Hoseok can’t help but feel the excitement quietly bubbling in his veins as he lugs his carrier down the hallway to his apartment. His apartment, paid with his own money, with his own things. With his own bathroom, that he didn’t have to wait in almost excruciating pain to use. Thank god for Seokjin and his casual mentioning of his neighbour moving out. His skin is going to look so good from not having to screw his face up at all the long hairs that clogged the drain or fake puking when his sister walked around almost . The key scratches against the keyhole in his excitement, the first of many scratches.

"Honey I'm home!" The way his best attempt at American accent bounces off the walls is really satisfying, like a reply. It's beautiful, the way his doors can open all the way without hitting an umbrella stand or forgotten purse. He's beaming as he goes and pushes each door open for the hell of it, drinking in each refreshingly white room laid out before his eyes. His mind reels with all the things he could do, on his own, in this place that is his own.

The floor is a bit cold but his Ichiban noodles piping hot as he cracks open the lid, enjoying the mouth-watering smell of MSG wafting out of the plastic container. Mm... Artificial goodness. He can practically feel the chemicals seeping into his bloodstream as a mouthful of hot soup scalds his tongue mid-inhale. "AHHHH!" Thank god he lives alone now, no one could complain about his undignified shrieking any more. His second noodle bowl is finished with much smacking of lips, and he adds the bowl to the slowly growing stack of plastic by his make shift garbage can. It's a neat little representation of his sad solo life, and he can practically hear his mom scolding him about healthier food choices. Well, he can’t eat out of ramen bowls forever. His eyes land on the ruffled stack of flyers idling just next to his sea of shoes by the door, an Ikea brochure peeking out behind a dry cleaning business card. Beautiful, colour coded kitchenware beckons at him from the cover, forest greens and creams and is that stir fry rice in that pan? His mouth waters at the sight, or maybe it's the lingering MSG. He cracks open a water bottle and his lips: looks he’s got a hot date with the best balls in town tomorrow night.

The store is a ten minute drive away, so Hoseok arrives without a hassle. His eyes scan down the list, hand on his hip while his finger seeking the things he needs: kitchen organizer, coat rack, cutlery.. Wait, everything is in Swedish, how is he supposed to find things if he can't pronounce them? He can feel the wrinkles forming between his brows already...

He’s passed the same pristine aquamarine suite twice while looking for a way out of the one way maze from hell before he realizes the soft puff of teal peeking out between two oversized cushions isn’t part of the decor.

On closer inspection, it’s alive! A fellow tired customer perhaps, like himself, trapped in the throes of this well furnished hell. Hoseok feels a pang of sympathy: he can't say he hadn't wanted to lie down in some of the soft downy beds as he passed them. The person is so slight that he’s practically buried in the soft seats of the sofa. There's no staff in sight, but there's probably some kind of rule in a thick boring book somewhere about not getting too comfortable with purchases. He reaches out to shake the boy's shoulder, but the teal cashmere blanket hiding him from sight slips down even further past his shoulders as he shifts in his sleep . His face is calm, deep into slumber, eyes aflutter with dreams. Ah... Alright. Hoseok isn't a monster, and he definitely isn't some kind of ikea police. Let the boy snooze on; he’s too beautiful to disturb, honestly. A low grumble from his stomach interrupts his scenic view: right, his Swedish smorgasbord date. He really needs to finish his shopping soon and find dinner before his hunger consumes him instead. He hesitates, before pulling the blanket a bit higher. Maybe he'll have some fish blanketed in tartar sauce instead, or indulge his inner kid and have pasta... He doesn’t notice the eyes following him as he leaves, lost in thoughts of mouthwatering foreign food.

When he passes by again later, stomach full, the sofa sits empty, cushions seemingly untouched.

It’s Sunday evening and Hoseok is cooking his first real meal in his new home when he realizes he has no pasta strainer. He can hear the water already boiling behind him though, so he makes do by straining with a fork, which he eats the slightly soggy pasta with. One pasta strainer, one more trip to ikea.

Somehow he’s managed not to become distracted by all the color coordinated domestic goodies this time and heads straight to the kitchen wares. Strainer in hand, he feels a sense of victory as he makes his way past the kids section. There’s a small crowd of children crouched near a giant plastic tent shaped like a castle. A little boy is crying in the middle of them. Hoseok looks around, but no one seems to be paying these kids mind: their parents are probably off looking at cabinets or something. Poor kid.

“Hey kid.. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

The boy stops mid sob to peek warily at Him through clenched fists. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I just want to help,”

“Th-there’s a monster in there,” his voice quivering. He points to the castle, his big round eyes swelling up again with tears as he looks at it. “Yeah, a bad dragon! With fangs and scary eyes !!! ” a little girl pipes up. She seems more excited than scared.

Dragons don’t exist, and Jung Hoseok is no scaredy cat, he is tells himself. Still, he wonders what could possibly scare the kids so much inside a furniture store. So he can’t blame himself for feeling a bit apprehensive as his hand rests on the bright pink flap that serves as a opening to the castle.

Instead of a terrifying dragon waiting to spit straight fire at him, there in front of him is the sleeping beauty. Delicate features are framed by his pastel mint hair, soft as silk, the strands resting on top of a fancy filigree pillow no doubt stolen from the sofa section. Small hands rest clasped on his chest, which rises and falls gently with each breath as he sleeps. Long dark lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks, the pink walls of the castle tinting them with a rosy glow. As soon as the flap opens, the pretty picture stirs, and Hoseok finds himself looking into downturned eyes that look so naturally puppy like he’d find it hard to resist anything this princess says. Petal pink lips open slightly, and Hoseok swallows.

“ off.”

Ah, it's a prick, not a princess. Hoseok automatically reaches to cover as many kids’ ears as he can, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Rude much. This is the children’s section, you know!”

“Aren't you a little old to be here then? And I know. I work here, you know,” the boy raises one elegantly arrogant brow at him, and only then does Hoseok notice the telltale striped uniform. “I’m just on my break.” The boy casually clambers out of the tent and saunters off with barely an apology, though he does reach out

to ruffle the little girl’s hair. She squeals and runs off, dragging the cryer off with her.

Hoseok’s frown follows the retreating figure. So much for him looking angelic. He feels a bit miffed, as if he’d thirstily reached for a coke only to have his mouth fill with Pepsi. Not that Pepsi is bad or

anything, but it isn’t what he expects when he just wants his fill of sweet, sugary solvent. On the other hand, all this angry thinking has made him rather thirsty, and now he knows exactly what can cheer him up again.

.

The endless labirynth no longer makes him feel like a mouse lost in a maze, but now he feels like Jack in the giant's house, its sheer variety of goods still leaving him overwhelmed.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots a flash of bright orange hair and the bright yellow of the ikea staff uniform. The employee’s eyes light up when he sees Hoseok, and he waves enthusiastically at him.

“Hoseokie!” “Ahh, Jiminnie!” Hoseok can’t help the relieved grin that spreads across his face as he approaches him with his loaded cart. He’s been here enough times that the staff recognize him now, and the chipper young man who introduced himself with ‘Park Jimin at your service’ and a cute little wink had suddenly started popping up more and more in his life. It turned out that they attended the same college, even some of the same classes, and they'd evolved naturally into close friends. There's something about the boy that reminds him of Hyorin, his little sister, his familiar gestures and mannerisms sparking flashes of homesickness every so often in Hoseok's chest.

“Ooo, a big spender today hm, Hoseok-shi~? ” Jimin’s eyes twinkle as he

joins in pushing the cart. Hoseok smiles at him, grateful for the help.

“Ya... Jimin, help a hyung out?" He flashes his most charming smile, the one that had worked whenever he slept in and didn't have time to buy himself a coffee for class.

“Ask me anything, I’d love to give you a hand in any way I can." The megawatt grin Jimin beams back at home definitely rivals his own. Hoseok takes notes on dimple action before lowering his voice to whisper.

“Say, Jimin, does this Ikea have that service where staff come and build things for you?”

“We don’t have that service at this location but, “ Jimin cups his hand to Hoseok’s ear conspiratorially, "between you and me, I have a coworker whose an absolute god at putting these things together. Like, he doesn’t even know any Swedish but those drawings translate into furniture like he was born to speak table talk . It’s fun for him. Fun! It’s a bit of a side business so he does charge, but trust me, it’s absolutely worth saving on that headache of yours.”

It’s a tempting offer, as he flashes back to last night, with his back to the wall and head in his hands, trapped in a corner amidst the chaos of divots and spiks and bräda, the different parts swimming in front of his eyes.

“Yoongi hyung~ come to aisle 16b, I’ve got something good for you~” and the walkie talkie crackles back in response with a low “yeah.”

Jimin is still gossiping away about this cute new coworker who looks just like a rabbit when a familiar figure rounds the corner. It’s the sleeping beauty, his hair mussed just this side of y, eyes blinking languidly, hands stuffed into his pockets as he approaches the pair. He raises a brow upon seeing Hoseok. “If it isn’t the knight in shining armour.” “Oh, you know him?” Jimin drags the boy closer, arm linking with the other's. “It’d be hard to mistake a face like that.” Hoseok isn’t sure if that is a compliment or a diss, but before he can reply, Jimin is joining their hands together and pumping them enthusiastically at the same time. “Well, this is Jung Hoseok, and Hoseokie-ah, this is Min Yoongi, resident Ikea wizard.”“Hoseok, hm…”

Hoseok can’t help but stare as the pretty lips forming around his name. No one has the right to look this good in the lame Ikea uniform. No one, except Yoongi here, with the top button undone to reveal a neck just as exquisitely pale as his face, and slender, toned arms that end in small, but definitely strong sturdy hands. Taken in separately, the boy is a delicate work of art, but the tough way he holds himself along with the faint calluses peppering his palms add an element of danger and roughness to his character. Hoseok's always fallen for the bad boys.

Jimin liberally reaches into his coworker’s pants, fishing his way through the pocket which earns him a stern “watch it kid” before he brings out a sleek black business card with a flourish. “Call hyung any time if you need help with your furniture fiascos. Oh, and try to avoid calling in the middle of his sleep time if you value your life. I’ve got to go back to work now, I’ll see you around, Hoseokie~! ” and he’s headed off towards a very impatient looking customer, leaving him and Yoongi standing awkwardly together. There is a pause, then Yoongi turns on his heel, walkie talkie in hand. “Call me when you need me,” he tosses over his shoulder. Hoseok’s eyes do not follow that strutting away in that slim fit dark denim. Not at all. Not even a peek.

He fingers the business card absentmindedly as he waits his turn to check out. The sudden wham of his items skittering through the scanner startles him into looking at the cashier, who would be hella cute if the black-haired teen wasn’t still glaring at him as if his new purchases were y toys instead of kitschy kitchen ware. Well, he did just purchase an entire line of skänka. Hoseok chuckles to himself as he packs his bags, his eyes noting the way the employee's eyes follow Jimin as he walks down the aisles. When the redhead waves in their direction, the way he jumps a little, a faint blush immediately blooming across his cheeks, makes his feelings for Jimin obvious.

"Ahh I'm so thirsty, I can't wait to have some Coke after. Do you know what the special menu item is today?"

"Sir, the cafeteria doesn't serve Coke."

No. No freaking way. But the sullen boy is right: when he goes to the drink dispensers afterwards, nothing but Pepsi leers back at him. Maybe it was mislabeled. Maybe someone really new put Coke in or maybe his eyes are broken: he puts a little of the soda into his glass and takes a hesitant sip, his face already contorted in a cringe. But.. What?

It's Coke.

Or.. Is it?

He stares at the cup. Then at the dispenser. Then takes another sip.

His world is over. He'd failed the test. The great dilemma was never a dilemma in the first place. It's way too early in his day to have his universe inverted.

"Oy."

His life is over. How will he ever face anyone every again? Neverless, he turns to face whoever is interrupting his soda pop induced quarter life crisis. It's mint Yoongi, his eyes narrowed in a glare. "You're blocking the dispenser."

"Coke..." he manages to squeak out. His mind is still reeling in shock. Yoongi just stares at him for a moment, mouth pursed, before spinning on his heel. "Come with me." It's more of an order, a low growl that he can't help but follow in his weakened state. Hoseok finds he's still clutching his empty glass furtively and puts it down on a random table to follow him. Down a flight of stairs, through a door marked "authorized personnel only", and it's only when Yoongi starts leading him down a dimly lit hallway that Hoseok wonders if he should fear for his life. Am I going to die because I don't want to stay thirsty my friend, I'm too young to die, what if Ikea is just his day job and he's secretly the next Origami killer: his mind is going a mile a minute until he spots it: the glowing red lights of a beautiful, beautiful Coke machine. Something's already clunking out into the tray when he gets there, and Yoongi hands it to him, cool and collected. "We'll take the shortcut out. Keep it a secret."

Yoongi leaves him alone to enjoy his dinner once they emerge back on the floor. Four selfies and infinite rearrangements of his dishes later, Hoseok pops open the cap and takes a long drink. How nice of Yoongi to understand his dilemma automatically and get him the real deal. He didn't have to. Maybe he's not so bad after all. Hoseok takes another sip. Yeah, this is definitely Coke. But the Pepsi didn't taste as abhorrently disgusting as he'd always thought it did. Mindless thoughts rise and swirl as the bubbles fizz to the surface in his drink, and he wonders what other drastic revelations the day had in store for him.

The first time he calls Yoongi, it's so that Hoseok will finally have a desk to write on. On the advice of his new best friend, Hoseok has a cup of coffee ready when he arrives. The man seems skeptical, his eyebrows raising as he takes a sip. "Jiminnie tells me things," he explains with a wink. The other man's eyes flicker away from him.

The genius ikea magician begins to set up his work station, carefully allotting precise numbers of nails and screws neatly into a small tray. Hoseok tries not to watch as the man's lips move silently over the instructions, interjected with small low hums. The low rumble as he reads them to himself is soothing, like a cat's purr. He's enjoying the sound of it, and time flies as they work in comfortable silence, the smaller man deep in concentration as he poured over the instructions.

As the afternoon wears on, the real work begins. Nails hammering, divots screwing into place, measuring tape unwinding with a smooth whirr: Yoongi is everywhere, his deft hands manouvering through the assembly process with ease. Lost amid his essay, Hoseok can still faintly hear the steady thrum of hiphop trickling from the intimidatingly huge and very professional looking headphones perched on Yoongi's head. The way the band pushes his hair up is frankly adorable, the little tuft swaying with every movement.

It’s laundry day, so Hoseok knows he will be in and out of his apartment a few times as he checks to see if his load is done yet. He trusts Yoongi not to do anything to his apartment. On his way out, Yoongi pops his head up from behind the sofa bed that is his masterpiece today. “Hey, I'm going to listen to my music out loud. That brat Jimin borrowed my headphones and keeps saying he left them at home. ”

“Sure hyung. Make it something good~” He almost misses the way Yoongi’s eyes beeline to his collection of CDs , which primarily consists of signed Sistar albums and hiphop.

Sure enough, when he returns, his arms laden with freshly laundered sheets, he’s accosted by familiar strains of his favorite song of all time.

“Touch my body, ”

It’s like he’s a man possessed; his body can’t help but start to dance, sheets be damned. It’s all he can do but shake his during the chorus, the blankets threatening to spill out of his arms, and the way Yoongi laughs so hard he collapses against the sofa frame makes Hoseok’s heart lurch. It continues to ache in a strange sort of way as he folds his fitted sheets with ease in his bedroom, the sounds of his chuckles playing over and over in his head.

The last strains of his goddess' vocals soar into the end. The song switches over , and now Rap Monster's Awakening comes on. The player must be set on shuffle.

There’s something a little different about the way the track sounds today: he can't quite put his finger on it. The vocals are crisp, the words sounding throttled and low, and when Hoseok leaves his room to see if his CD player is being an idiot, the change is immediately clear. Yoongi’s mouth is moving a mile a minute. And of course it’s different, because it's the instrumental he's chosen to play, and his own voice flowing smooth and lyrical over the twisted vowels of the rap lines.

“in the moment of my failure
will someone hold my hand?
in the moment when I come down from the stage
will that person be next to me?
Just tell me that i can survive
In this cold world, just feel my vibe
I know one day at a time
The sun gon’ shine”

Damn. The boy can rap. His low voice flows over the words, no tripping no skipping. The last beat fades away, and only then does he realize he’s been standing there gawking like a goose for the entirety of the song. “H-holy , you sounded amazing! So hot-” oh how to recover "er, so happens I had that cd eh? I didn't know you could rap." "Yeah... It's a hobby of mine.” The rest of the day passes quickly by, exchanging favorite artists and lyrics, punctuated by hammer chinks and frequent snack breaks. Hoseok is extremely excited to hear that Yoongi knows about Supreme Boi, and the sofa is abandoned for almost an hour as they went through their favorite songs together. By the time he leaves, Hoseok almost feels sad to see Yoongi go: it had been fun, and when the door has shut between them, he makes note of the open Ikea brochure sitting on the dining room table. Perhaps a little dinner literature to ease the sudden emptiness of his flat wouldn’t hurt.

Hoseok finds himself walking up the double flight of stairs into the hallowed furniture store less than a week later. This time, he’s got his eye on a lovely minimalistic black shelving unit.

Jimin’s working again, full of shy glances and really painful hits on the arm when Hoseok teases him about his crush. When he asks if they’ve gotten any closer, Jimin nods eagerly and Hoseok enjoys the way the boy ducks and laughs as Hoseok ruffles his orange hair affectionately. Jimin’s helping him find his box of furniture parts when they hear a commotion in the next aisle.

"Uh oh... Did Kookie get in trouble again? I should go help him..."

"You're one to talk, hyung," they hear the younger mutter as they round the corner. Yoongi is righting a knocked display, while Jungkook seems to have just gotten up. Hoseok can feel the tension radiating from the pair, and it looks like Jimin does too, the younger man biting his lip worriedly.

"at least I’m not following him around like a sick puppy." Yoongi looks calm, composed in his task, a direct contrast with Jungkook, his arms crossed and shoulders tense with indignation.

“you’re doing the same thing as I am, hyung!”

A few more terse words too low to hear are exchanged, before the younger stomps off. "Sorry Hoseokie, I have to damage control-" "no no, go on. Work your magic... Give him one of your cute little grins." Whatever it is, he's sure Jimin can mediate it, with his healing smiles and understanding ways. His fluffy orange hair bobs as he ducks in apology and runs off, a little smile dancing across his features.

Hoseok feels a little bad calling Yoongi in the middle of winter, but sometimes a guy just really needs his . It's the coldest winter yet, and With the snow storm warning quietly broadcasting in his tv, it's really no weather for a human being to be put And Yoongi seems to agree. He's greeted at the door by two eyes glaring at him from a mountain of yarn, a wool beanie that looks suspiciously homemade pulled over his eyebrows, with the biggest grey scarf he's ever seen wrapped so many times around his neck that Yoongi's shoulders have disappeared under their mass. Hoseok goes to grab his offering for the yarn monster from the kitchen.

"Thanks for coming, hyung." He hopes the cup of cocoa he hands over is good enough of an apology.

Two dark eyes peer at him from the knitted folds before the scarf is completely off. Yoongi’s hands brush his as the cup is passed, and somehow it feels as though the temperature has risen. He looks at the dark, foaming liquid suspiciously, before taking a sip. "It's good " He says it like it was a surprise.

Hoseok does his best to look offended, his hands on his hips. "Of course it is, I made it from scratch for you, that's why. Not too sweet for you?"

"That's sweet.. Ah, it's.. It's good."

It'd been a cold winter morning so he’d turned the thermostat up just a tad, and now he regrets it a little, just a little, as he watches Yoongi out of the corner of his eye, feeling rather hot under the collar. Apparently Yoongi could feel the heat too, the baggy sweater sleeves rolled up to reveal pale, slightly toned forearms as he fitted the boards against the wall to test the fit. From this angle, Hoseok has a perfect view of the collarbone curving gracefully out of sight every time the loose sweater shifts as he works. Hoseok finds himself wanting to follow the smooth lines of it with his lips, see where that forbidden path would take him. Run his hands up those pale forearms, tug at the sleeves until he can bring the sweater up and off. He wonders if Yoongi’s chest is just as pale as the rest of his body, if he had abs, if he would let Hoseok trace them with his fingers. Yoongi brings a forearm up to wipe the sweat from his brow. He then bends over to rifle through his toolbox, and the sight of his underwear peeking out past the low rise of his jeans (not the same pair, this time: he’d worn a very chic pair of distressed denims to work every time he came over, stating that there were work pants AND pants that work), the lines of the fabric straining against those thighs, is like a kick in the gut. His lap suddenly feels wet, and for a second he embarrassedly wonders if he somehow came in his pants at the sight: a quick look down, and no, it’s just his chilled coffee making itself comfortable. Yoongi looks up and quirks a brow as Hoseok groans, wiping at the mess futilely with tissues. It’s no use, he’s just going to have to change them. On his way past the kitchenette to his room, he realizes he can do a bit more than just gawk at the sweaty male. Pants changed, he fills a glass with water from his filtered tap.

“Would you like a tall drink of water?”

The hammer pauses. Yoongi looks directly at him as he leans against the counter, and it’s quiet enough for a pin to drop. Maybe he didn’t hear him and is waiting for him to repeat himself? He hums, about to ask again, but Yoongi is already up and taking the glass from him with a curt “thanks.” Hoseok watches his Adam’s apple bob as the man downs the entire glass in one go. A drop trickles its way from the corners of his mouth. Hoseok watches as it carves a path down Yoongi’s neck before disappearing under his collar, and he swallows too. Hobi, calm yourself, he think,s but it's even more difficult to will down his growing interest in the other man when Yoongi runs a hand through his own slightly sweaty hair and his lips. Seriously distracting, not helping one bit. Yoongi clears his throat.

“You know, you should really learn how to do this yourself”

"Ah, but there’s no fun in that!”

“If it’s so much fun for you, why am I even here?”

He has so many replies to that, none of them acceptable, so Hoseok just shrugs and gives Yoongi the cheekiest grin he can muster before going back to his work.

Rain patters on outside his windows as Hoseok types in relative silence. He can’t see it behind his cheery green drapes, but he can hear it, and the sound calms him immensely. There’s tea brewing on the counter, the smell of green leaves broiling mingling with the lingering scent of the toasted croissant he had for lunch earlier. He gets up to fluff his much used seat cushion a bit, before settling back into his favorite writing nook. It’s been a few months since he’s moved in now, and it’s safe to say it feels like home. Though, as he listens to the wind howling hollowly past his apartment, it feels a bit lonely, somehow.  Perhaps he should get a cat.The sudden sound of his doorbell breaks his reverie. Who could it possibly be on a rainy day?

He can’t help the flash of mint hair and pursed lips in his mind’s eye as he slowly rises from his comfortable spot.

The bell rings again, damn, he’s in a hurry. Hoseok edges out around his things, but still manages to bang his toe on the edge of a conveniently placed shelf. “, I’m coming!” he shouts without thinking. His hand is already pulling the door open as he realizes what he said, face beginning to flush scarlet.

“Ah… do you have a fever? I came at the best time then.”

It’s just Seokjin. Right. Not like he had been expecting anyone else. Actually, he hadn’t been expecting anyone at all.

“What? No, no fever. Um… what are you doing here?”

“Can’t I come visit my cute dongsaeng without a good reason? “ Seokjin moves past him into the tiny foyer, toeing off his shoes carefully. Hoseok suddenly finds a huge Tupperware being shoved into his arms. “A house warming gift, from your very first real guest. It’s your favorite casserole, I thought you’d appreciate it. Though I suppose your first guest is the little Ikea whizz you’ve got your eye on, hm? You been too engrossed in him to inviting me over, so here I am to welcome you.” Hoseok follows behind him, arms full. “Besides, it’s been awfully noisy, your flat. Exactly how much have you bought from Ikea- “ he bumps straight into Seokjin’s broad back. The taller man has stopped stock still right before the living room.

"Oh... the entire show room. Or more like two…”

“I can explain hyung! I just… he’s over a lot, you know?”

“Hoseok,” Seokjin says, resting his hand on his shoulder as they observe his already very crammed little suite, shelves and cabinets lined wall to wall, all perfectly constructed. “Just ask him out already.“

One of the tables is a little wobbly and seems to be missing something, so he fires a quick text to Yoongi later that evening. He gets a brisk “I’ll drop by before work tomorrow,” and that’s that. He appears in the doorway in the morning like a dream, hair mussed and saddlebag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. Their eyes meet and there is a strange silence: Hoseok’s just rolled out of bed too, so he’s shirtless. . His hands automatically go to cover his chest, before he remembers he’s a real man, damnit. “Good morning, Yoongi-hyung.” “…Good god, put on some clothes. So what was the problem?” Hoseok chuckles to himself as he points at the offending table, and Yoongi goes straight to work.

Looking at him, Hoseok can tell he's happy today, despite the barbed words and hunched posture. If anything, his sarcasm gets stronger the better he feels; maybe it's his way of letting loose, when he knows he can be the way he is around those close to him. The man is spitting lyrics to himself again, and when Hoseok squats to admire the man's handiwork he's treated to a personal rap performance so fierce it takes his breath away. He listens, enraptured until the end, and then literally gets swept off his feet, losing his balance from how they'd gone numb. Yoongi's proud smirk erupts into laughter. .. He just had to sit on some nails too. Definitely not the definition of being nailed in the he was looking for, but the gentle fingers that massage his thighs when he complains makes him wonder if he has a chance with that.

As he’s washing their dishes after a quickly scrambled together breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, something falls into place. He looks to the foyer. Yoongi’s shoes are scattered haphazardly amongst his. He puts away the specific mug that Yoongi uses when he’s over (and truth be told, only he uses, because it’s not like Hoseok likes Japanese bear mascots or anything, it was just a cute impulse purchase… totally not related to seeing the bear strap dangling from Yoongi's keys and emblazoned on his socks or anything..) And finally, he looks to Yoongi, who’s tucked himself into the couch for an afternoon nap, half curled into Hoseok’s flannel throw, muttering something about not wanting to go to work since he just worked here, why…

Hoseok is no scaredy cat, so he knows he can do this. He breathes in:

“What do you think of something for the balcony area?”

Later on, with his backseat reclined to fit the planks for the new loveseat, Hoseok thunks his head on his steering wheel , the honk startling a granny walking by, and has to apologize profusely as he helps her carry her groceries up to her apartment.

When Yoongi shows up in his customary ripped jeans and worn t-shirt work ensemble the next day, Hoseok is prepared. The older man raises a brow as he settles down next to him.

"Thought about what you said last time hyung. I can’t stand only you having fun with yourself: show me how it’s done!” Hoseok pulls up his sleeves and steels himself for a day of nightmares before he regrets it.

The day turns out much better than he anticipated. He’s gotten used to the way Yoongi calls him names and such: underneath it all, the man is all bark and no bite. His explanations about the diagrams are thorough and concise, and it’s a thrill watching him working from this close, their breaths mingling as Yoongi bends closer to observe his shaky attempts to align the slots on the planks.

And when Yoongi puts his hands over his to show him the proper way to hold the the hammer, Hoseok faintly wonders if they other man can feel how fast his heart is racing beneath his fingers.

When they get hungry, Hoseok makes them a late lunch. Yoongi is stubborn as always, wanting to persist and finish the job sooner, so he gets the pleasure of hand feeding the sandwich to the man. It’s hilariously adorable, how the man’s face scrunches up in annoyance for a brief second at the thing suddenly being shoved in his face, before he realizes it's food and takes another bite.

Finally it’s done. His knees and shoulders feel stiff as cardboard from crouching, and he can hear the joints popping and cracking as he gets up for a nice big stretch. The bench sways gently, built by their hands together. He feels a sense of accomplishment and excitement expand in his chest, filling him with confidence. Outside, the view he'd fallen in love with when he chose this flat is phenomenal; the sun is just setting, painting the sky red and gold. A breeze picks up, whipping around the building and filling his lungs with fresh air and new beginnings and suddenly Hoseok wants to just be part of it, hitching his feet on top of the bottom rail so he can lean into the wind a la Titanic (hey, a boy can dream too). He tries hard to recall the lyrics to the song , but English isn't his forte and he just ends up laughing at himself.

“Get down from there, you idiot. I’m not being paid to wipe your corpse off the parking lot.”

Yoongi's words are harsh, but the look in his eyes are soft and full of affection.

They lean back on the railing to admire their handiwork.

“And now I can fulfill my dream of wooing my lover with my loveseat. Cute, eh?” He gives the other man the best wink he can muster, causing him to wince and turn away.

“Who in their right minds would be wooed with a corny idea like that?” Yoongi doesn’t meet his eyes, his tone just this side of dismissive as he sits down, the chair shaking in its stand as he leans back with an exhausted sigh. He closes his eyes, and Hoseok is suddenly reminded of the sleeping beauty he once came upon, deep in the depths of Ikea.

Now or never.

Hoseok kneels and stabilizes the swinging seat.

“You, if you’re willing.“

The elevator arrived at his floor with a little jolt. It’s been ages since he moved in now, and things aren’t running quite as squeaky new as when he first arrived. He’s glad to escape the tiny metal cell when its doors slide open, his finger sliding to loosen his tie as he walks quickly down the corridor. His keys slide into the lock with practised ease, but as the door swings open, he feels.. Off. Something is different. The temperature in the room, or something else, perhaps.

Hoseok slows down mid way while shucking off his black wingtips. The apartment is eerily quiet. Immediately he starts scanning the room for his valuables to see if anything's missing. The tv sits on its secondhand stand, powered off and silent. His iPad is also still there, tottering precariously on the sofa next to a few stale popcorn kernels and three mixed up remotes. He pads deeper into his little suite, holding his breath. He feels the air shifting: there's a slight breeze wafting through the room, bringing with it the sweet smell of flowers in spring bloom and dewy petricore. The door to the balcony is wide open, curtain billowing gently, beckoning.

He finds what he’s looking for when he steps outside, bare feet on the mossy rug.

What he finds most valuable of all is curled up on the loveseat they made together, the afternoon light glinting through his faded locks.

Hoseok lifts his boyfriend’s head and gingerly sits down before resting it on his lap. His hands weave instinctively into Yoongi’s almost blonde strands, and he enjoys the little smile that appears on his face as the other man shifts and snuggles closer to him. "Welcome home, Hobi,” his lips moving gently against his left thigh. It sounds a little too close to hubby, and he feels his heart lurch at the thought. Hoseok brushes off his overactive imagination with a cough.

"Oh, no more offs?"

"I don't have any s to give to you, unless you want one. Maybe after dinner."

"Is now not a good time for s to be given?"

The glare that Yoongi sends him, drowsy but still lethal, is enough for him to know not to disturb the sleeping dragon any further. Yoongi closes his eyes again.

“It’s a good thing that idiot Jungkook was wrong all along. Jimin would never be able to stand your ."

Hoseok smiles wryly at this. Honestly, what had that kid been thinking? Him and Jimin together. He tries to imagine wrapping his hand around the back of Jimin's neck, the other boy puckered up for a kiss... Hoseok makes a face. Nope, too much like dating his own sister. Not his thing. No wonder he'd be glared down by Jungkook every time he went to the store though.

But the way he's wiggling in his lap is sending other messages to him, his cheek nuzzling closer and closer to dangerous territory.

"Oh come on, sugar baby, I've had a long day at work, let's play~" He his lips and wiggles his brows, kicking his legs so the swing rocks quickly, in and out.

“Hoseok, you aren’t seriously considering using this thing like a swing,” Yoongi’s low laughter is worth every silly thing that he ever says, every time. The way he laughs, eyes crinkling while still lingering on the swing when he thinks Hoseok isn't looking… he can tell his wheels are turning.

"It's going to be too ing cold for that. Let's go back inside before you think of more ideas to freeze your balls off with."

He lets Yoongi drag him willingly back into their apartment. His hand feels warm and just right, their fingers intertwined. As he crosses the threshold, eyes resting on their shared living quarters, he thinks of how perfectly Yoongi has slotted into his life. It’s as if all this time, he had not only been building furniture piece by piece into a home, but building a space into Hoseok’s heart, and he really cannot complain.