlie, and Dee. Dennis groans. He’s still way too drunk for this.

“Uh - excuse me - who are you?” the judge asks.

Dennis wishes he could break out of these handcuffs. Just to give Frank a good neck-wringing.

“Not. Now.” he hisses through his teeth.

“I’m here to pay my son’s bail.”

“Right,” the judge says. “Well, that is what I’m trying to decide. If you could please take a seat and allow me to do my job, we will get there.”

She clears her throat.

“Mr. Reynolds, when you were brought in, your blood alcohol content was .25.”

Somebody whistles. Dennis doesn’t want to know who, but he has a feeling it’s his dumbass father.

“I was drinking today, yes.”

“That excessively?” The judge’s gaze bares down on him over the rim of her wire glasses.

“It’s been a hard day,” he forces out. His throat is suddenly dry.

“Mr. Reynolds, it would be easy to assume the ramifications of grief in your incident, had we only the public intoxication and the presence of yourself in a graveyard, yet -“ She makes a show of checking the police report. “You were found urinating on a grave.”

Dennis clenches his jaw. “Did you get a name on the grave?”

The judge checks the file. Her eyebrows crease together. She glances to someone off to her right, who then approaches her. They whisper something Dennis can’t hear.

“We did not get a name, Mr. Reynolds. However, the owner of the grave has no relevance to - “

“Klinsky,” Dennis interrupts.

“I beg your pardon,” the judge says.

“Klinsky,” Dennis repeats. “The name on the grave was Klinsky.”

Dennis doesn’t have to look to know that behind him, all members of the gang have become rife with tension. The judge clearly notices it too, because her expression changes. She glances at the members of his support party.

“I take it you know this person,” she says, awkwardly clearing her throat.

Dennis laughs, darkly. It probably doesn’t help his case.

“She was my school librarian.”

He lets the silence ring for a second. He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going. He doesn’t like sharing, but it feels almost involuntarily.

“When I was 14. She - “ Dennis swallows hard. This better fucking emancipate him. “She molested me, several times.”

After a long, agonizing second, the judge takes a deep breath and collapses against the chair.

Dennis feels impatience buzz under his skin. “What, you don’t believe me?”

The judge shakes her head. “Mr. Reynolds, I’m dropping all charges. You’re free to go.”

A couple odd claps ring out. Dennis doesn’t care. He shoves his wrists to his public defender, who motions for the attending officer to join them. He unlocks the handcuffs. Dennis glances at his long-fading scars while he rubs his tender skin.

Mac is the first to reach him, placing both hands on either of Dennis’ upper arms. “Den, are you okay?”

Dennis chuckles. “Why wouldn’t I be? I just got off scott-free. I don’t even know why she believed me.”

“Because you’re crying, Dennis.”

His eyes snap up to meet Mac’s. An involuntary hand feels his face. His fingers come away with tear stains.

“Oh.”

Mac wipes a fresh tear from his cheek.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dennis shrugs. “It was just a chance I saw that Facebook post. Everything after that was rage.”

Mac cups his jaw with one hand, keeps the other on Dennis’ bicep.

“Let’s go home, get you sobered up.”

Dennis doesn’t really like the idea of sobering up, but at least if he’s with Mac, there’s a silver lining.

.

Dennis falls asleep with ease, lying comfortably in his bed. Pleased, Mac passed out beside him, foolishly reassured.

It’s still dark outside when Mac wakes up to an empty bed. Panic floods Mac’s bloodstream. He unceremoniously de-tangles himself from the blankets and stumbles upward. He hears a violent fetching sound and hurries to bathroom.

Dennis is pale-faced on the floor, and in the fluorescent light from overhead, Mac can see the excessive damage he must have done to himself in the past 24 hours. He makes a mental not to keep on eye on the state of the wounds while Dennis regains his composure.

“I drank . . . a lot.”

Mac eases himself to his knees.

“How much are we talking?” he asks, placing a hand on Dennis’ clammy forehead. “Should I be worried?” He grabs Dennis’ chin and forces it up, trying to get a better look at Dennis’ eyes.

Dennis clears his throat. “Nah. I always thought alcohol poisoning was pretty much how I would go anyway.”

Mac frowns. “Don’t do that - “

Dennis laughs, darkly. “It’s not like I have a history or anything.”

Mac’s expression flips, and he looks at Dennis with glassy eyes and a trembling mouth. “Were you - ?”

Dennis shrugs. “Who knows.”

Mac grabs his neck, almost roughly, and cradles his hand against Dennis’ skin. “Talk to me,” he begs.

A warm, disruptive tear slips down Dennis’ cheek. He sighs. He’s tired of involuntarily crying. He’s still blasting chunks, but god does his hand itch for the bottle.

“What do you want me to say, Mac?” he asks, voice low and gruff, barely above a whisper. “That I’m angry? That I’m sad?” He offers a crooked smile. “That I’m furious at that bitch for fucking me up beyond repair? And maybe I wish I could have gotten even just a word in edgewise before she decided to croak? That now I’m so fucking depressed that I want nothing more than to just kill myself so I can stop feeling this horrible and endless hurricane of emotions?”

He spits into the toilet. “Because I’m fine. I’m glad that perverted old bitch is dead. I’m ecstatic.”

Mac heaves a deep breath. “Dennis - “

He’s saved the trauma of continuing the conversation by another wave of vomit forcing its way out.

.

When dawn breaks, Mac hears his name in a soft voice. It takes him a moment to register that Dennis is awake in the bed beside him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks earnestly.

Dennis’ voice trembles. “If our situations were reversed, I would remove everything sharp from our apartment.”

Still a bit bleary, Mac takes a second to digest the words before fully realizing what Dennis is saying. Then he’s on his feet.

“Is your secret blade stash still in the loose floorboard under the sink?”

Dennis blinks. “I - “

Mac nods. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

By the time Mac has packed every knife, blade, and vaguely edgy kitchen utensil in a plastic bin and dropped it off at Dee’s, Dennis is asleep again.

Mac doesn’t disturb him.

.

It happens when they’re eating breakfast. Mac looks up to discover Dennis crying into his eggs. He makes a move to get up, but Dennis shakes his head.

“Den?”

And he laughs. He laughs and he wheezes and his eyes start to water even more and Mac just stares, confused.

“Mac, you should have seen everyone’s faces when I walked into the funeral home drunk as shit and grabbed the mic. I made up a touching story about how I babysat her cats once and may or may not have stolen a family heirloom in a crime they cannot prove.”

Mac stares at him, half horrified, half amused. “You crashed funeral?”

“And I flirted with her grandson. Sorry, babe.”

“It’s fine. Clearly, it didn’t work out.”

Dennis heaves a stuttering breath the tears starting up again.

“I always hated you guys for bringing her up, but you were always right.”

“Dennis - “

“And, I know I’ve done a lot of bad things, and - “

He presses a shaky hand against his chest. He might be hyperventilating, but he can’t stop babbling now.

“Dennis, you don’t have - “

“Sometimes I think - sometimes I think I deserve it.”

“ . . . Dennis.”

He smiles at Mac. “You can’t argue that, and you know it.”

Mac shakes his head firmly. “You were a kid - “

“And look at me now.”

“Dennis Reynolds, stop being fucking stupid. You were a kid. You did not deserve that, and you still don’t. And I’m sorry.”

Dennis looks up, curiously. “For what?“

Mac shrugs. He’s crying. Dennis doesn’t comment on it.

“That that happened to you, man. It’s like - you know how you and everyone else kept trying to get me to come out of the closet and admit who I was to myself?”

Dennis nods, uncertain where this is going.

“It was killing me. Keeping everything bottled up, not letting myself feel things, forcing myself to live in fear everyday - it made me hate being alive. Dennis, you’ve been suicidal since we met. You have to let go of everything you’re holding inside, and this is the start. I know it hurts now, but it’ll change.”

Dennis looks to the ceiling and squeezes his eyes shut. A sob chokes it’s way out of his throat.

“I don’t even know where to start, Mac,” he whispers.

“Anywhere,” Mac tells him.

Dennis wishes he has the energy to smile, but he’s so tired. He pushed his plate away. He wipes at his eyes and sniffs.

“Can we call in today?”

[jaehyunpeachy]

i am you // you are me - yoonkook - 5k

some weird soulmate shit happens.

read: yoongi keeps running into this cute cashier boy. and they keep matching?

(music to listen: 1. belief - mabinc 2. i am you you are me - zico 3. soulmate - zico ft. iu)

man, seoul has a completely different atmosphere and air to it - way different than in daegu. literally, the air smells different here and yoongi thinks it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but the fact that he notices this small and random detail just makes him a little more depressed because he longs for his cozy home back in good ole d-town.

he’s lounging in a flimsy lawn chair on his apartment balcony and distastefully sniffs the stuffy seoul air again. his mind wanders back to old, familiar places - the bustling family restaurant, his mom’s soothing voice, his father beckoning him to taste the family’s famous galbi-jjim , his brother’s annoying method of showing affection via noogies when yoongi grudgingly accepts his chores for the day.

the fond memories in his head are juxtaposed with the outside sound and sight of the bustling nighttime atmosphere. everything in seoul is so,fast-paced , even the night life, which he can clearly see from his vantage point. he hasn’t really gotten used to it all, more like, barely tolerating it. he’s kinda stubbornly refusing to settle completely which serves to make him more homesick and then he’s stuck in this cycle of stubbornness and nostalgia and longing and stubbornness and nostalgia and longing.

yoongi breaks his nostalgic reverie when he stands up, the chair loudly scraping against the floor. if he’s going to drown himself in memories and be a sad, depressed sack he might as well do it right - with some alcohol.

he checks the fridge to grab a can of beer but fuck - he’s out. all that’s left is a pack of sliced turkey meat, a sad pile of lettuce, a lone half-empty gallon of milk, and a fully empty carton that used to hold eggs.

damn, his produce is mocking him.

just a few hours ago when he opened his fridge he saw the same turkey, lettuce, milk, and egg carton and the word minimalism smugly appeared in his head. yoongi prides himself on not being wasteful; he’s able to use each and every one of his ingredients until they’re completely gone, thank you very much.

but seeing as he’s in a less than ideal mood to be holed up at home and he has a dire need of alcohol, yoongi tears his eyes away from his sad produce, grabs his wallet and keys, and wrestles himself into a big sweater to combat the chilly night-time seoul air. he grumbles as he steps out of his apartment complex. daegu was always on the warmer side. who knows, maybe the seoul air will help clear his head. maybe.

yoongi finds himself deep in thought as he’s walking, a result of his melancholy mood and the atmosphere of night probably. as a result, he doesn’t realize that he’s actually not walking in the direction of the nearest 7-eleven. when he hears the distant sound of a car angrily honking five times - goddamn, chill - he’s shaken out of his thoughts and glances at his surroundings.

nice. he’s in a random alley.

well, way to go min yoongi. this night is just continually fucking with him and becoming more and more disappointing. he takes a minute to inwardly curse at himself for his obliviousness before he has the smart idea of grabbing his phone out his pocket. he googles the nearest convenience store. the top result is ten yards from his current location.

he rounds a corner and walks a few paces before he spots it. only a single neon sign that reads “ level” adorns its storefront and he assumes that’s what the store is called. yoongi power walks toward it, through the front door, and straight towards where he thinks they should be keeping the alcohol because dammit, he is a man on a mission.

somewhere on the other end of the store, which isn’t actually far from where yoongi stands now, the clock goes from 11:59 to 12:00.

yoongi surveys his surroundings. he’s bombarded with neon colors from every angle, which makes the store feel bigger than it actually is. from the outside, it looked cramped and dull and drab and not colorful. due to this very misleading outward appearance, yoongi immediately thinks that this is exactly the type of store that is empty seventy-five percent of the time and will most likely be out of business within the next month.

okay, it is midnight, but yoongi can tell when a store is being frequented or not, in this case: not. it’s the only possible explanation as to why his sneakers squeak so unusually loud on the unusually pristine tiles.

he strides towards the refrigerated area and for some reason, he feels a strange sense of familiarity, like he’s been here before; a type of vague awareness that comes from something like a dream.

actually, yoongi’s seen stores like this before. namjoon has a very cultured and particular sense of tumblr aesthetic and this store fits the bill perfectly.

yoongi chalks that niggling feeling as a latent reaction to all the posts he witnessed namjoon reblogging to his tumblr, as they sat on the couch on their respective phones. he’s suddenly bitter again because now, with his current situation and location , he can’t even call namjoon out for trying to be hipster because he’s too far away to even see namjoon or his stupid hipster-aesthetic-whatever tumblr in person.

yoongi spots the alcohol, finally, and grabs two - he hesitates and turns around - three bottles of the brand he likes and walks to the checkout station.

well fuck, he was hoping for a some sort of self-checkout machine - this is seoul, the largest metropolis of korea after all - but he should have known not to expect anything when he set foot inside.

god, he’s too impatient and drained and sad to deal with another human being but sucks up his feelings once again as he steps up to the counter. no one is actually there and yoongi spots a bell and rings it twice. a couple more times, more insistently, for good measure. suddenly he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. he checks and sees it’s from namjoon.

at that moment someone stumbles out of the ‘employees only’ door and utters a quick apology for making yoongi wait.

yoongi quickly glances up from the phone and sees that the cashier is a young twenty-something boy. all he sees is a mop of soft brown hair and just under it, a pair of soft brown eyes which he unwittingly makes eye contact with. but suddenly it is broken - the cashier beginning to ring up yoongi’s items, and yoongi looking back at his phone.

dance monster [12:10 am]

hyung

you’ll never guess wat happend today

me [12:10 am]

what

dance monster [12:11 am]

so u kno that tattoo i got a while back ????

me [12:11 am]

joon ur gonna have to be a little more specific

dance monster [12:11 am]

ok ok that one on my wrist !

the moon one !!1!1 !

me [12:11 am]

so...what

dance monster [12:11 am]

idek hyung like

ok fuck

this sounds so weird but like

for some reason i woke up this morning

me [12:11 am]

a goddamn miracle

dance monster [12:12 am]

shut up hyung

anyway i woke up

and now i have a new sun tattoo

me [12:12 am]

wait

what

dance monster [12:12 am]

idk !!! hyung idek wats goin on ajoer

i think it’d be better if u called me

asklejroijga

“excuse me?”

right, yoongi still needs to pay for his things. he jams his phone into his back pocket and fishes for his wallet. he awkwardly fumbles for some bills, “ah, sorry - here you go,” and all but flings them on the counter in his haste to get back to his conversation with namjoon and to go back home and avoid strangers altogether, let alone semi-attractive strangers.

it looks like his original plan of drowning in sorrow will have to be put on hold. nonetheless, he welcomes the new interruption in the form of his dear friend.

right as yoongi’s about to exit the store, the cashier calls out to him.

“um,” he pauses cutely, “nice sweater.”

yoongi looks down. it’s an old number, one that jimin got for him as a christmas present. it’s kinda not his style because it’s colorblocked - well, color in general - but it’s the first thing he found as he left his apartment and it’s oversized and it’s a gift. from jimin. so.

he looks up again and sees the exact same sweater on the cashier.

o-kay. what a coincidence.

at this moment, yoongi gets a really good look at the twenty-something cashier boy. well, as good of a look as he can seeing as half of cashier boy’s body is obscured by the counter.

the cashier is clearly taller and bigger than yoongi but the sweater still looks oversized and his fingers just barely peek out from under the sleeves. yoongi gets a good look at cashier boy’s doe eyes and button nose and his whole look just screams soft.   fuck semi-attractive. this guy is possibly the most attractive guy yoongi has ever seen. the most attractive person in seoul, by far. at least to yoongi’s standards. and this is only the visible half - yoongi gulps - doesn’t even want to think about anything lower than that.

he eloquently chokes out a word. “cool.”

real smooth, min yoongi.

well, time’s up. yoongi’s just about done with social interaction and he’s itching to get home and he wants to maybe forget this whole thing because goddamn, he’s awkward and the cashier is cute.

cashier boy blinks and fuck, yoongi can see his eyelashes from here. and then, cashier boy smiles , all twinkling eyes and soft lips, “have a nice evening, sir.”

yoongi bolts out of the door.

/

jungkook just barely managed to keep his fluster in check. he tried to not to stare at the strange man’s silvery hair, or at his sharp profile, or at his attractive piercings, three silver hoops on each ear - fuck, since when did jungkook find piercings on anyone but himself attractive?

but the thing that caught jungkook’s attention the most was the sweater. not the fact that it was so large that it swallowed the man’s entire frame but still made the entire fit scream effortless and attractive. not the fact that the color palette complimented his silver hair.

they had the same fucking sweater?

taehyung, who is privy to jungkook’s unique tastes, had carefully chosen the very sweater as a christmas present. he claims that he happened upon it in some random thrift store and thought it screamed jungkook and bought it even though christmas wasn't for another three months.

jungkook thinks otherwise. the sweater is just. so nice. taehyung probably bought it at a non thrift shop last minute, which would explain why jungkook ran into another person also wearing it. yeah. that would explain the coincidence. it’s definitely embarrassing, but people are bound to be caught wearing the same clothes, seeing as they’re mass produced for that reason - to be worn.

as he starts cleaning up, jungkook silently thanks himself for choosing the night shifts at level supermarket because 1. he likes staying up late 2. he gets to meet interesting and colorful characters like that one sweet ahjumma with cotton candy pink hair that comes in every day at 9:36 pm sharp to buy a bag of lollipops and nothing else, for example.

jungkook’s checking the inventory for the third time - it always helps to be extra thorough - but his mind begins to wander back to that silver-haired man.

a small - admittedly very small - part of him wants to never see that man again because he was a stranger, a very attractive stranger, and jungkook acted like such a freaking loser. god he’s blushing again. but the bigger- much bigger - part of him wants to see the silver-haired man again. like, he was fucking attractive. but also something about a frustrated looking man coming in a store at midnight that hardly anyone ever comes to just.

he’s like a novel jungkook is itching to read.

jungkook just wants to know.

jungkook wants to know. jungkook wants to know how this man likes his eggs cooked. does he have any tattoos? is he a morning person? okay, maybe not that because he’s up and about at midnight.

what is his opinion on soulmates? does he listen to dean? what does his smile look like? does he like smiling? is he a smiley person? is he doing okay?

because most of all, jungkook wants to tell him that things are going to be okay. something about this man seemed - lonely and jungkook has an urge to reach out and be like, me too, i understand, i hope you’re okay.

but. jungkook shakes his head to clear the thoughts. he’s doing it again. he’s getting ahead of himself and he’s doing that fantasizing thing he tends to do. at his core, jungkook is a very kind and empathetic person and the times he does feel good about himself he wants to meet people and reach out. back at his small hometown, the people were very friendly and accepting, and this made it easy for him. and with the town being so small, eventually jungkook knew everyone and everyone knew him and he was very comfortable with this.

however, this is seoul. and after making the difficult decision to leave the comfort of his town to pursue his dreams in the form of a dance degree, jungkook has learned that not everyone feels the same way in this city.

‘city people’   he thinks with distaste - but mostly - disappointment.

jungkook closes and locks the store’s front door, as well as his hopes for seeing the silver-haired man again. he’s no stranger to how this kind of thing works. nothing good happens when he gives into wishful thinking.

/

as soon as yoongi is back in the safety of his apartment he calls namjoon. “joon, what’s up?”

“okay, so. like. yeah. i don’t know, hyung!” yoongi goes to open a bottle of beer, his silence prompting namjoon to continue.

“i just woke up and now i have a new sun tattoo on my wrist! honestly, it looks pretty good paired with the one i already have of the crescent moon.”

“well, as long as you’re happy with it joon, i guess it’s cool.” yoongi takes a long gulp, “could’ve been worse. could’ve woken up with the word ‘penis’ tattooed in large letters instead.”

namjoon cackles heartily and yoongi smiles at the sound. “yeah, you’re right hyung.” he laughs again, “this is like some weird soulmate shit.

yoongi elegantly swallows some beer down the wrong airway. “yeah,” he coughs a few times to clear his throat, “come to think of it-,”

on second thought, maybe yoongi will keep cashier boy to himself. what happened earlier that night still felt - unreal. yoongi feels like he’ll break the enigmatic anonymity of the attractive cashier boy if he says anything.

“hyung?”

“no, nothing. nevermind,” yoongi changes the subject, “how’s that new track going?” and namjoon enthusiastically explains his progress.

/

the next day, yoongi finds himself slouched at his desk, pen tossed somewhere to the side. he’s looking down at what he can only call organized chaos atop his desk. this is usually how his song production process starts anyway. he scans some of the lyrics he just scribbled all over and he sees stuff like ‘ enigma and mystique ’ and ‘ eyes that hold stars ’ and ‘ deer in headlights... i’m struck by your beauty mystery loveliness- ’

uh-huh. yup.  okay. yoongi stands up and gathers all those loose leaf papers in a pile and goes to deposit them in the wastebin.

he pauses and throws them in a random drawer in his nightstand.

he needs to get out. he grabs his leather jacket draped across the back of his desk chair and power walks his way out of his apartment.

yoongi finds himself wandering the city again and wait. it’s that store again. what the fuck? did he just subconsciously make his way to back to the store and it’s attractive cashier-

shit. yoongi sees said cashier boy through the front windows, presumably stocking a shelf. he gets up and starts walking back to the counter, but as he’s doing that his body faces the front doors, which probably puts yoongi in his plain sight.

yoongi quickly backpedals, hoping he hasn’t been spotted.

he stands in place for a beat.

he refuses to acknowledge how hard his heart is hammering.

after much internal debate, yoongi decides that fuck it. he’s already here and he sees a huge jar of cheese puffs from where he’s standing and he might as well get that. because. he needs. inspiration.

he walks in, trying his best to put confidence in his steps and not looking at the cashier - who is now sitting at the counter with earphones and bobbing his head to a beat and is he humming?

yoongi walks down the chip aisle, deciding that he needs to have different flavors on hand when he gets tired of the cheese puffs.

over the top of the aisle, yoongi can see cashier boy stretching and fuck. his shoulders look good in that leather jacket too.

yoongi reaches the end of the aisle and is about to stroll into the next one, but almost trips on his shoelaces of his black converse. he kneels down and glances at the counter, seeing that the cashier is now standing. they make awkward eye contact and yoongi quickly goes back to tying his own shoelace, not before seeing a flash of black converses disappearing behind the counter.

when yoongi goes to pay for his items, cashier boy has taken off the leather jacket, leaving him in a simple white tee with a simple supreme logo. and now his incredibly toned biceps are out on display. wow. is it getting hot in here? yoongi sees the veins in cashier boy’s arms when they flex to hold the large container of cheese puffs. yoongi gulps.

it’s too hot - yoongi strips off his own leather jacket and slings it over an arm. eyes looking anywhere but the cashier, he taps his foot and waits for cashier boy to state the price and yoongi can pay and then he can leave.

except. cashier boy hasn’t said anything for a little while. yoongi chances a quick glance upwards. cashier boy is staring at - yoongi’s chest? fuck, did he wear his kumamon jammies out or something?

but like, if this boy has something against kumamon, yoongi has a serious bone to pick with him.

yoongi glances down at his own shirt. then back up at cashier boy. then back at his own shirt.

weird. yoongi’s wearing a supreme shirt. cashier boy’s wearing one too. cashier boy squints, like he’s suspicious of yoongi or something.

yoongi clears his throat, “uh - can i pay for my things?”

this seems to shake the cashier out of whatever stupor he’s in, “ah - sorry.”

yoongi pays for his things and goes to grab the bag the cashier is holding out for him to take. yoongi overshoots a little; okay, maybe he’s a little flustered and accidently knocks his hand against the cashier’s.

there’s a little clink as yoongi’s ring bumps against cashier boy’s.

okay. fuck. they’re wearing matching rings too?

they both face each other with similar looks of shock and confusion. before either of them have a chance to say anything, yoongi books it out of there real quick.

/

something weird is going on and jungkook doesn’t know what to do.

he’s just minding his own business, listening to offonoff’s new album while doing his math homework at the register to keep an eye on the store in case anyone does come in. it’s midnight but still.

then, jungkook sees movement in the corner of his eyes and realizes that someone has come in without him noticing.

it’s the silver-haired man again. and shit, he looks really good. he’s standing in front of the snack shelf, with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and he’s wearing this large leather jacket.

jungkook does not salivate.

but wait. jungkook looks down at himself. how is he also wearing a leather jacket?

it must be another fluke. jungkook hurriedly stands up and takes his jacket off, pacing around for a bit.

he looks over at the silver-haired man again and sees him tying his right shoelace.

jungkook looks down at his shoes.

his left shoelace is untied.

a mixture of mild horror and panic starts thrumming through his body, but he refuses to tie his shoelaces and resumes his nervous pacing.

he turns around and jumps slightly. the silver haired man is right in front of him, fidgeting with his hair.

jungkook goes to ring up his purchases, which are all comprised of various family size chip bags. he goes to ring up the last item, a jumbo container of cheese puffs, and pauses. the silver-haired man has taken off his leather jacket and. why. is he wearing a supreme shirt. like jungkook.

jungkook stares dumbfoundedly at that stupid supreme logo and the man’s prominent collarbones before he clears his throat and asks for jungkook to ring up the total.

right. jungkook hurriedly bags everything and thrusts them towards the man, hoping he’ll leave quickly.

the man accidentally knocks his hand against jungkook’s and this time jungkook does not hide his shock.

you've got to be fucking kidding. they have matching rings. it's like they're a couple or something.

what. is happening.

/

the next night after his shift at the local coffee shop, yoongi actively seeks out level convenience store, as well as its resident attractive cashier. he’s wearing this ostentatious, bright yellow, furry thing. it’s so. loud. and lowkey ugly. hence the reason why he’s out at night.

however, yoongi swears his sweater is bright enough that he’s probably glowing in the dark.

but, yoongi also needs to prove a point. whatever cosmic fuckery is going on, whatever deity is fucking with him, yoongi just wants to prove to himself that this is all bullshit. running into a cute stranger repeatedly is enough, and yoongi doesn’t need any other unexplainable shit happening.

/

jungkook is tapping his foot, a habit of his that surfaces only when he’s nervous or anxious. jungkook is definitely focusing on math homework and definitely not looking out for a certain silver-haired stranger.

he rubs his nose with the sleeve of his sweater and almost sneezes. geez. jungkook had asked taehyung to lend him his craziest article of clothing at the moment, seeing as taehyung’s fashion style is overall - crazy. so, taehyung tossed him the first thing he laid eyes on in his closet, and it was this gucci sweater. gucci my ass, jungkook thinks. this sweater is just a very good excuse to cosplay as big bird.

jungkook just wants to figure out what is going on. like, he meets some cute stranger and-

holy shit. he sees said stranger standing outside on the sidewalk.

okay, somebody up there must hate jungkook because - he looks down at himself just to make sure - both of them are once again, matching.

like, how does the stranger still look striking in such an ugly sweater?

jungkook can only stare as the stranger swiftly turns around and bolts down the street.

/

yoongi slams the door of his apartment closed, breathing heavily. he looks through the peephole to make sure no one had followed him. he’s not taking any chances.

that’s it. something is up and yoongi’s solution is to - hole himself up in his apartment.

wait, can he do that? oh yeah, it’s friday. and he doesn’t have any shifts until monday.  fantastic. he can devote himself wholeheartedly to his unfinished tracks over the weekend.

yoongi wakes up saturday afternoon, but allows himself the luxury of lounging around in bed for a few more hours. this effectively brings the start of his day well into saturday evening. he fishes around for some spare instant ramen packets, and begins working as soon as he gives himself some salty sustenance.

his weekend goes by like this: immersing himself with writing lyrics and producing elementary beats for a few straight hours and then taking short naps in between. he eats if he remembers. or if namjoon reminds him.

all in all, he does a good job of not thinking about the weird stuff that’s been going on, and especially about the soft-looking cashier boy.

except.

yoongi stumbles out of his bedroom, finally succumbing to his stomach’s urges, as well as namjoon’s rapid texts.

he fumbles around for a cup of ramen - his last one, he’ll have to refill - and goes to find a scissor to cut off the plastic wrap.

his fingers slip and he ends up cutting himself.

he sighs as he looks down at his bleeding finger. he dabs at it lightly to try to clear away the blood, but it just keeps oozing out. he grabs a tissue and presses on the fresh wound, waiting for it to clot, but the blood just keeps coming.

what the heck? he didn’t cut himself that hard.

ah, shit. he doesn’t have any bandaids.

he checks his phone. 2:55 am. is there a store open at this hour-

there might be one.

before yoongi thinks about it too hard, he wraps a clean tissue around his finger and books it out of his apartment. he’s not about to hold a tissue around his finger for the rest of the night to keep it from getting infected.

as he fast-walks to level convenience store, yoongi thinks about cashier boy again for the first time in awhile (a couple days.) maybe whatever matchy-matchy curse or spell or shit is over, since yoongi hadn’t seen or even thought about the boy. wow. an achievement.

cashier boy probably isn’t even there, seeing as it’s so late.

whatever, yoongi just needs to grab some bandaids and then he’s out.

he heads into the store, notices that the register is unattended, and goes to grab a box of bandaids. while he’s at it, he stops by the ramen aisle to refill his stock.

as he makes his way to the register, he sees someone now sitting behind the counter. yoongi stops in his tracks. it’s cashier boy. he looks as stunning as ever. and he’s fiddling with one of his fingers, which happens to be bandaged. he looks up and only then does yoongi continue walking towards him.

none of them say anything as cashier boy rings up his items, but he does raise his eyebrows slightly when he notices the blood-soaked tissue around yoongi’s finger.

after he pays, yoongi doesn’t leave right away. instead, he rips open the box of bandaids and slaps one around his finger.

“how did you hurt yourself?”

holy shit, even cashier boy’s voice is attractive - what the fuck - with a soft, lilting tone to it.

“uh, i cut myself trying to get some ramen.” god he sounds stupid.

“wait, really?” cashier boy’s doe eyes widen - yoongi sees his eyelashes, - “me too! i was doing inventory and had to refill some ramen for the shelves and yeah.” he gesticulates with his injured finger.

yoongi is silent for a moment. they even have matching wounds.

“this shit is real, isn't it?”

cashier boy tilts his head. “oh. you mean the weird clothes thing-”

the lights in the store flicker and then suddenly fade out completely.

yoongi panics for a second as his eyes adjust to the darkness, but that initial shock instantly goes away as soon as he sees cashier boy’s big eyes reflecting the street lights outside.

he finishes cashier boy’s sentence. “...yeah. the weird clothes-matching thing.”

“well, my best explanation is that the universe continually derives pleasure from fucking with me.” cashier boy pauses, “n-not that it's always a negative thing! i mean, this time wasn't so bad!” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “i-you - sorry! i didn't mean to make that sound like an insult to you.”

yoongi chuckles, “hey, it's fine. the universe likes fucking with me too.”

cashier boy shyly ducks his head.

yoongi looks around the store, now shrouded in complete darkness. “should we maybe find the fuse box or something..?”

cashier boy sits down on his stool. “nah, it’s fine. this happens quite often, actually. i don’t even know why you bother coming here when there are plenty of 7-eleven’s,” he sighs, “this store is pretty shitty and rundown.”

“i don’t know. i kinda like the warm, colorful vibe.” yoongi thinks, also, it’s because you’re here.  

“well, the longest the power’s been out was like, thirty minutes.” cashier boy unlocks his phone and begins scrolling through, “um - you’re free to leave..? i have everything under control.”

yoongi makes no move to leave and hops up to sit atop the counter. in doing so, he’s inevitably brought himself closer to cashier boy. when yoongi turns his head, he sees cashier boy up close, ensconced in moonlight, the contours of his face highlighted by shadows.

yoongi stares at cashier boy’s dark eyes, and at his eyelashes as they fan across his cheeks when he blinks slowly.

yoongi’s eyes are immediately drawn to his lips when he worries them between his teeth. if they begin leaning into each other’s orbit, none of them are the wiser.

suddenly, yoongi feels a sharp sting on his forearm. at the same time, cashier boy jerks away, hissing in pain.

something is etching itself into yoongi’s skin and he squeezes his arm to try to take away some of the pain.

his arm is still searing when the lights flicker back on.

“god, what the fuck was that-” yoongi looks down at his right arm, all red and puffy, and sees a tattoo.

it's a lock.

yoongi looks up in shock.

cashier boy has a similar look on his face. and on his left arm, is a tattoo of a key.

there's still specks of blood on cashier boy's fresh tattoo and yoongi grabs a nearby napkin and slowly dabs on it.

cashier boy flinches slightly, but yoongi places a hand on his upper arm to comfort him, to ground him. yoongi traces the boy’s tattoo lightly with his thumb and looks back at his own. a perfect match.

“i’m yoongi. min yoongi.”

cashier boy smiles softly. “jungkook.”

/

me [12:01 pm}

joon

quick question

so like

did anything weird happen

before ur tattoo appeared

dance monster [12:15 pm]

i mean

not that i can think of ??

hyung just cuz u and jungkook had some storybook soulmate romance doesn't mean smt like that happened to me

me [12:32 pm]

well what happened that day

dance monster [12:44 pm]

nothing really

i just had a study session with jin

me [12:49 pm]

‘study’

what exactly were u two studying

dance monster [12:50 pm]

hyung

need i remind u that jin is my metaphysics and epistemology tutor and wait wat were we studying ?

oh yea !!!

~metaphysics and epistemology~

me [1:00 pm]

you think he's cute, don't you

dance monster [1:05 pm]

im not answering that

me [1:06 pm]

im sensing a blush

dance monster [1:10 pm]

actually

now that i think about it

i came into that session late that day

as i was leaving my apartment i somehow

hit my knee on the doorframe

and fell

and dropped all my stuff

left a nasty bruise

also got a paper cut across my right palm as i was tryna pick up all the books in a hurry

me [1:16 pm]

you would

i fuckin bet smt like that happened to jin

hello

joon?

/

yoongi is rudely awakened by big bang’s ‘bang bang bang’ - why did he let his boyfriend pick his ringtone?

said boyfriend stirs in his sleep, burying his face deeper into yoongi’s shoulder and wrapping his arms tighter around yoongi’s waist. “mmph - hyung. make it stop. let’s nap more.”

yoongi turns his head and places a kiss atop jungkook’s forehead, “sorry baby. just let me take this real quick.”

he blindly grabs around for his cell phone and sees namjoon’s caller id lighting up.

“what.”

“hyung! what the fuck. what is happening.”

yoongi groans. “yes, what is happening. please enlighten me.”

“me and jin have matching bruises! even cuts and everything! i met up with him today and remember that cut i got on my palm? he had one too, and then we realized we have the same injuries!”

yoongi tries to process this information as fast as he can with a sleep-addled brain. “so, he’s a masochist?”

“no! god, no. he’s the one with the sun tattoo! remember how my sun tattoo appeared? well, he’s the one that had it, and he said that a moon tattoo appeared on him! like mine! hyung, we’re matching!”

“well, congratulations.” yoongi sounds grumpy, but he means it. “though i feel bad for jin. you’re a fucking klutz. don’t kill him before you ask him out officially.” he yawns. “i’m going back to sleep.”

with that, yoongi hangs up and turns back to wrap himself around jungkook.

“hyung, what was that about?” jungkook murmurs with his eyes still closed.

“nothing. just some weird soulmate shit.” he buries his nose in jungkook’s fragrant hair. “let’s go back to sleep.” ~