Jimin looks between the address on his phone and the building that stands tall in front of him.  Jimin is honestly in disbelief.  It’s a nice building, the kind that he could never hope to even dream of living in.  He should’ve suspected something when Seokjin called him to meet at an expensive restaurant.  Somehow he hadn’t quite put two and two together when he opened the message that also had an expensive zip code tacked onto the end.

For what feels like the millionth time, Jimin wonders what he is about to get himself into.  Seokjin could’ve found a legitimate maid service to clean the “residence” instead of posting a flier to a bulletin board in a smoothie store.  Whose house is he even cleaning?  He should’ve said no.  He could’ve said no.  He wishes he said no.

Jimin takes a tentative step forward, stalling once again when he thinks about serial killers.  The part of his brain well-versed in murder-mystery TV shows happily reminds him that there is proof of communications between Seokjin and himself, so there is nothing to fear.  Seokjin will get caught if he is murdered.

Jimin throws aside his inhibitions with a gentle slap on his cheek and marches forward… straight into the glass of the revolving door.  Jimin’s hands fly to his face, covering his nose which is blessedly still in tact albeit throbbing slightly.  Embarrassment is practically drowning him as he pushes forward with a hand securely wrapped around the handle this time. (He groans internally at himself; it’s not the first time that he has gone through a revolving door, so why, oh why, did he do that?)

Jimin swallows back the embarrassment as he approaches the man behind the reception desk, who has borne witness to Jimin’s mortification.  He can still feel the blood beneath his cheeks making his face glow as he clears his throat, “How do I get to unit 9001?” (Seokjin’s message mentions that Jimin needs go to the front desk in order to do his job.)

The man shifts in his seat, leaning against the desk with fingers clasped in front of him, “Who is it that you want to see in 9001?”  It’s the man’s way of filtering through those who would trespass on the residents.

“Kim Seokjin.” Jimin makes sure that every syllable is crisp and clear as he slowly pronounces his employer’s name.

“And your name, sir?”

“Park Jimin.”

The man behind the desk straightens up, grabbing something that is out of Jimin’s view.  He extends his hand towards Jimin; in it is a security badge.  Jimin accepts it as the man explains, “You need the key card to get into the elevator.  Go to the ninth floor.”

“Thank you.” Jimin dips his head in thanks as he turns to go towards the elevator bay.

“You do have to press the up button.  The elevator doors aren’t just going to open for you.” With that comment, Jimin turns the color of a ripe tomato.

Jimin presses the up button repeatedly after a firm swipe with his brand new key card, not stopping until a set of doors actually opens, offering him reprieve from the giggles that are coming from the reception desk across the lobby.  As soon as he’s in the elevator, his fingers fly to the panel housing the buttons.  He punches the button for the ninth floor, stubbing his finger in the process.

He shakes his hand, trying to get rid of the pain as the doors finally close.  He leans against the side of the elevator, hitting his head against the wood paneling.  He whimpers because he just hurt himself a little bit more.  He stays in place as the elevator rises with ease, letting out a small beep that interrupts the soft music as it goes past each floor.

The beeps ring out three times as the doors open on the ninth floor.  Jimin takes a tentative step out of the elevator. The hallway is fairly wide; two well-kept potted plants are on either side of the elevator.  He walks quietly, steps muted by the carpet of the hallway.  Unsurprisingly, the very first unit that he finds the one he’s searching for, 9001.  Jimin raps his fist against the cold metal of the door.  A sense of dread pools in his stomach as seconds tick by, and no one has answered.

He’s about to knock again when the door swings in, revealing the broad stature of Seokjin’s shoulders.  Jimin isn’t quite familiar enough with Seokjin to be sure that it’s actually him just by his posture.  “Hi, Jimin.  Sorry it took so long for me to get to the door.  It’s Seokjin, in case you didn’t remember.  Come in.”

Jimin smiles as he takes a step inside.  He’s grateful that Seokjin knows that it takes him a little while before recognizing others.  The living space that he steps into exceeds his expectations, in more ways than one.  It’s a thousand times bigger than he could’ve dreamed.  It’s also a mess, wrappers of all sorts discarded on every surface.  Balled up pieces of paper are littered across the living room.  Furniture is askew, and the windows are grimy.

Seokjin clears his throat, “I didn’t need a maid for nothing.  If you’ll just sign the non-disclosure agreement, I’ll get out of your hair.”  Seokjin motions towards a cleared off piece of counter space with a very official looking packet of papers.

“Whose house is this?” Jimin asks, approaching the counter and picking up the pen that rests in the center of the pile paper.  There are colorful tape flags indicating where he should initial.

Seokjin lets out a tentative chuckle, “Well, he’s difficult, and he’s employed by the same company as I am.  Quite frankly, as often as I have to come over here to pester him about putting out more music, I’m sick of dealing with—“ Seokjin motions towards the living room with his hand, “—all of this.”

Jimin looks over the document, flipping through the pages as he hastily rushes over the words, sloppily jotting down his initials.  “He knows about this… right?”

“Of course.”  Seokjin scoffs as Jimin scribbles his name across the thin black line marked by an x on the last page.   “He’s not necessarily happy about it, but he’s going to have to it up.”

Jimin hands the contract to Seokjin, who accepts it after a cursory glance over the pages.  “Well, I’ll be off then.”  Seokjin makes his way towards the door, “Yoongi has a key for you.  Ask for it before you leave.  I’ll see you later, Jimin.  Oh! All of your supplies are in the closet right there.”  Seokjin points at the first door of the hallway.

“His name is Yoongi?” Jimin asks. He’s been curious for a while now, who exactly he’s going to work for.  He really wants to know who neglected such a luxurious space.

“Min Yoongi lives here.” Seokjin nods before leaving, effectively sealing Jimin off from the rest of the world.

Jimin stands in his place for a while, unsure of where to start.  He wonders if he should’ve bought rubber gloves.  Jimin takes a deep breath, deciding that it’s time to get started.

Jimin is hungry.  He’s been picking up the various types of trash for what feels like hours.  It’s almost lunchtime, and generally speaking, Jimin doesn’t have to wait for lunch.  His stomach growls, making him wince as he bends over once again to pick up what used to be a bag of potato chips.  Jimin begrudgingly tosses it into the fairly full trash bag that he’s been lugging around the house.

 Jimin’s back aches from bending over so many times; he sighs in defeat, taking a seat on the couch.  He lets out a happy groan as relief washes over his back.

“How did you get in here?” A cold, sharp voice asks from behind Jimin. Jimin shrieks, whipping around to see a disheveled, shirtless man looking directly at him.

“Seokjin let me in.  I’m-I’m Jimin, your housemaid person.  Seokjin hired me?”  Every word that Jimin says feels like it could be offending the man whose sweatpants are riding dangerously low, almost falling off the pale, narrow hips.

“He actually hired you?” Yoongi’s voice is rough from sleep but still very alienating.  Something in his voice sounds disbelieving, but there’s also something that Jimin doesn’t recognize mixed in his voice. “You’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me…” Jimin's voice trails off weakly.

Yoongi groans in disgust, “I hate him.  Order some pizza.”  Yoongi turns to return to the room he emerged from, “You can have two slices; I’m supposed to feed you or something.”  He slams the door to the room before opening it again, “Make sure you get cola too!”

Jimin swallows dryly.  Yoongi is prickly to say the least.

Jimin resumes picking up trash, embarrassed at having been caught while he rested.  Jumping at the sound of Yoongi’s door opening again, Yoongi emerges, grumbling beneath his breath as he slaps money  and a crinkled menu onto the counter.  Jimin watches as he returns to his room, Yoongi’s door closing much more quietly this time.

Jimin looks at the bills piled on top of a take-out menu.  Jimin sighs, picking up Yoongi’s cordless phone (he found it under a pile of trash an hour before).  He carefully dials the number, bringing the phone to his ear.  He doesn’t do much talking considering; apparently Yoongi orders from this pizzeria often enough for a few affirmative hums to get Jimin food.

It takes half an hour before there’s a knock on the door.  There’s a brief and awkward exchange between the delivery boy and Jimin.  It involves Jimin explaining that he’s the housekeeper or housemaid or whatever, and Yoongi is working on something, and no, he is not an intruder.  Jimin pays, but he doesn’t think that he’s convinced the delivery boy of anything as he leaves.

He sets the pizza and cola on the table, awkwardly approaching one of the “forbidden doors” where Yoongi is.  What lies behind it, Jimin has no idea, but he softly knocks anyhow, “Pizza’s here.”

Jimin returns to the table, waiting for Yoongi to come eat.  He emerges several minutes later, retrieving a plate from one of his very modern cupboards.  Yoongi takes two slices from the pizza, setting them on the plate, and then giving it to Jimin.

Yoongi takes the box and 2-liter bottle of cola and returns the room; the loud click of sliding a lock into place reaches Jimin’s ears.  Jimin sits awkwardly at the table.

He takes a bite of the pizza.  It’s good.  Jimin wonders if he’ll ever be anything more than a nuisance to Yoongi.  However, at this point, it’s looking very unlikely.

___

Jungkook grins to himself as he punches him timecard.  He’s finally free from work, which is of more relief than it should be.  It’s Monday, and Monday afternoons are the worst.  There’s a group of high school girls that spend the entire afternoon in the shop ogling at him.  They make greasy comments about how he could be an idol on looks alone.

It makes him uncomfortable to put it nicely.

However, today is wonderful, one of coworkers asked him to switch shifts.  He has managed to escape before his harassers can annoy him again.

He smiles brightly, greeting everyone that happens to pass by him on the street.  He wonders what he should do with his free time.  He meanders through the streets, ultimately finding himself in the park.

He walks through the trees, an occasional jogger offering him a wave as they continue on their course.  Jungkook takes a deep breath of fresh air; it’s been a while since the last time he’s just walked for the sake of walking.

Jungkook arrives at the edge of a pond where a very familiar young man is throwing bread a ducks from his seat on a bench.  Taehyung’s orange hair is probably the very worst kind of camouflage available to a person.  He’s tearing pieces of bread off of a slice and tossing it into the paddling of ducks.  There’s a stupidly sincere smile stretched across his face as ducks dip their beaks into the water, chasing after the chunks of bread.

Jungkook makes his way over to Taehyung with silent footsteps.  Once he has reached Taehyung, he takes a page from the boy’s book, poking a smiling cheek with his index finger.

Taehyung turns his face in response, eyes brightening up as a new smile breaks on his face.  “Jungkook!”

Jungkook responds with a smile of his own, all to aware that Taehyung’s smile is downright infectious.  “Taehyung.”  His voice is almost too composed, considering the fact that his heart is racing, and his feelings are caught in his throat.

Taehyung scoots over, patting the space on the bench that he’s just cleared for Jungkook.  Jungkook takes the seat, looking at the ducks that are swimming in circles.  Taehyung hands Jungkook a piece of bread.

“You left suddenly, the other day.” Taehyung says quietly, hurt lacing his voice as he tears off a piece of bread, compressing it between his fingers before throwing it into the water.

“I had to catch my bus.” Jungkook explains, unused to hearing Taehyung voice as anything but bright.  He pulls off a strip of the heel of the bread, tossing it into the water with a small plop.  A small duck quacks excitedly as he paddles his way to the floating piece of bread.

“I finished your banana milk.” Taehyung blurts out; all pain purged from his tone, replaced by slight guilt, “I couldn’t just let it go to waste.  You weren’t coming back, so you know… I just drank it.  I cleaned up for you though.” Taehyung leans into Jungkook’s personal space once again.

Jungkook turns to find Taehyung’s eyes pleading from forgiveness, “I’m not mad that you drank my banana milk.  Thank you for cleaning up after I left so abruptly.” Jungkook speaks lowly and with great clarity.

Taehyung leans back with a wide smile, “It’s the least I could do.  What do you do?”  Taehyung’s question reminds Jungkook how little they know about each other.

“Well, I work at a smoothie store.” Jungkook itches his ear, awkwardly filling Taehyung on his life story; “I’m taking a break from college.  I want to be a dancer…”

“How old are you?” Taehyung asks with lips pushed out.

“Nineteen years old.”  Jungkook wonders why it matters.

Taehyung smiles once again, “I’m two years older than you.”

“What do you do?” Jungkook asks, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from Taehyung’s face.

“I do what I like.” Taehyung giggles to himself, and Jungkook can conjure thousands upon thousands of pleasant things to compare it to, like wind chimes singing in response to the breeze on a beautiful day.  “What I do is a secret.” He whispers, “Maybe I’ll tell you one day when you’re a dancer.”

“How can you be so confident that I’ll be a dancer?  You’ve never seen me dance.” Jungkook nudges Taehyung with his elbow, a cheeky grin quirking his lips.

Taehyung pushes back, “I have a gut feeling about it.  One day you’ll show me, right?”  Taehyung’s face is earnest, and he seems almost wise for a second before busting out into another bright grin.  Taehyung takes a look at his watch, pausing with brows bunching together and a slight frown gracing his lips. “I think this will be the first time, but it’s my turn to leave.”

Jungkook arches an eyebrow before nodding.  Taehyung puts a hand on his shoulder, “Let’s exchange numbers, my young friend.”

Jungkook nods, pulling out his phone prepared to start typing whenever Taehyung is ready.  Taehyung, however, simply takes his phone, entering his SMS application and keying in his user-ID. 

“Farewell.”  Taehyung breathes as he pushes off of the bench, literally skipping on the path away from Jungkook and the bench and the bread and the ducks.

Jungkook blinks, fighting the smile that’s working its way onto his face.

Jungkook leaves the park after a while, ultimately going over to Namjoon’s record shop to bother Namjoon.  On his way to the shop, he walks past a man that’s wearing Converse high tops.  Jungkook chuckles to himself; if Namjoon was walking with him, he would probably be worshipping the very ground that the man walks on.

The record shop has an old fashioned bell system; the door’s edge bumps up against of the small bell that hangs above the door.  The shop is hidden gem of sorts.  While it’s fairly small if there are more than two people roaming the racks, there’s a record player hidden in the back in case there’s a question of quality on a "previously-owned" record.  All sorts of music encased in vinyl can be found based upon genre then artist (and if necessary, album title).

Namjoon is behind the counter, up on a stool with crossed legs as he strums on a guitar with thin fingers moving up and down the neck whenever he feels like changing the notes.  The song sounds oddly dreamy.

“Namjoon.” Jungkook interrupts his friend who merely spares him a glance.  Jungkook runs his fingers along the edges of the racks, stopping every once in a while to thumb through the albums.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Namjoon asks after a while, stilling plucking a strings as he looks at Jungkook.

“Changed shifts.” Jungkook picks up an old record, pretending to read the track-list although it’s written in Chinese.  What little he remembers from Mandarin classes in high school is of little help.

“That doesn’t really explain why you have a ridiculous smile on your face.” Namjoon says flatly, stopping his strumming, choosing to rest his arms on top of the guitar that’s balancing on a single leg.

“I have a new friend.” Jungkook smiles at the old Chinese record with a fondness that Namjoon hasn’t seen in a while.

Namjoon chooses his words with great care, “Jungkook, before you go down that path, just remember that although it may trick you into thinking otherwise, love that is unrequited is not really love at all.”

Jungkook sets the record down, pressing his lips together.  No matter how hard he may try, Namjoon has always had and always will have the uncanny ability to read Jungkook’s heart, even if it hurts them both.

a/n: i feel the need to clarify that I'm using international ages (instead of korean) because jungkook is just cookie dough right now and i'm uncomfortable (to put it nicely) with basically anything that promotes that exploitation of minors....
  Right! So Yoongi finally appears.... i must be the only person on the planet that doesn't introduce a main character until 5 chapters in....
please forgive mistakes and all that jazz... I try super hard to proofread y'know
thanks for commenting and subscribing and upvoting because wow you are like super nice.
(for someone that biases suga, is it weird that i'm little bit in love with namjoon rn?)
right... see you guys next week.