The secret is out, so Yoongi is shameless.

“What does this say?” he asks, ing his phone at Namjoon – who barely looks awake, gripping his mug like it’s a lifeline.

Namjoon squints. “I’m really bad at maths,” he answers finally. “T-T?”

Yoongi nods. “You didn’t have to translate the emoji.” Namjoon only glares at him.

 

~~

 

 

 

“Yoongi, move,” Namjoon says, not giving Yoongi any time to respond before he shoves Yoongi’s feet off the couch and onto the floor – which is fair, given that Yoongi was fully planning on not moving.

“Joon, why is the world so horrible?” Yoongi laments, clutching his phone. “So cruel.”

Namjoon settles back into the cushions, swiping the television remote from beside Yoongi. “I’m going to assume this is not about the actual inhumanities and persecution of society but your pink flower boy.”

Yoongi shrugs. “So what if it is?”

“Don’t you think your obsession is...unfounded?”

Yoongi fixes Namjoon with a blank stare – but Namjoon’s not looking in his direction, so he refocuses back onto his phone instead.

Namjoon flicks between channels, nose wrinkling. “Why don’t you just message him?”

“Because that's weird,” Yoongi responds immediately, hiding behind his phone. Namjoon barks out a laugh.

“Right, because what you’re doing now isn’t?” he finally settles on a show, something in a language that Yoongi definitely doesn’t speak. A child’s voice cuts through on the ty speakers in their tv.

“No,” Yoongi pouts. “Isn’t this how you met Kim Seokjin.”

His position grows uncomfortable, legs hanging at an awkward angle off the couch, so Yoongi swings his feet back up to land on Namjoon’s lap. Namjoon doesn’t comment on it, but he readjusts his hands to sit on Yoongi’s shins.

“Seokjin and I are friends and talk in real life,” Namjoon points out, tapping his fingers against Yoongi’s leg.

“Kim Seokjin lives in Seoul and yet you’ve never met him,” Yoongi points out. “This guy lives in some country I’ll never go to, and so there’s no reason for me to speak to him.”

“That’s totally irrational and you know it,” Namjoon says blandly, eyes focused on the foreign film playing out on the screen.

“Maybe I want to be irrational,” Yoongi says pettily, zooming in on one of the posts – his study blogger had really nice hands, and Yoongi definitely doesn’t have a thing for hands but damn.

“Okay,” Namjoon says cheerfully, patting Yoongi’s leg comfortingly like he’s part of an inside joke Yoongi doesn’t get.

 

~~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~

 

In all the time Yoongi has been stalking this stranger on the internet, there hasn’t been a single variation in the pattern. Three carefully designed posts spread out across the middle of the night– usually original content, but occasionally a reblog to fill out that quota. Never any posts on weekends, which seems fair given that people don’t usually attend university on weekends but is still a horrible affliction on Yoongi’s mental health.

At least Yoongi has Namjoon. Provided there’s something in it for him, Namjoon seems happy to sit and listen to Yoongi’s rambling – whether it’s over his music and creative blocks, or more recently over a weird fascination with a stranger on the internet who (apparently) loves the colour pink.

Yoongi’s spent way more money than he should’ve at the Chinese restaurant down the street, but it’s nice hanging out with Namjoon like this more often.

They’d originally met over a shared love of the underground rap scene in Seoul, although their friendship hadn’t really been cemented until they’d figured out they also both loved the same Chinese restaurant. It seemed inevitable that they would move in together near that very restaurant, and Yoongi doesn’t regret it one bit.

“I regret moving in with you,” Yoongi says bitterly, trying unsuccessfully to snatch his take-out box back from Namjoon. ing tall people, he thinks, as Namjoon holds to box out of Yoongi’s reach which simultaneously shovelling a mouthful of Yoongi’s food between his lips.

“You love me,” Namjoon mumbles around the food, grinning. Yoongi just huffs and settles back, pinching a dumpling between his chopsticks and letting Namjoon eat another two bites of his food.

“Why don’t you just get those noodles?” he asks, hissing when the dumpling burns his tongue.

Namjoon shrugs, sliding the styrofoam box back towards Yoongi. “Why would I? You always get them.”

Yoongi purses his lips. “You’re the worst.”

Namjoon smiles. “You need a boyfriend, your passion is wasted on me.”

Yoongi flips him the middle finger playfully. “I can’t get a boyfriend, you’d be lost without me.”

“It’s true,” Namjoon admits easily, snagging another bite of noodles from Yoongi’s box. Yoongi doesn’t even protest this time, just pulls Namjoon’s neglected container of rice closer.

 

~~