Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When God created the universe, he gave human beings two rules: the first being that no one should accept any fruit from seedy neighborhood snakes, and the second being that Kim Namjoon should, under no circumstance ever, be allowed in the kitchen unsupervised.

Yoongi had always been good at obeying one, but not the other. For this reason, he only has himself to blame when he’s greeted with the sight before him upon his return from the grocers.

The first thing that he sees is smoke. Or rather, he smells it first, the thick grey settling into his lungs and forcing a cough out of his slack mouth. The tendrils have taken over his apartment, and if he squints, he can almost see the words oh lord jesus not again fuck I really threw this one hyung please help spelled out in the haze.

“Namjoon?” Yoongi coughs, forcing his way further into his apartment and setting the eggs in his hands down onto the kitchen counter, using his free hand to bat away at the smoke threatening to choke him out. He has nothing against being choked — but not when it comes from a billowing cloud of smoke seeping out from his oven, with a very panicked gangle of limbs standing in front of it and swinging around a rolled up poster in a feeble attempt to clear the situation.

Namjoon lets out a shriek, clearly caught off guard as he whips around and tries to block the oven from view. His voluptuous ass would have succeeded in hiding the appliance, if it weren’t for the fact that all the smoke that had already crowded the apartment was a dead giveaway that something was wrong.  

“God damn it, Joon. You asked for eggs, I obliged, and I left you alone for a total of maybe...twenty minutes. What the fuck did you do.”

Namjoon sighs, a deflated wheeze escaping from his lips. “Three hours, hyung. That’s all the time I have to get this cake done, decorated, and on my kitchen counter before the local boys choir arrives.” A suppressed sob threatens to spill out as Namjoon whispers that he had paid extra to request Unchained Melody, as Yoongi reaches out to awkwardly pat Namjoon on the shoulder and bite his tongue about how Namjoon might as well have taken Hoseok to summer camp for their anniversary instead. 

As smoke continues to pour out, Yoongi narrows his eyes. “You forgot the water in the mixture, didn’t you?”

Namjoon’s face remains glued to his palms, and he lets out a muffled “I — maybe.” 

“Namjoon,” Yoongi sighs, grip tightening. “This is the second time in the past three months. You completely decimated Taehyung’s stove trying to make him breakfast in bed, and he spent his own birthday scraping egg whites from his ceiling.”

“I know, I’m a fucking failure,” Namjoon sniffles, hands leaving his face only to grab Yoongi’s shirt and pull him forward. “I’m sorry, hyung,” he whimpers. “I shouldn’t have asked to come over to make this fucking cake, but Taehyung banned me from his house, Jeongguk said he had to walk his dog — did you know he had a dog? I never knew he had a dog. On top of that, Jimin straight up left me on read, and baking it at home was out of the equation from the start ‘cause Hoseok would’ve seen it.” 

Yoongi screws his eyes shut, sighing. It’s a little funny to hear “Jimin” and “straight” in the same sentence, but he doesn't comment on it. Nor does he think now is a good time to tell Namjoon that Jeongguk is deathly allergic to dogs. 

“It’s...it’s fine. Let’s just try and clear all this smoke before the alarm goes off.” 

Namjoon nods, light sniffles escaping his throat as his grip on Yoongi’s shirt tightens.

“You’re gonna have to let go of me if we wanna get anything done.”

“Right. Sorry. I tend to grab things when I’m upset. I think it kinda rubbed off on Hoseok too, ‘cause I noticed he tends to grab my chest a lot. Does he ever do that to you? He really gets his hands full when he’s all up in my space, but it’s probably just a comfort mechanism, right? He always says he’s never seen such big, beautiful milk—”

“Anyways, back to my oven,” Yoongi prys Namjoon’s hands off his shirt with a little more force than intended, and hopes and prays that he can repress the thought of Hoseok ogling Namjoon’s giant tits deep into the void. 

He’s not even that mad about his kitchen being turned into a ring from Dante’s Inferno. Rather, he wants to quietly resolve this cake debacle and get Namjoon out of his apartment before all the commotion attracts the attention of a much larger problem. One that Yoongi goes out of his way to avoid, one named —

“Seokjin hyung!” Namjoon hands fly away from Yoongi, and he raises a betraying wave to the vile demon that has manifested itself at the base of the stairs that connect the two levels of Yoongi’s apartment. 

Well, Yoongi and Seokjin’s apartment. Much to both of their dismay.

There’s not a day that goes by where Yoongi doesn’t miss being roommates with Hoseok. The latter had been the perfect roommate, in the sense that he was barely home and often left Yoongi alone to a peaceful apartment. This gap was actually what brought them closer, and they became good friends during the years they lived together. 

So when Hoseok declared that he was moving in with his boyfriend (c’mon Yoongi, stop crying you bitch baby, I’m not even moving by choice, but those massive tits...it’s like they’re pulling me — have you ever seen mimes pretend to grab ropes? Yeah, picture that, but the mime is Namjoon’s jugs), Yoongi decided to accept Hoseok’s suggestion for a new roommate. 

The suggestion came in the form of a graduated film major, reigning from the same alma mater as Yoongi. Hoseok had met the man during improv night at a bar, and they clicked like two very loud, very obnoxious magnets. Somewhere along the line, the synapses in Hoseok’s head had somehow connected to tell him that Seokjin would make a great replacement roommate. 

Yoongi doesn’t know if it was all the fucking that Hoseok was doing that had knocked his brain completely off kilter, but he had quickly come to learn that the only thing that he and Kim Seokjin had in common with each other was a pulse. 

So who can blame him when he lets out a sharp groan at the sight of his roommate who has liberally strolled into the kitchen, his anger being met with disapproving glances from both Namjoon and Seokjin.

Well, Yoongi assumes they’re disapproving glances. Smoke has been seared into his pupils, and for all he knows, Seokjin could be giving him bedroom eyes right now and he’d never know. 

Not that he really wants to.

“Good afternoon to you too, Yoongi.” Yoongi can barely see his roommate, but by the sound of his voice, Seokjin’s teeth are gritted, and he’s trying his best not to take a swing at anybody.

Sometimes, Yoongi wishes Seokjin would cave and just punch him. He’s willing to sacrifice being the victim of one clean jab in the jugular if it gives him a tangible reason to have the other man carted away, turning Yoongi’s apartment into a safe haven once again. 

“Hyung, if you’re home, think you can give me a hand with this cake? I already sent Yoongi hyung out for eggs earlier, I feel bad dragging him into my mess,” Namjoon says, tugging on Seokjin’s sleeve. Yoongi’s eyes narrow as he traces the movement with his gaze, anger pooling in his veins.

“It’s fine Seokjin,” he says, fists clenched. “Go back to gacha gaming, or whatever your societal contribution for today is. I’ve got it.” 

The grey haze has cleared just enough for Yoongi to see the unimpressed frown etched onto Seokjin’s face, as the latter turns towards Namjoon and paints on a sickly sweet smile. “Ignore Yoongi, I’d be more than happy to help. Where can I start?”

“Well,” Namjoon says, eyebrows knitted in thought. “I don’t know how much of this I can salvage, but I’ll decorate whatever’s left. Which means,” he snaps his fingers, a thought floating to the tip of his conscience. “That I’m gonna need candy.”

With that, a delighted grin waxes across Seokjin’s stupidly thick lips. “Perfect! I’ve got lots of that in the pantry,” he says breezily. 

“You sure, hyung? I meant that I could go out and grab some if you’re willing to help me decorate. I don’t wanna take any of your stuff.” 

“They’re leftovers from a charity event that I organized a couple months ago. Don’t even worry about it, Namjoon-ah.” Seokjin’s already strolling across the kitchen and towards the walk-in snack cave in the corner.

Clearing his throat, Yoongi rounds the kitchen island and matches Seokjin’s stride. “Well, I’ve got lots of sugary shit in there too that I’m willing to share. Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Heaps and heaps that the nurse gave me after I donated my kidney to a kid who needed it.” He picks up his pace, determined to beat the other man to the pantry.

“Whoa hyung, you donated a kidney? That’s very cool of you.”

“Yeah, Yoongi, how cool!” Seokjin echoes sardonically, strategically shoving his broad shoulders in front of his roommate to bar him from getting any further. “Why didn’t anyone know that?”

“I don’t know, Seokjin. For someone who can never see the dishes in the sink, you sure are confident in your ability to see my fucking insides.” Yoongi hisses, bringing his foot forward onto Seokjin’s toes and using the other man’s slight wince as an opportunity to dash forward, hand successfully twisting the knob of the pantry open.

Somewhere along the way, there’s a primal scream, and the two men go tumbling into the pantry, a tangle of limbs and skinny jeans.

Something akin to a wheezed fuck, my knees! These jeans are not supposed to be ripped here! is uttered, drowned out by the sound of the pantry door clicking shut behind them and Namjoon’s muffled beration to stop fighting.

“Jesus, what’s your problem?” Yoongi grabs a shelf and hoists himself off the ground, wincing at his back feeling more brittle than the stale crackers that sit in front of him.

“My problem?” Seokjin scoffs, angrily unwrapping a box of Thin Mints in front of him and pushing three into his mouth. Grabbing the plastic wrap, he shoves it in Yoongi’s face. “Thake a look at chour own reflection and thell me what you thee!”

Scowling, Yoongi grabs the wrap and throws it on the ground, the thin plastic layer landing with a weak pfft, despite the dramatic effect that Yoongi had been going for. Now he’s really pissed.

Placing a hand on his hip and pinching the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to collect his sanity, he stands in silence for a beat, while Seokjin’s obnoxious chewing fills the space.

He wants to help Namjoon. He really does. But the sight of his mortal enemy aggressively holding an impromptu mukbang session in front of him is enough for him to wave a white flag in surrender. 

Namjoon’s cake will have to save itself, because Yoongi’s tapping out before he accidentally slips and murders his roommate among rows of instant noodle packets.

As much as he hates the man, he has the decency not to let him meet his end like that. He’s sure karma will get Seokjin in a better way.

“Fuck you, I’m out.” Yoongi seethes, turning on his heel to swing the door back open.

At least, he tries to swing the door back open. As his hand meets the handle, he gives it a firm yank, only to be met with absolutely nothing. 

No door propping open, no light of freedom, no tendrils of smoke whirling around his kitchen.

Just every edible food under the sun, and Seokjin’s stupid snort. 

Frowning, Yoongi gives the door another tug, but his efforts are fruitless. They’re stuck. 

“Is there a problem, Yoongi?” Seokjin coos. “Giving up on helping Namjoon already? Let me show you out, then.” He throws the Thin Mints on a shelf, stepping forward and confidently twisting the door handle.

However, he’s met with the same resistance as Yoongi had been. The knob doesn’t budge, rigid in stance and barring either of them from exiting.

Frowning, Seokjin’s eyes give away a sliver of panic as he tries again, using more force to jiggle the handle. He tries every angle, using two hands to frantically rattle the knob, but it fails to budge.

As he watches the debacle unfold, Yoongi goes through multiple stages of grief.

First, denial. They can’t be stuck. There’s no way.

Then, anger. How the fuck can they be stuck?

And after that, a stage that wasn’t conventionally found in any psych textbooks. 

A stage that made him realize that he, Min Yoongi, aged 27, had majorly fucked up.

“Stop.”

“Not gonna stop. It’s getting loose, I can feel it,” Seokjin retorts, gritting his teeth.

“No, Seokjin, stop. It’s not gonna budge.”

“Okay? And what makes you so confident?”

“It’s not gonna open,” Yoongi says, running his hands through his hair. “Because it’s child-locked.”

Seokjin lets go of the door knob at this, turning around to face his roommate. “Care to elaborate?”

Yoongi sighs, feeling stupider than he’s ever felt in his entire lifetime, and that’s quite the feat. “Maybe I was taking precautions before I went to the grocers, and maybe I may have activated child-lock so Namjoon wouldn’t get injured. Okay. Just maybe. ”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “You child-locked a pantry door from a grown man, but you let him roam around the appliances without a care in the world?” He lets out a deep sigh. The kind of sigh that starts in the pit of his stomach and crawls its way out into a wheeze of unbelieving anger that coughs out from his lips. “And why’s it locked from the inside? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” 

“Clearly, you’ve never been clocked in the head by a kilo bag of quick oats! You wanna try it right now?” Yoongi thrusts a finger in the air to point at the offending bag dangerously poached on a rack above them, baring his teeth at Seokjin. “And I fucked up, okay? You happy? Maybe if you weren’t upstairs screaming into your headset like a horny banshee then I wouldn’t have lost focus.”

Seokjin groans, running his hands through his hair. “First of all, oat baths are amazing for your skin, and you should try it sometime. Secondly, child-locking is not rocket science. I could do that shit with my eyes closed.”

“Then get us out of here with your eyes closed, Einstein.” 

“You bet your scaly oat-bath deprived ass I will!” Clearing his throat, Seokjin squeezes his eyes shut and starts to bang on the door. “Namjoon-ah! Can you come here and give hyung a hand?” He yells, his voice suddenly eight octaves higher and dripping in honey. 

“You’ve seen my ass?” Yoongi frowns, hands running over the pads of his jeans in mild concern. He concludes that Seokjin is full of shit, and his ass is smoother than a bowling ball.

Both of them wait for a beat, only to be met with silence. Frowning, Seokjin rattles the door handle and tries again. “Joon-ah, I know you’re trying to salvage the cake right now, but I just need you to turn the knob from your side. It’ll only take a second,” he says, cupping his hands around his mouth in a feeble attempt to amplify the sound.

Whoever said that the world ended not with a bang but with a whimper was stupid. They clearly had never thought that in that moment, Yoongi and Seokjin’s world ended not with a bang, but with a hurried Namjoon taking a call from the local boys choir director and darting out of the apartment, guns blazing and the carcass of a cake strewn across the kitchen counter.

Perhaps if a minute ago, the two of them had stopped bickering for exactly 9.37 seconds, they would’ve heard Namjoon’s frantic apology and hasty goodbye as he left, and they would’ve realized sooner just how incredibly fucked they were.

With Namjoon gone, they were stuck. Capital S stuck, with the door not budging even a sliver of an inch. There’s no gap between the door, and subsequently the gap between Yoongi’s ability to stay sane is closing with every ticking second. 

The realization dawns on Seokjin first, who has taken the violent silence as an indicator that their saviour was nowhere to be found.

“God,” he says, kicking the base of the door in frustration. “If I wanted to be back in the closet, I would’ve stayed in Catholic school.”

“You went to Catholic school?”

Seokjin’s eyes narrow, sweeping over Yoongi’s face as if to find the other man’s intentions. “Yeah, and?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Nothing. Just thought demons melted when they entered religious institutions, but somehow you’re still in one piece.”

“Ha ha. So funny. God-tier humor,” Seokjin quips, rolling his eyes so far into the back of his head that for a second Yoongi thinks his roommate’s become a slot machine.

“God-tier,” Yoongi says, a laugh threatening to escape. “Get it?”

“Yeah, I got it, Yoongi. And I’m giving it back.” Seokjin sighs, crouching on the ground to rifle through the snacks on the bottom shelf, his knees letting out an unsettling loud creak as he bends.

“God, your knees sound like a fucking glowstick. What are you, forty?” Yoongi crouches next to Seokjin, determined to find all the good snacks before the elder.

“28, actually. But thanks for assuming I’d look this hot at forty.” 

“You’re 28?”  Yoongi frowns. “That means you’re only a year older than me.”

“Yeah, I know that, Yoongi. Everyone knows that,” Seokjin sighs, tugging a bag of candy out from under a pile of instant rice boxes.

“Well sue me if I don’t speak Kim Seokjin as fluently as everyone else,” Yoongi pauses, eyes narrowing at his roommate’s choice of snack. “Are those Twizzlers?”

Seokjin clutches the bag to his chest, turning his body away from Yoongi, as if terrified that the latter was going to pry it away from his tightened grip. “Maybe. What’s it to you? I saw them first.”

“Relax, not gonna steal anything from Squirrel-Jin hoarding snacks for the winter. But just lemme ask you one question, since you were so offended about me not knowing anything about you.” Yoongi leans forward as Seokjin scoots away, still clutching the Twizzlers. The pantry is relatively well lit, but the glow seems to cast an eerie sheen on Yoongi’s face as he smirks, all but towering over his roommate. 

“Who the fuck eats red vines?”

Seokjin raises a leg to firmly meet Yoongi’s chest, kicking the latter backwards and smiling gleefully as Yoongi lands on his ass. Yoongi’s lucky his bowling-ball smooth ass is also effective at cushioning his fall.

 “I do.” A saddened expression appears on Seokjin’s face as he fiddles with the opening of the Twizzler bag. “They remind me of my childhood gerbil. Ddeokie always loved to play with ropes,” he says, eyes downcast. 

“Wait...shit, really? That’s...that’s tough man,” Yoongi mutters, reaching a hand up to rub the nape of his neck. 

“No, you asshole. I’m allergic to gerbils,” Seokjin snaps, “which you would know if you had ever given a fuck about learning anything about me!” He narrows his eyes. “And why do I need a good reason to eat what I like? I don’t say anything when I hear you prowling around the kitchen putting Cheerios on toast.”

“That’s not something normal people can hear,” Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest. “So either you’re secretly watching me, or you have secret superhuman hearing. Proving once again that you’re a demon.”

“You know what, fine! Maybe I do hover near the kitchen sometimes when you’re there, okay?” Seokjin pauses, hands gripped so tightly around the bag of Twizzlers that his knuckles are whiter than the bag of flour behind him. 

“I knew it! Fucking creep! Why, huh? Is that where you’ve been checking out my ass? My smooth, award-worthy —”

“Because I want to talk to you, okay! Because I want to have a singular conversation where no one wants to deck the other person!” Seokjin pauses, drawing in a sharp inhale.  

“Ever since I moved into this fucking house I’ve been intrigued by you because I thought you were really fucking cool, and all I’ve ever wanted to do was hold a civil conversation with you, but you have some kind of chastity belt wrapped around your heart, and every time we talk, we fight!” Seokjin screams, hands shaking as he backs away from Yoongi and tears the bag of Twizzlers open, frantically shoving a couple vines into his mouth before he says anymore.

Five seconds ago, Yoongi had been locked and loaded with a flurry of insults to hurl at the elder. But hearing Seokjin’s earth shattering revelation, all animosities drop off his tongue, and instead his eyebrows furl in confusion.

It’s silent, and Yoongi wonders if Seokjin’s even chewing, or if he’d just shoved all those candies in his mouth and swallowed them like some kind of confectionary python. 

“Then talk,” Yoongi finally speaks, his voice coming out pillow soft. It’s not a tone of voice he had ever used with Seokjin before. He’s not sure which of them are more surprised at the shift. 

“What?”

“You said you wanted to talk to me. Then talk.” 

“I already said everything I wanted to say,” Seokjin’s body shakes wearily, and oh my god, is he going to cry? 

Yoongi’s never been any good at comforting people who cry. Wracking his brain, he thinks of the coping mechanisms that people normally use when they’re upset. His mind flashes to a particular incident that happened earlier in the day, and he turns towards Seokjin in full confidence.

“Hey, wanna grab my boobs?” 

“Your what. ” 

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Yoongi mentally curses Namjoon in his head.

“Forget I said anything either,” Seokjin mutters, avoiding Yoongi’s eyes as he fishes out another Twizzler and gnaws on the end, mind elsewhere. 

A beat of silence passes, before Yoongi sighs and scoots over closer to Seokjin. “I...uhh. Maybe I was a little intimidated by you,” he says slowly, chewing on his words.

Seokjin snorts through his shaky breathing. “Why? Like you said earlier, all I do is gacha game and scream all day.”

“Nah. You just...you seem to have your shit together. Everyone loves you, and I guess it scared me a little bit.” Yoongi pauses. “Plus when you push your hair back you have a really intense stare, kind of feels like you’re about to stab me.” 

“Ah. My acting prof warned me about that,” Seokjin laughs, and Yoongi feels the awkwardness in the air start to melt away with the warm sound of Seokjin’s chuckle. 

“You know you have your own stare too, right?” Seokjin says, crossing his legs and propping his face onto them so he’s looking directly at Yoongi. “Your brows kind of scrunch up, and so does your nose, and you look so stupid that it’s funny.” 

“How kind,” Yoongi says flatly, and Seokjin laughs again.

“You’re doing it right now, actually.”

With this, Yoongi makes a conscious effort to unscrunch his facial features, but to his surprise, he finds Seokjin’s gentle, crooked fingers lightly running over his cheeks. 

The elder then seems to realize what he’s doing, and he quickly lifts his hand away from Yoongi’s face and tucks it into his sleeve, and Yoongi feels his entire face burning red at the contact that had just happened. 

“You don’t have to stop, Yoongi. It’s fine, just embrace it.”

“You literally just said that I look stupid.”

“Yeah, I did say you looked stupid.”

“Exactly, so —” 

“I never said you didn’t look cute, though.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond to this. Instead, he just sucks in air and tries his best not to breathe. He’s scared that in a single breath, Seokjin will be able to detect the way that his breathing has changed to reflect the blood that’s pumping in his chest at an alarming rate, his entire body (sans one kidney) working overtime to keep him alive at the thought of his roommate finding him cute.

“Hey Yoongi,” Seokjin says slowly, taking another liberal bite of a Twizzler. 

“Mm.”

“What if Namjoon never comes back and we die in here?”

Both of them seem to debate this scenario for a second, cross-legged on the floor of their walk-in pantry, with the child-locked door knob right in front of their noses.

“Then at least we got a mini staycation out of it. Guess you could even call it a trip, given the way we literally tumbled into here,” Yoongi says, and Seokjin scoffs. 

“You really are bad at puns. Thank God that the food in here isn’t half as shitty, though.”

“Are you implying that your bag of barely chewable vines is the pinnacle of fine dining?”

“What? Like the nondescript crackers from 200 A.D you’ve been eyeing are any better, Yoongi?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m implying, thank you very much.”

They sit in silence for a bit before Yoongi uncrosses his legs to stretch, head cocked in thought. 

“You know, if I knew I was gonna die in the closet, I wouldn’t have bothered telling my parents I was gay,” he says, and the two of them stifle their laughs until they can’t anymore, and laughter comes spilling out of both them. 

The sound of their glee echoes against every box of rice and every container of cookies in that closet, bouncing right back and filling their ears and hearts with a weirdly euphoric sense of happiness that neither of them had felt in so long. 

“Ah fuck,” Yoongi wheezes between laughs. “I didn’t even complete my bucket list! What am I gonna do, bungee jump from the top shelf of the legumes to the floor and call it a day?” He buckles over, tears spilling from his eyes as he grips his sides.

Seokjin can barely reply, his entire body racked by fits of laughter. Just when one of them thinks that it’ll die down, they make the mistake of looking the other person in the eye, and a new wave starts again. 

“Oh god,” Seokjin wheezes, wiping his eyes as he takes a deep breath and tries not to lose it while looking at Yoongi. “Thankfully for me, my bucket list is a little easier to carry out.”

“Oh yeah?” Yoongi lifts his shirt to dab at the corner of his eyes. “What’s that? You wanna see how many mini marshmallows you can fit in your mouth?” Wheezing, he shakily raises a finger to point to the corner of the pantry. “I think I saw some in that tub over there.”

“Nah, I did that last week already.” Seokjin’s last fits of laughter start to die down, and he rolls his neck in an effort to get himself back to sanity. “Answer’s 37, by the way.” 

“Impressive,” Yoongi says, clapping slowly. “Didn’t expect anything less from such a big mouth.”

“Watch it,” Seokjin says, jabbing a finger into Yoongi’s chest.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. I’ll be nice if you tell me what your bucket list consists of.” Yoongi raises a hand to push Seokjin’s finger away, but the other man envelops their hands together instead.

“Wh —”

And before Yoongi can react, there’s a pillowy soft pair of lips belonging to that signature big mouth on his own. 

Seokjin tastes like nothing Yoongi’s ever tasted before. His lips are sweet, cherry red and tinged with a light coat of the Twizzlers he’d been eating.

Normally, Yoongi hates Twizzlers. They’re just a mediocre excuse for candy, with the texture of rubber and taste of tires.

But for whatever reason, as Seokjin explores Yoongi’s mouth, Yoongi doesn’t taste anything unpleasant. Instead, he tastes bright bursts of cherry on the back of his palate, the front of his taste buds tingling with what feels like rays of the morning sun after a long, endless night.

It’s not a bad feeling, Yoongi thinks to himself as his slack mouth awakens to return the kiss. 

And that’s when he realizes something.

Kim Seokjin was just like these fucking red vines. Notorious for leaving a horrid taste in Yoongi’s mouth every time he interacted with them, so he just opted to...not.

But maybe he should’ve given Twizzlers a better chance. Maybe he should’ve taken more conscious bites of the sweet candy, threading it between his teeth and letting every inch of his mouth feel the way that the initial off-putting texture melted away to a much smoother feeling. 

Maybe they were a candy worth having, after all.

As Seokjin breaks the kiss, his eyes widen as he blinks slowly, as if he’s surprised by his own forwardness. 

“Number one.”

“Number one?” Yoongi echoes in confusion.

“On my bucket list. That was number one.” Seokjin whispers, eyes sweeping over Yoongi’s face. “And God, was it worth it. I can die now.” 

“Don’t say that, or the kilo bag of oats might actually wipe us out,” Yoongi says, and they both look up warily, readjusting so they’re out of the line of fire. “And you’re not too bad yourself,” Yoongi mutters, a heavy blush creeping onto the tips of both of their ears. “I guess I finally see the light.”

“Actually, that’s not the light, Yoongi. That’s just Namjoon’s cell phone flashlight.” Seokjin leans back and points a hand toward the closet door, which has since been propped open to reveal a gawking Namjoon, alongside six eagle-eyed boys in bright yellow Yongsan Metropolitan Boys Choir t-shirts. 

“H-hi hyungs! Hoseok texted me and said he was actually gonna swing by and give Yoongi hyung something, so I panicked and did a totally legal U-turn and got the choir to meet me here instead.” He scratches his head, clearly puzzled at the sight in front of him. “It was quiet when we got here, so I thought you guys might have beaten each other to death —”

“Namjoon hyung-nim warned us to only look in the pantry if we were okay with gore, which I am,” a smaller boy quips, nose scrunching up in disgust, “but kissing is just nasty.” He frowns as Namjoon frantically shoos him away.

“Anyways,” Namjoon continues. “Are you guys like...you know…?” He says, leaving the ending open.

“Are we what? Gay? Hungry? In need of a new stove?” Yoongi quips, and he feels himself blushing all over again when Seokjin openly laughs.

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it and clamps it shut. “Never mind. That’s not for me to figure out,” he says, a fond smile creeping onto his lips. 

As wrong as Namjoon is about many things, Yoongi thinks that this is one thing that Namjoon is right about. His newfound status with Seokjin was only something that they could unwind. Much like the intertwined veins of the red candy that Seokjin was so fond of, there were so many layers to peel back. 

For the first time in his life, Yoongi finds himself filled with a childish giddiness when it comes to sharing candy, especially with someone he was so sure he hated.

“Twizzler?” He asks, snatching the bag away from Seokjin and extending it towards Namjoon, who frowns.

“No thanks. You guys actually like those things? I think they’re disgusting.”

Yoongi and Seokjin exchange amused glances at this comment, before Seokjin snatches the bag of candy back. “Not as disgusting as Yoongi,” he says, sticking his tongue out. 

“Fuc—” Yoongi starts, before realizing that the boys choir is still in earshot. “Fudge off, Seokjin. You’re the one that’s disgusting for bathing in oats.” 

“I told you, those are good for you.” Then, Seokjin leans into Yoongi’s hair, whispering at a volume that only the two of them share. “We can try it together sometime.” 

As Yoongi’s blood pressure spikes, and he has to resist the urge to both kill and kiss his roommate, he realizes something.

He doesn’t know what will happen between them, and if the road ahead will point to the altar, or to utter bloodshed. 

All he knows is that for now, Twizzlers might just be his new favourite treat, only second to Seokjin’s lips.