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sleepysugabear · 2 years

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This is Happening - Chapter Two

“You know BTS?”

You probably jumped a foot when the deep voice nearly yelled into your ear. Your phone clattered to the floor, ripping your headphones out painfully. In your haste to pick it up and assess the damage, you nearly forgot about the man who had yelled at you, but he was still there when you stood straight, laughing.

“You know BTS?” he asked again, at a more reasonable volume.

“BTS?” you weren't sure what a BTS was, but the tall probably-Korean guy seemed to think it was worth interrupting your breakfast. You couldn't help but note the disparity between his gravel-deep voice and sweet baby face. Or the fact that his shaggy pink hair was dripping water all over your shoes.

“You know Bangtan? Korea?”

“I don't know anything about Korea,” you insisted, gathering your things, but mentally pat yourself on the back for getting it right.

“Ohh . . .” He thumped down into the chair next to you, staring off into space. Then his eyes lit up and he held up one finger, urging you to wait. He called out to the others at the buffet, waving his hands excitedly.

The one filming started to turn around, but whipped back to the buffet when he saw you sitting there and yelled something over his shoulders instead. As you looked him over, you thought the one with the camera and black hair might be larger than the one standing next to you, certainly more buff. Then again, you got the feeling that the string bean to your left could easily be broken in half.

Others joined in, motioning for him to leave you alone and go back to the group, but he didn't move an inch. He continued to shout and hold out his hand (asking them to bring him something?), and motioning to you. They continued to shout across the room, agitation evidently increasing on both sides, until the tall one with darker skin and silver hair jogged toward you. You had started to back away from the commotion, but the dimpled stranger's approach compelled you to stay put.

“I'm sorry.” He smiled and ducked his head. “My brothers are idiots.”

The giant toddler to your left huffed in protest and held out his hand expectantly.

It took a moment for you to, literally, shake your head free of the stupor, but you eventually came to and found the words while the dimpled one handed a large phone over to Babyface.

“You're all brothers?” You looked them over, and while they did have some common features—namely: attractive and likely Korean—you really didn't see the resemblance.

Dimples chuckled deep in his throat. “In a way. We are like a family. Brothers who spend too much time together.” He bowed slightly. “I am Nam-”

“BTS!” Babyface interrupted, pushing his phone in front of your face.

You squinted at the picture of the seven of them, standing in a row, again struck with the vague sense that you'd seen them before. But when you showed no signs of obvious recognition, his childish features scrunched up in frustration.

“Bee. Tee. Ess!” He enunciated, as if that would help. “V!” He pointed to himself, and then his face in the picture.

Dimples sighed and plucked the phone from Baby's long fingers. After a moment, the beginnings of a song you knew you'd heard somewhere started to play. And when he handed you the phone, it all suddenly made sense.

“BTS!” You put a hand over your mouth and looked around, suddenly aware of your predicament. Of course, BTS, the biggest boy band in the world. Or so you'd been told. “I saw this on TV,” you said, holding up the phone. “I saw you on AGT.”

Dimples ducked his head and turned slightly pink, but the Baby seemed annoyed that he no longer had your attention.

“You see me?” He asked, smiling wide, like a toddler peering at you through a peace sign.

“Yes, I see you.” you rolled your eyes. Were it not for the terrible mood you were already in when he approached, you might have found him cute or funny. As it was, he was beginning to annoy.

“Number one most handsome!” He smiled somehow wider, and your jaw dropped slightly.

He has such a high opinion of himself!

“It's true,” Dimples added. “He was first of the Top 100 in 2017, but dropped a few this year.”

“According to who?” You squinted, trying to see the appeal. He was attractive, they all were, but his overt energy was too much for you at the moment, and likely clouding your judgment.

Baby's face fell, and you immediately felt like shit. But before you could apologize, the other five members of what you now knew to be BTS converged on your location.

“Um, excuuse mee!” The smallest-looking one approached you with a wide smile and bunched eyes. His pastel blue hair lent to his adorable demeanor. “Will you take picture?” He held out his phone.

“Please,” Dimples mumbled.

“Oh! Please! Will you take picture?”

“Uh, I guess.” You held out your hand for the phone, hesitant. Overwhelmed. Did you really just get approached by the biggest boy band in the world on the worst day of your life? So far. And this little . . . puppy person, apparently one of the hottest and most famous people alive, was just going to hand you his phone and ask you to take a photo of them? Of BTS? Was this happening?

The puppy dropped the phone into your outstretched hand, but you were still fighting to slide your bag off your shoulders with the other arm and lost your balance. For one brief moment, it seemed like you were about to either shatter a Korean idol's cell phone, or fall flat on your ass in front of seven of them, but an arm on the small of your back helped you center yourself. You looked up, you were pretty sure, into the face of a brunette god.

“Hello. I am Jin, but you call me Worldwide Handsome.” He winked, and you almost swooned, but caught yourself in time. What is it with these guys bragging about their looks? You weren't generally a fan of cockiness, although you could admit you understood where he was coming from.

Still, not impressed with his attitude.

“Thanks, uh, Jim.” You purposely called him the wrong name as you righted yourself. “Are you going to be in the picture?” You gestured to the other six getting into formation in the corner of the lobby.

Jin's face fell when you didn't acknowledge him, but joined the others, who openly mocked.

“Oh, Worldwide Handsome, save me too.”

“Worldwide Handsome. Such swag.”

And a lot of words you didn't know thrown in as all seven of them laughed. To his credit, Jin looked properly embarrassed as he stuck his fingers in his ears and yelled what you could only assume was the Korean equivalent of, “Lalala! I can't hear you!”

It would have been funny, were you not still dumbstruck.

You waited for them to settle before snapping a picture.

Dimples pulled an innocent face, resting his head in his hands.

Jin stood behind him, one arm around his shoulders, and the other blowing a kiss.

The puppy, smiling sweetly, clung to the big baby, who peered at you through a peace sign again. You guessed that was his signature move.

In the center, striking an over-the-shoulder pose was, you assumed, “the hot one.” All boy bands had one, usually the youngest member. He was cute, you guessed, in fashionable jeans and natural black hair but had to be WAY younger than you. He reminded you of a baby bunny.

On either end, you saw what seemed to be complete opposites. To your right was a tall-ish ball of sunshine—complete with highlighter orange hair—hopping up and down and changing his mind on what pose he wanted to do roughly every tenth of a second. First finger guns, then a thumbs up, some thing with his thumb and forefinger, but he finally settled on a two-handed heart below his apple-cheeked face.

On the left, a guy about as small as Puppy, but probably older, waited with an open-mouthed stare while the rest figured it out. He looked dead on his feet, and ready to go back to bed, his bleached white hair made you think of him as a tired, old man. You thought about saying something, asking if he was ready, but he didn't seem to be paying attention, and you weren't sure he would even understand, so you started counting.

“One . . . Two . . . Three!” As soon as you said “three” the sleepy one looked to the camera and puffed out his cheeks. “One more?” you offered.

They all shifted to slightly different poses. The big baby knelt in the center, while Sleepy and the bunny flanked his shoulders. The puppy clung to Dimples now, while Jin completed his half of a heart over Sunshine's head. They had this photo shoot thing down to a science.

You took five or six pictures this way, with all seven of them intermingling so they rarely touched the same person twice. Dimples's words came back to you, and you knew now they were brothers, and part of a well-oiled machine.

Eventually the photo session devolved into face licking, slap fights, and rude hand gestures. You guessed they'd forgotten you were there, so you took a few snaps while they were distracted. They probably wouldn't use any of those for their social media accounts, but you thought they might enjoy looking at them later.

You contemplated taking a pic or two with your own phone, but knew that would cross a line somehow. You resolved to look the group up at a later date instead. Maybe they'd put these pictures up on a website and you could view them with your younger co-workers. Only you would know who had taken them.

A smile threatened to break free at the thought, but then you remembered: You didn't have co-workers. You didn't have a job. You didn't even have a place to sleep for the night. You carefully placed Puppy's phone on the table closest to them and went to gather your things.

You didn't have time for BTS.

You had shit to figure out.

Your back to the boys, you jumped when a hand landed on your shoulder.

“Stay.” It was Sleepy, of all people. You didn't know him, obviously, he just seemed so disinterested. He sat in the chair the baby had used before and rubbed his temples. Looking at you through his hands, he added, “Sit.”

You bristled for a moment, not liking that you'd been ordered to sit, like a dog, but he hadn't said it in a demanding way. It was simply a suggestion—from someone who was likely uncomfortable with full sentences.

You sat in the chair next to him, wondering what he expected from you, but he just sat there, rubbing his temples and rolling his eyes at his brothers' antics.

“Can you smile?” he asked. You thought about it for a moment, and you guessed you hadn't smiled since they'd met you. Then again, it had been a long day, and it wasn't even lunch time yet.

“You smile, please?” he asked again.

“You!” you challenged. Other than a few fake smirks during the photo shoot, he hadn't smiled much either. He answered with another fake grin, and you raised a brow at him. You weren't buying it.

He sighed and pulled out his phone, opening a translator app.

There is bet. I will like to win if you smile. Please.

You nodded, but didn't smile. Of course it was a bet. Why else would BTS be talking to you? The baby making silly faces, and Jin blowing kisses, even the puppy's overly-sweetness...it all made sense now. On one hand, you supposed it was nice that they saw a sad woman and wanted to make her happy. But it also hurt a tiny bit that it was all part of a game between them. They didn't really care if you smiled, they all just wanted to win.

You glanced over to the six still standing. They had retrieved the phone from where you left it and attached it to a telescopic selfie stick from Sunshine's fanny pack. They didn't even need you to take pictures; it was all part of the bet.

They will not stop until you smile.

Sleepy handed you his phone and gestured to the group, still rough housing in the corner.

Honestly, shouldn't they have handlers? Or body guards or something? You thought to yourself. You could have just walked off with Puppy's phone and disappeared before he'd noticed. You could have looked through his pictures, or taken all their phone numbers out of it. Someone online would have paid thousands for the info. It was just plain irresponsible.

As though sensing your thoughts, Sleepy plucked the phone from your hands. At first, you thought he was taking it away from you, but then you realized he was looking for something.

“Holly.” He showed you a picture of a small brown poodle that just about broke you.

“Aww. Puppy,” you pouted.

With a genuine smile, Sleepy leaned in and flipped through a few more pictures of Holly the poodle and himself. He looked carefree and sweet in the pictures, and when you glanced to your left, you saw the love for his dog shining in Sleepy's eyes as he leaned almost too close to you. You felt your lips twitch; you liked this version of him. Then you came across a photo that put you over the edge. Sleepy tried to hurry past it, but you stilled his hand, swiped back, and laughed.

“It's a puppy with a puppy!” You laughed. The guy you'd been referring to as “Puppy” in your head was holding and receiving kisses from Holly in the photo. You looked over to share the moment with Sleepy, but the look in his eyes had changed. The love was still there, intensified if anything, but also slightly broken.

You realized then that your hand was still on his, and it was suddenly uncomfortable. You didn't know a lot about Korean culture, but you were pretty sure holding hands with a stranger, specifically of the opposite gender, was frowned upon.

Jerking your hand away snapped him out of it.

“Two puppies,” he fake smiled again.

You smiled sadly back, grabbed his hand—deliberately this time—and swiped the photo off screen together.

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sleepysugabear · 2 years

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This is Happening - Chapter Three

Dimples found you that way a few minutes later, still digging through Sleepy's extensive photo album of his dog. You weren't holding hands anymore, but you were probably sitting closer than was culturally acceptable as you huddled together over the tiny screen, trading exclamations in your respective languages (although, you deduced fairly quickly that he understood English better than he spoke it).

As soon as your dark mood had lifted, you found that you felt comfortable with Sleepy. Being with him seemed right, like meeting an old friend. Even though you didn't speak the same language, or even know his real name, you got the sense you knew each other well.

So, the closeness didn't embarrass you, but you weren't sure how your new old friend would react.

When Dimples approached with a questioning brow, Sleepy responded with a slow blink and shrug, then turned back, smiling, to his photos.

Dimples simply smirked and called out for the others to join you.

“Hey!” Babyface rushed to pull Sleepy from his seat, pouting and whining in Korean. You glanced around to see if this was normal behavior, which it apparently was, as the only one reacting was Sleepy.

He narrowed his eyes and growled something in a low voice you were almost sure was a threat of some kind, and the baby noped out of there in a hurry. He crouched close to Sunshine, who soothed and patted his head like a mother would her child.

Jin and Dimples pulled a second table up to yours, and the boys gathered around, now that there was room.

Puppy gestured to you from the crook of Bunny's shoulder and said what Dimples translated as, “He wants to know how he got you to smile.”

“Holly!” You took the phone from Sleepy and showed the puppy on screen.

Suddenly not depressed, Babyface popped his head up from Sunshine's lap and excitedly ran to your other side, tripping over a chair leg on the way. He stumbled somehow gracefully for his gangly frame and landed squarely on the seat to your right. With a flourish, he produced his own phone and pictures of his dogs. Three of them. And a cat.

“He loves animals,” Dimples explained. “His apartment would be a zoo if he spent more time there.”

Babyface beamed proudly at this, and continued to show off his pets. One Pomeranian in particular--Yeontan, you were told--seemed to be the center of most of them.You smiled indulgently and allowed Tae to monopolize your attention for a time. When he ran out of pictures of his own pets, he pulled up a social media page and started showing you more dogs you guessed belonged to the other members.

He stopped after a minute and stared at you, “Who you like best?”

“I can't pick a favorite. They're all cute.” You took the phone from him and continued to flip through the pictures.

He looked pleased by your answer, but a quick Korean follow-up with Dimples cleared up some confusion.

“He means, which of us do you like best?”

You felt your eyes widen as you looked them over. What was the right answer here? Was there one? You hadn't had any interaction with three of the seven, and your brush with Jin had been tense at best. You thought about saying Sleepy, for several reasons, not the least of which being that he was the only one that had been honest with you.

Then again, they were all sitting here now, bet won and apparently forgotten. And you didn't even know Sleepy's name to give it. Maybe you could Google?

“I don't . . .” You looked down. “Jin!”

“Jin?” At least four voices asked.

You held up the phone to show a photo of Jin holding a baby sugar glider and pouted more dramatically than the Big Baby. “Is he yours? Oh my god! So cute!” you squealed.

Jin turned pink and ducked his head.

“She means Odeng.” Dimples laughed and shoved Jin's shoulder. He went fully red and dropped his forehead to the table with a bang. His shoulders began to shake, and you heard what sounded like squeaky windshield wipers escaping his throat.

Ignoring the world's goofiest laugh, you asked, “Is that his name? So cute!” Sleepy reached over and swiped to another photo. “Oh, there's two of them! Hello, sweet peas!” You cooed to the picture like it could hear you. Sleepy let you in on the names of all the pets, patiently waiting for you to repeat and pronounce them all correctly.

When you were done, you glanced around and made sure the others were occupied. “And what is that puppy's name?” You gestured the phone toward Puppy the man, tentatively brushing Sleepy's leg with your other hand.

He grasped it and squeezed gently, but answered with a clear voice, “Jimin.”

You gasped. “Wait, Jimin. Like . . . Jimin? Jimin?” You handed Baby's phone over to scramble and unlock your own. Promise was still queued up, on pause from when your headphones came out.

Sleepy nodded and squeezed his eyes shut a moment. You quickly dropped your phone and took his hand again. You weren't sure exactly what was going on, but your heart ached for your friend.

“What's your name?” You kept your voice low and soothing, but attempted nonchalance.

“Oh goodness!” Dimples yelled.

Apparently he was still there. You'd forgotten.

A part of you wished he wasn't.

“You don't know us, do you? We are used to people knowing who we are already. I am so sorry. How impolite!” He rattled off some Korean, and all the men hung their heads in shame.

“Now, now, Jin introduced himself.” You smirked, and he groaned, thunking his head to the wood again. “And you started to,” you looked to Dimples, “but someone interrupted you.”

Babyface leaned his head on your shoulder, embarrassed, for just half a second before jumping back, as though scalded. You looked to him, concerned.

“You make him too comfortable,” Dimples explained, glaring at him.

“I'm sorry.” Babyface bowed with a grave expression and moved away from you. You extended your hand to comfort him, but dropped it, unsure how impolite that would be. You hadn't had these problems with Sleepy, and were suddenly glad you'd kept your touches out of sight.

“In the US, it's not so serious,” you assured them both without moving. “It's not polite to be overly familiar with a stranger, but if you are having a friendly conversation, and the other person doesn't seem uncomfortable . . .” You trailed off, unsure how to explain the intricacies of consent.

“In the US, we shake hands, sometimes hug, even between a woman and a man, even if you're just meeting them.” You glanced around, expecting disgust, but Dimples was leaned forward on the table, listening with rapt attention, and murmuring a translation of your words to the others, who all had pinched eyebrows.

“Sorry,” he explained. “We have taken etiquette from a teacher, and seen movies and TV, but we never got to talk to an average American woman.”

“Only ARMYs,” Bunny added, with haunted eyes.

“Fans,” Dimples clarified.

Poor Bunny, you thought. He must get grabbed at a lot.

You proceeded to educate them on the basics of American social interaction, starting with introductions. You gave them only your first name (which embarrassed them, because they hadn't thought to ask), and asked them to keep it simple by only giving you the name they wanted you to use for now (learning seven new names was hard enough, but to throw in Korean with formal, casual, stage, etc was way too much).

By and large, greetings weren't much different from what they were used to or had heard, but it seemed any faux pas was a great insult in Korea, as evidenced by the Bunny—who introduced himself as Jungkook—being a little too polite with his language. His brothers had almost pulled his ear off in reprimand.

“She is not that old!” Namjoon, formerly Dimples, scolded.

“How old you?” Sleepy asked (he had introduced himself as Yoongi, but you were attached to the nickname).

“Twenty-seven.” You were embarrassed. You knew you had to be the oldest at the table. They all looked so young.

“I am twenty-seven!” Jin smiled.

“In Korea,” Namjoon added, then explained how Korean ages worked. Each member recited their age from Jin, the oldest, to Jungkook, the youngest. You were surprised to find that both Jin and Yoongi were older than Namjoon, given the levels of maturity and composure he displayed. You were un-surprised, however, to find out he was the group's leader because of that—also he was the only one who spoke fluent English.

“Then I'm twenty-eight in Korea.” About to be twenty-nine, you added in your head. You scrunched your face, not liking the idea of being almost thirty. “I'm older than all of you.”

“But not an elder,” Namjoon reiterated, cuffing Jungkook's neck. “She is Noona!” He glared at all of them before turning to you. “Noona is like . . . a girl who is older than you. Like a sister. Similar to when the younger boys call us hyung, or brother.” He gestured between Jin, Yoongi, J-Hope and himself, apparently the “big brothers” of the group.

You nodded that you understood. It wasn't too far off from American nicknames to call someone “bro” or “sis” after all. You wondered if there was something like that you could call them. Then again, it would get confusing, given that all seven of them were younger than you and would be called the same thing.

“Noona!” Tae—aka Babyface, who first tried to introduce himself as “Van Gough”—tugged at the sleeve of your sweater. “Teach. More.”

You delved into physical interactions a bit.

“Friends can hug, even a boy and girl. Gender, age, as long as someone is willing, they don't matter so much here. Don't try to force someone who doesn't want to, obviously. But if you are here, you can think like . . . everyone you meet is a boy your own age. Unless they are obviously 'Sir' or 'Madam.'” You winked in Jungkook's direction.

“Even if you just met?”

You nodded. “Pretend Slee— Yoongi is my friend already.” You stood and held his hand obviously, for effect.

Jin gasped.

Jungkook turned red.

Yoongi yawned.

“We will hug whenever we say 'Hello' and 'Goodbye.'” You demonstrated. “Now, my friend Yoongi will introduce me to his friend, Sun— J-hope.”

Yoongi surprised you by playing his part perfectly, turning to J-Hope with a very natural and casual introduction.

“Because we are both friends with Yoongi, I will offer to hug him, because we will soon be friends too.” You held out your arms to J-hope, who readily accepted your embrace.

“But if I am meeting someone who I see is uncomfortable, I will only nod or wave.” You turned to Jungkook, arms out. His eyes widened in clear panic, and you smiled at his anticipated innocence.“Hello.” You waved.

He giggled and looked down, waving at his feet.

“And if it is professional, or if I do not want someone to hug me, I will only offer my hand. It is actually considered rude not to offer your hand in a formal setting.” You held out a hand to Tae, who had already opened his arms for you. He pouted, dropped them, offered a limp hand for you to shake, then pouted some more.

“Are you sure he's famous?” You stage-whispered to the group. Those that understood you, chuckled. Those that didn't chuckled anyway, 'cause everyone else was doing it.

“I can hug you?” Jimin, the human puppy, asked (his name would be the easiest to remember, since you knew it already, and associating his voice with his little puppy face was too easy).

“Yes.” You held out your arms.

“You are girl.”

You glanced down at your chest, as though fact-checking his assertion. “Yes.”

“You know me?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I know your song . . . But I didn’t know who you were until today.”

“You like me?” He stroked his chin.

You dropped your arms. “As a friend.”

He reached out and grabbed your hand. “Friend. Like boy.”

“I guess? But more comfortable.” You looked down at your squishy parts again, tumbling when he pulled you into a hug.

He mumbled something in Korean, and Namjoon translated.

“He says you are more comfortable than a boy.” Then he spoke in Korean, and Jimin responded.

“I already said that.”

“I know. I just told him.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he did not understand you.”

“Will he understand if I say it's time to let go?” You patted Jimin's back, then let your arms fall to your sides.

Sleepy came and pulled you by the wrist until Jimin took notice. They exchanged a few words, but Jimin eventually relented, pouting as Yoongi pulled you behind his back.

Tae screamed and burst out in tears.

You looked him over, concerned. Had he hurt himself? You approached with open arms, ready to check him over and/or comfort him, but Yoongi pulled you back and scoffed, evidently disgusted.

The other guys didn't seem too worried either; they were all laughing. Except Namjoon, who just looked done. He walked away, rubbing his temples and shaking his head as he went.

Tae bawled louder, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

You turned to Yoongi, hoping he would understand your questioning gaze. He rolled his eyes and held up his translator app to capture Tae's teary words.

You stole sister. I saw first. You stole.

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sleepysugabear · 2 years

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This is Happening - Chapter Four

Time flew, and before you knew it, the hotel was setting up for lunch service. Being that the same three hundred or so people were all snowed in indefinitely, they had foregone the pageantry of a restaurant and taken to setting out a modest buffet for every meal. In the meantime, you were all asked to leave the dining area.

You were sure it had nothing to do with the sobbing man-child in your midst.

A small voice in your head told you that the party was over. You had to get going, figure out what to do, and midnight had likely struck on your time with seven princes anyway. But you shoved the voice to the back and let Jimin wrap an arm around your shoulder to push you toward the lounge.

Yoongi didn't seem to have an issue with this—he stayed close without touching, and no strange looks—which you found curious, but knew this wasn't the time to ask. You weren't sure you'd ever get the chance.

You lost sight of Yoongi for a few moments when a desk clerk caught his attention. When he walked away, you very nearly followed him, unsure what you would do without the one member you'd made a connection with. But you still had the one who spoke English in your party, so you followed along and seized your opportunity.

When Yoongi returned, Namjoon, seated in an armchair across from you, was just about to answer the question you'd been asking yourself, and now—finally—him: What are they doing here?

Next to you on the couch, Jungkook lounged into Jimin on his other side, who was absently stroking J-Hope's hair. You had offered to give him your seat, but he was happy where he was on the floor. You didn't blame him.

Tae laid his long legs out across an ottoman, his back to Jin's front in another chair, next to Namjoon's. He appeared to be trying to stretch so that he could poke your knee with his toe, but the angle was pushing him into Jin, who quickly had enough of being squashed and threatened to kick Tae off of him.

Inwardly, you were in awe of how close all of them were, how natural it seemed for them all to cuddle up together. They had marveled at being allowed to hug women they just met, but you hadn't truly touched on friendly male interactions. Had they been American, this would never happen.

Yoongi came to sit on your arm of the couch.

You tapped his elbow and narrowed your eyes. Is everything okay?

He glanced down to smile tiredly and assured you everything was fine with a sleepy blink.

You both returned your attention to Namjoon. Evidently, the group was on their way out west when their flight got diverted due to weather. When they and their staff got to the airport, they had faced the same lodging decision you had, but there were only three rooms left at this hotel at the time.

The seven guys and two lucky security personnel loaded into a shuttle for this place, while the rest had to either stay at the airport or chance the no-star motel. The guys were sleeping three and four to a suite, giving security their own single king. When they'd first gotten in, they were under house arrest, getting meals to their rooms and only coming out late at night to stretch and use the pool without an audience.

The younger members complained about cabin fever and wasted time.

Jin shared that he was happy to have time to relax and play video games at his leisure. “I got Vulpix!”

You felt your head tilt to the side as you took Jin in, trying to figure him out. He was attractive, but possibly conceited, although that might have been a joke. You still weren't sure. He'd taken the others making fun of him graciously, seemed easily embarrassed, though quick to laugh at himself—the most ridiculous laugh, but still.

He had shown tenderness when he spoke of his pets earlier, and concern for their well being while he was away. He let Tae sit on him and Jimin poke at him while they took pictures, so he was a patient older brother, but you saw his inner child clearly when he rattled on about the Pokemon he'd found.

“I too unlock Gold Mario for Mario Kart. Good day!”

“Oh do you have the newest one then?” You asked “Can you be Toad in that one? I love Toad!”

Jin's eyes glazed over at your comment, and the guys all “Ohhh”ed.

Did I say something wrong? “Sorry, I don't know what characters are on it now. I haven't played in a while.”

He continued to stare.

“I guess it doesn't matter.” You fidgeted with your sleeve. “I'll probably never get the chance to play anyway. I don't have the time.” Or money, you added mentally.

“You can be Toad!” Jin blurted, suddenly. You looked to him, shocked, and he winked. Again.

“Yoongi is Toad,” Tae pouted. “She can be princess.” He smiled, seeming to think he was complimenting you.

“She is Toad!” Jin insisted. “Yoongi will rather sleep, like every day.”

“Every day?” You turned to Sleepy, proud that it was such an apt nickname.

“Best days,” Yoongi smiled and blinked slow, obviously daydreaming about a bed. You could relate.

On the second day, according to Namjoon, they all had started to get antsy, so security let them go outside, but only for a few hours, which was more than enough according to J-Hope and his shiver.

Tae and Jungkook (who momentarily forgot he was flustered by you) regaled you with a tale of an epic snow battle and resultant frost burns—in very broken, but not unintelligible English. They showed you the little red marks on their hands with the sort of excited pride only a child could have.

Jimin refused to show you his hands when the others asked, and they all started teasing him in Korean.

As their conversation turned to bickering, you leaned your head against Yoongi's hip and closed your eyes, feeling oddly content. He patted your head, then rested his hand on your shoulder, leaning back into the wall.

“You make them too comfortable.”

You almost hadn't heard Namjoon's breathy comment, but you did, and it stiffened your spine. When you opened your eyes though, he didn't look upset, just . . .thoughtful.

You tried to pull away from Sleepy Yoongi, but he was already passed out, precariously balanced on the edge of the couch, and you were likely anchoring him, so you looked to Namjoon and shrugged.

“Anyway,” he continued, quieting the children. “Today is the third day, and security let us out. It is too snowy for anyone to come or go from the hotel anymore, and they have spent two days learning all the guests. They said there is no threat, so we are here, finally free until we can leave. I hope it is soon.”

“We have show in two days,” Tae added, holding up two fingers.

“We do not want to cancel,” Jin chimed in.

J-Hope said something in Korean, and everyone (awake) nodded.

Jimin took a stab at the translation for you. “He say, ARMY will be a dispoint.”

Jungkook clapped for him.

“Will be disappointed,” Namjoon corrected.

“Oh, sorry.” He smiled adorably. “Disappointed.”

Jungkook clapped louder, causing Yoongi to grunt and twitch slightly in his sleep. Unfortunately, the twitch sent him sliding over the side of the couch. He woke up and caught himself in time, finally letting go of your shoulder to adjust his position.

He slid in between you and the arm, pushing you closer to Jungkook, who scrambled back into Jimin's lap. Yoongi ignored this, put his head back, and was out again within moments. You tapped his knee, but he was unresponsive.

“I should go anyway.” You stood, shooting Jungkook an apologetic glance. “But it was nice meeting you all.” You bow-nodded to everyone, and tried to take a step, but there was a J-Hope on your foot.

“Uh . . .” you stared blankly at him, unsure what he meant by it. He hadn't even trusted you enough to be called by his real name.

“You stay.” He patted the couch cushion.

“Actually, I really do have to go.” You glanced around, uncomfortable.

J-Hope said something to Namjoon in Korean, and they had a brief discussion that ended with J-Hope's hand tighter around your ankle and Tae leaning forward to grab your wrist.

Namjoon responded to your panicked expression. “They do not want you to leave,” he explained. “You have been by yourself for two days. They do not want you to be alone in your room all day again.”

Ignoring they know too much about me . . . “I'm, um, I'm not going to my room.”

Honest enough.

“Are you going to the bathroom?” J-Hope asked, through Namjoon.

You giggled, then sobered. “No, actually, I, uh, lost my room.” You looked down to your fidgeting hands. “I don't have a room because I ran out of money—yesterday, really. My parents sent me some for last night, but they won't send more.”

You looked forward, deciding to own it.

“I shouldn't even be at a place this nice, but I thought it was only for one day, and then I got stuck.”

“Where you go?” Jin nearly pushed Tae off the chair sitting up.

“I don't know,” you answered honestly. “That's what I was trying to figure out when you guys found me.” You wiped a tear and J-Hope rubbed your calf. “I have to go now, because if I have to walk to the airport, I don't want it to be after dark.”

You broke free of J-Hope and Tae, only to be met by a sturdier obstacle.

“Excuse me, miss?” The older gentlemen you'd seen playing cards earlier stood in your path for some reason. “Is this your luggage?”

The guy from the lobby held up what was clearly your suitcase. But why did he have it? Without waiting for a response from you, he continued.

“With your permission, ma'am, I would like to search your belongings for weapons, paraphernalia, and hidden recording devices.”

You glanced around and realized you had the attention of several people in the lounge, including BTS, and smiled manically in an attempt to assure them that you were not, in fact, a terrorist.

You snatched the bag from the man, and hissed under your breath, “No, you can't look in my bag. Who are you? Why do you have it?” Why would the hotel just give it to you?

“Excuse me, sir. Is there a problem?” Namjoon approached, looking between you.

“Just a precaution, sir,” the man answered. “When Mr. Min added her room to your invoice, we assumed you would be in close contact and thought it best to clear her fully. For your protection.

He bowed to Namjoon, then turned to you. “If you would please gather your belongings, ma'am, I will escort you to your suite and clear you so you can return to your day.” He waved to the boys behind you; most of them smiled and waved excitedly back.

Jungkook frowned, however. “Not ma'am. She is not old.” Jimin and J-hope nodded solemnly next to him.

“Thanks, I guess.” You scrubbed at your face, trying to make sense of what was happening.

“I don't have a room to go to.” You approached the obvious first. “And even if I did, I would not take you to it, because I don't know who you are. Do you know him?” You glanced up at Namjoon through your fingers, voice squeakier than you'd intended.

He nodded. “Kevin is the lead security officer on our North American tour. You should go with him.”

“Go where!?”

“To your suite, miss.”

“I don't have a suite!”

“Mr. Min was quite clear—”

“Who. The Hell. Is Mr. Min?!?” You felt yourself growing hysterical.

Behind you, Jimin giggled. “Min Yoongi.” He gestured to Sleepy, still dead to the world.

Kevin nodded. “He booked your suite, miss. But when he discovered it had been yours, he instructed us to return your luggage to the room.”

“Okay, no.” You nearly broke Namjoon's nose with your flailing hands. “That doesn't make any sense. How could he have done that? I just told these guys about losing my room, and Sleepy was . . . sleeping! There is no way he booked my room and talked to you, and did all that stuff you just said in the last three minutes!”

Kevin's brow pinched. “He didn't tell you?”

Namjoon, equally curious, prompted Kevin to go on. He explained to you that the reason the front desk worker had pulled Yoongi aside earlier was to inform him that a room had become available.

“You see, when they initially called the hotel, there were four rooms available. We asked them to set them aside, but couldn't provide payment over the phone. Evidently, one of the rooms was booked while the company dealt with the paperwork.”

“There were only three rooms when we came,” Namjoon explained. “Yoongi hyung was . . . not happy.”

“He likes be alone,” Jimin provided, eyes clouded.

“Mr. Min had asked to be informed when a room became available. Which it did, a moment ago. He asked me to come along and complete the transaction for him.

“Mr. Min, well, most of them, can understand English fairly well, but feel more comfortable when someone speaks for them. We booked the room, but of course I had to know how it became available. I was afraid I'd missed something in my daily observations.”

I guess that explains how the guys knew I'd been alone all this time, you thought. I was being “observed.”

“Of course, I hadn't missed anything,” Kevin laughed. “I never do. It was just that you checked out this morning, which didn't make sense.”

“How did you know I checked out this morning?”

“The clerk noticed you were with the group and expressed her relief that you had found a way to stay in the room. She is also quite jealous.”

“That's not why I'm talking to them!”

“We know, miss.”

“I'm not a gold digger!”

“Of course not.”

“I'm not staying in that room!”

Someone behind you gasped, perhaps several someones, but you'd had enough. You knew how this looked, how it would sound to anyone else. American girl, down on her luck, happens to stumble upon some rich, famous foreign people and take advantage of their kindness.

That wasn't you.

You didn't want anyone to think that.

You didn't want them to think that.

“Where you go?” Jin asked, standing. “No place! You must stay.”

Several of the guys nodded their agreement. The idiot who started all this snored a little.

“If you insist on departing—"

“I do!” You cut Kevin off.

“There is a refugee camp of sorts, set up in some of the meeting rooms, for the people who came here before the roads closed and found out there were no rooms. Women in one, men in the other. They can set up a cot for you there.”

Why didn't they mention that this morning? I could have avoided all of this.

“Fine. I'll do that then. It's all taken care of.” You looked to Jin, who still seemed upset. “I have a place to go.”

“But,” said Kevin. “I would recommend storing your bag in the room.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he persisted.

“There is no security in the meeting rooms. No bathrooms. People are showering at the sauna and disrobing at will. It's little more than a homeless shelter.”

He paused.

“A very elegant homeless shelter. It's just a sea of cots with luggage underneath and no one watching out for it. You're better off using your old room for now. No one else has been inside yet. If you want to shower, change, use the restroom today, you will have a safe, private space to do it. When it's time for bed, Mr. Min will move to your room, and you can sleep on a cot, if that is what you wish.”

Kevin did little to hide his contempt for the idea.

“Or . . .” He continued. “You can simply accept Mr. Min's generosity, as would be polite.”

You didn't appreciate his judgmental tone. “Maybe in Korea,” you allowed, though you doubted it. “But we're in America right now, and here it's pretty rude to accept something so expensive from a stranger, especially with no way to repay it.”

“You pay!” Tae argued. “You teach! English and hugs.”

“You can be our cultural advisor,” Namjoon smirked.

“I'll let you bring my bag to the room,” you sighed, ignoring the triumphant cheers. “For now.”

They frowned.

“Search it all you want. I'll use the room while no one is in it, but at the end of the day, I'm going to the meeting room, and Yoongi will use the room your company paid for. It wouldn't be right,” you implored whoever made eye contact.

Jin huffed, apparently unhappy, and marched away without looking at you.

“Jin-hyung, where you going?” Tae called.

Without stopping or looking back, Jin waved his arms dramatically and yelled, “I need. Food!”

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sleepysugabear · 2 years

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This is Happening - Chapter Five

Lunch was spaghetti, and it was an experience.

It took a bit of convincing to get Yoongi up and into the dining room, but he eventually consented to eat, all the while grumbling that he missed Korean food. Several of the others agreed, citing that American food was just bland versions of other countries' cuisines. You disagreed, but couldn't argue much with the mass produced simple meals you'd been served over the past few days.

Namjoon relayed all of this while staying respectfully silent on his own opinions and happily ate what was served to him. Occasionally, he rolled his eyes or apologized for things the other members said. You felt kind of bad that he always had to be the interpreter, or the spokesperson. You wondered if he ever just got to be himself.

Jin had nothing to say, to anyone. In fact, he had gone up to his room to retrieve his bag. When he returned, he didn't join you and the other six. Instead, he sat at his own table against the wall, facing out into the dining room and grumbling to himself as he watched you interact with his brothers.

“Is he really that mad at me?”

“Jin is protective, older brother,” Namjoon explained. “He wants you to be safe, and listen to your elders.”

“He's younger than me!”

“Kevin is not. But, don't worry, he is not really mad at you. He will feel better after he eats.”

“If he's not mad at me, then why is he sitting over there by himself?”

“He is going to record a Live.”

“Eat Jin,” Yoongi mumbled around a piece of garlic bread.

“Eat Jin?” You watched as Jin produced his own set of chopsticks from a large bundle kept in his backpack. There had to be ten sets. He staged his camera to a good angle on top of the bag and proceeded to organize his food into a pleasing presentation. He had two of the largest bowls of dry spaghetti noodles you had probably ever seen, a bowl of each red and white sauce, and two plates loaded with each of the different kinds of meat, vegetables, and bread on offering at the buffet.

He fidgeted with his phone for a moment, then the show began. You couldn't hear a word of it (and even if you could, you probably wouldn't have understood), but you watched as he apparently explained to his audience what he was about to eat, holding up each bowl and plate. He mixed one of the bowls of spaghetti with sauce, impressively easily, with his chopsticks, all the while laughing and chattering away.

Then the real show began.

Jin, for lack of a better word, shoveled roughly half of the prepared spaghetti into his face. You didn't know how two little sticks could withstand that volume. He stuffed his cheek with noodles, talking and chewing at the same time, yet continued to go back for more. Somehow, the entire contents of the bowl had found its way into his mouth all at once, cheeks puffed out and a spaghetti waterfall hanging from his lips. You turned to Yoongi and saw the same mix of open-mouthed wonder and disgust you felt.

Even as his cheeks distended, and the river of noodles rose to meet them, he continued to talk, occasionally leaning in to read and reply to comments.

“How does he not choke?” You wondered allowed.

“Don't worry,” Namjoon answered. “He is a professional.”

As Jin chewed the last of the red pasta, he pulled over the second bowl and mixed in the alfredo.

“He isn't even done with the first one yet,” you marveled, impressed.

Before the last of the red was even gone, Jin picked up a baseball-sized portion of white-covered noodles and shoved them in.

As the food distributed itself in his mouth, you observed aloud, “He looks like a chipmunk. Throwing up. In reverse.”

Namjoon choked on his own spaghetti at your comment, coughing between giggles. Jungkook looked up from his conversation with Jimin and pounded on his back. When Namjoon was able to breathe again, he caught the attention of everyone at the table and relayed your observation, sparking another round of laughter.

Jimin jumped up and ran to Jin's table, leaning down to speak into his ear whilst stealing a piece of garlic bread. Jin's obvious protest died, as he and Jimin both looked over at you. The spark of mischief in the puppy's eyes and little smirk meant he had just told his brother what you'd said.

Jin, spaghetti dribbling from his chin, stared blankly in your direction. A chunk of it fell from his mouth as it opened slightly, and you giggled. Jin turned pink and ducked his head. He said something into the camera, then shrugged and shoved an entire sausage in his mouth, looked you in the eye, and winked.

You laughed louder. It was odd, how charming he seemed to you, with puffed out cheeks and a mixture of sauces and grease coating his lips. At that moment, he didn't seem to care what he looked like at all. The most important thing in his world was a plate of giant meatballs and connecting with his fans. He was adorable.

Jin wrapped up his video quickly (you had no idea how he'd eaten so much in less than ten minutes), and joined your table, where everyone else was still eating (seriously, ten minutes!). Somehow, he didn't have a speck on him.

“How did you do that without getting sauce on your shirt?” You asked, embarrassingly wiping crumbs from your own chest.

He didn't reply right away, and you heard Namjoon clear his throat. You looked up to see Jin's head snap up to meet your eyes, which you narrowed in his direction.

He passed your glare to Yoongi by asking if you'd discussed your sleeping arrangements yet. The conversation heated up quickly. Yoongi didn't seem to think he'd done anything wrong and dismissed all of your protests. You didn't want to be rude or ungrateful, but it was too much, and not even his to give.

“Your company is paying for the room, you should sleep in it.”

“My room. My choice.”

“But not your money.”

“I pay.” He stood, and you yanked him down by his sleeve.

“You will not pay. It's too much!”

“He is already paying,” Namjoon interjected.

“I have money.”

“I'm sure you do, but don't spend it on me. I will not accept.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, and for a moment, you thought he'd fallen asleep again.

“It's your room. You sleep in it.” You stood this time, and he grabbed you by the wrist.

“We will share.”

“You will not share!” Jin and Namjoon said at the same time.

They each babbled in Korean, while Tae joined in with what you thought was a reprisal of his “I saw her first” performance. Jimin laughed maniacally, clearly fueled by drama, while J-Hope soothed a frightened Jungkook. Your presence was causing so many problems.

“We can't share,” you said gently, unsure if he had gotten the wrong idea from your closeness.

He rolled his eyes. “You bed, me couch.”

“No,” your voice mixed with Namjoon's.

Yoongi sighed. “Me bed, you couch?”

Namjoon rattled off a full lecture in Korean, complete with hand gestures, and Yoongi feigned sleep sitting up.

“You cannot share,” he turned to you. “He will be in trouble.”

“I don't want you to be in trouble.” Yoongi opened one eye when you touched his arm. “And what if the ARMY finds out. They will kill me, literally, if they think I slept with you.”

Jin nodded his agreement and gestured with a look with a look of: “What she said!”

“Only sleep.” Yoongi protested, but the fight was gone.

“I know.” You rubbed his shoulder. “But it would look bad. We can not share.”

He pouted and leaned his forehead on your shoulder for a moment. “I want to sleep now.”

“Go take a nap, then. You have a whole room to yourself.”

He huffed. “Your room until the night.” You took a moment to realize he had heard your earlier conversations, even in his “sleep.” Then he gestured to your shirt. “You need new clothes.”

You looked down and felt your cheeks warm. Unlike Jin, you had not gotten through spaghetti unscathed. A giant red splotch rested between your breasts and became an orange grease stain when you wiped it away.

“I need new clothes,” you agreed.

Lunch broke up, and everyone went their separate ways for the afternoon, appeased by a promise to meet up for dinner. The younger boys went down to the indoor pool, and Jin went to the gym, “to work off all that spaghetti.” Namjoon escorted both you and Yoongi up the elevator.

He watched Yoongi go into their shared room, then walked you down the hall to your own.

“Will you go back downstairs?” he asked at your door.

“Actually, since I'm here, I have a few calls to make while I'm still in private. And then I think I'll take a nap myself.” You yawned. “It's been a crazy day.”

Namjoon narrowed his gaze and stepped closer, nearly caging you in at the door. “You should sleep here tonight.”

You looked up at him and swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest. He had been very shy and unassuming up to now, and you weren't sure what was happening.

When you didn't respond, he leaned in to your ear. “Don't try anything. I will be with him.”

You shook your head, slightly panicked. You'd had no intention of slipping into Yoongi's room before, and now you were scared to even think it.

“Sweet dreams.” He stepped away, and smiled that innocent, dimpled smile you remembered from when you'd met.

After closing the door, you leaned against it, hand to your chest. You still didn't know what that was, but it seemed you'd kind of liked it.

You quickly changed out of your stained shirt and into some comfy pants, glad you'd thought to get your laundry done before checking out. You set up on the couch (since Yoongi would be using the bed later) with the spare pillow and blanket from the closet, and quickly messaged your parents to let them know you were alright, secretly hoping they wouldn't respond right away.

You weren't sure how or even if you would tell anyone what had happened. Partially because you knew no one would believe you, and partly because you weren't sure you even should. The guys hadn't asked you to sign a non-disclosure agreement or anything, but it felt like a serious violation of their trust to share information about them.

They lived such public lives already, shouldn't something be sacred?

Mostly, though, you didn't want to share them with anyone. They were yours, if only for a moment. Or, more aptly, you were theirs.

A text came through from your father, and you ran through any believable lie you could think of to explain how you'd secured the room for another night. You decided to tell him about the meeting room camp, it wasn't far from the truth, but that wasn't all he was asking.

Will you make it to your first day of work tomorrow?

“Oh my god!” You gasped aloud. It was New Year's Eve. Your new job started the next day, and you were snowed in three states away. There were certainly worse ways to ring in the new year than with BTS, but they wouldn't pay your bills.

Well . . . You glanced around the room.

You called the company, but no one answered. You realized then that it was past closing in their time zone. You shot off a quick email to HR, explaining the situation, praying they would understand. The snow was supposed to stop that night, so you may have been able to go in the next day, depending on the flight schedule, but you would likely be very late. Of course, it was possible the roads wouldn't open right away, and you wouldn't make it in until the second, or even the third.

You didn't have to wait long for a reply. You answered your phone on the first ring, anxious to explain, but you didn't get the chance.

“Thank you for your interest, but we will no longer be requiring your attendance to training tomorrow, or any other day.”

“But—“

“It's clear that you're more interested in a party than your future with our company.”

“No! I—“

“Don't worry about it, sweetheart. We allow for this when accepting applications during the holidays. Happy New Year.” The line went dead.

You weren't sure how long you sat in a stupor—Ten minutes? An hour?—before another message came through.

I take that as a no. >:(

For at least the third time that day, the thought crossed your mind: This can't be happening.

A light scratching noise caught your attention, like a cat trying to get into the bathroom. As the sound grew louder, you realized it was actually a puppy trying to get into your hotel room.

“Noona! Don't be grandma!”

“Come! Outside! Not snow.” Tae was out there too.

A quiet murmur.

“Not snowing!”

“Please!” You called out. “Just go away!”

Silence.

“I'll see you at dinner, okay?” You cringed as your voice broke.

“Noona?! You cry?” The handle rattled as one of them tried to open the door.

“Noona! Open!” Slapping sounds reverberated through the room, and you began to cry in earnest. You didn't want their pity and their bets right now. You just needed to be miserable in peace and take a moment to figure things out.

The low murmur came back, and you recognized it as Jungkook. With any luck, he was trying to persuade the others to leave. But you heard the not so quiet replies of his brothers, and specifically the name Namjoon.

“You hurt? Kookie get key! We help soon!”

“No no no.” You rushed to the door. “Not hurt, don't get Namjoon.” You ripped the door open to the three youngest members of BTS, tear-stained and in your pajamas. Jimin and Tae immediately began to fawn over you, while Jungkook looked absolutely terrified. He assessed you with wide eyes, all color drained from his face.

“Hobi,” he whispered. The others turned to him and nodded, petting your hair.

You swatted them away. “What?”

“You need Hobi-hyung. I go.” Jungkook jogged down the hall, while Tae and Jimin forced you back into the room and tried to get you to lay down on the couch.

“No! Ugh.” You didn't need a hobi, whatever that was, you needed to be left alone. You just didn't know how to make them listen.

Inspired, you picked up your pillow and blanket and sprinted for the door. They called and chased after you, but you didn't have to go far.

Yoongi opened the door with flat hair and a scowl that instantly turned to shock. You stood there with puffy, pleading eyes, while Jimin and Tae nearly crashed into you, chattering in Korean, or it might even have been English, you weren't really listening; you were locked in a silent conversation with Yoongi.

Without a word, Yoongi shifted to the side, allowing you to pass under his arm. He promptly slammed the door into the younger's faces.

When he turned around, you were still standing awkwardly by, clutching your pillow and eyeing his where he had apparently been sleeping on the couch. You briefly wondered why he hadn't used the bed in the other room, then remembered he was sharing with Jin and Namjoon.

“Is Namjoon in there?” You whispered, not wanting to alert him to your presence if he was.

Yoongi's eyes snapped to yours, and he shook his head no. You felt your shoulders relax, and noticed his did as well. He steered you toward the desk, silently sitting you in the chair, and produced a bottle of Jack Daniels from the drawer. He traded the bottle for your bedding, then set about re-making the couch, complete with a new bottom sheet. He returned when he was done, swiped the bottle from you, and took a swig. He handed it back and waited expectantly until you took your own shot. Once that was done, he removed the bottle from your hands and held his out, palms up in invitation.

You allowed him to pull you across the room, lay you down, and tuck you in. All without a word from him. When he was satisfied that you were as snugly into the nest he created as possible, he sat himself in the desk chair and pulled out his phone, effectively ignoring you.

“Why don't you go sit in the bed?” You felt bad.

He grimaced and shook his head.

“You're uncomfortable.” He had to be.

He leaned back and pretended to fall asleep where he sat. His neck looked like it might break from hanging, unsupported, off the back of the chair.

“You're uncomfortable,” you said again, with resignation. You should never have come to his room, you thought. You disrupted his inner sanctum, ruined his sleep, and stole his bed. And now he was stuck babysitting you; it wasn't like he could leave you in there alone with all their stuff.

You tried to move, struggling with the tightness of the newborn swaddling you'd received. He opened his eyes and glared, freezing you in place. But you were determined, and you were sure he could see that.

Yoongi sighed and stood up. You thought he was going to help unwrap you, but instead, he lifted your legs and sat down under them, pulling your feet into his lap. He took the blanket he had previously folded on the armrest and laid it over himself. As he stuck the pillow behind his head and leaned back so that he was lounging into the corner, he gave you a look that plainly said, “Are you happy now?”

You smiled back, because you were. In five minutes of silence, Yoongi had erased all your cares and made you feel precious. You closed your eyes, smiling wider at his showy huff of annoyance. You knew your problems would still be there when you woke, but that was an issue for later you. The you of the moment was having a nap with a friend.

You woke gently, becoming aware of various sensations one-by-one.

First was the hand running softly through your hair, like your mother used to do when you were young. This was accompanied by the slightly off-key humming of a tune you didn't know. Instinctively, you knew that the low, soothing tone wasn't Yoongi's, but this didn't alarm you in your semi-conscious state. You felt very . . . safe at the moment.

Next was the gentle massaging of your feet. Small, soft hands rubbed over where your ankle met your calf, along the arches of your feet, applying gentle pressure, before lightly stretching each of your toes, relaxing the muscles and doubling down on your warm, fuzzy feelings. A higher, more perfect-pitch harmonized with the tune by your head, and you felt yourself sigh in contentment.

Head and Feet whispered to one another in Korean and chuckled. The soothing massages turned to light scratches and tickles. You jerked your feet away, but the surprisingly strong hands refused to let you go.

More whispers, and then, “He says you need a pedicure.”

Your eyes sprang open at Namjoon's deep voice above you. It came to you in a rush: where you were, why, how, the possible consequences. You found yourself sitting up in a fetal position, slightly dizzy, hugging your blanket around you.

Suddenly on high alert, your eyes darted around the room, assessing the situation.

Namjoon in front of you, arms crossed over his chest.

Jimin where your feet had been, a mischievous smirk and glint in his eyes.

J-Hope kneeling by the arm rest, eyes wide and hands out as though approaching a wild animal.

Yoongi speaking tersely with Kevin in the corner.

The bodyguard looked toward you, and started to approach, but Yoongi grabbed him by the sleeve and ushered him out the door. Kevin didn't seem pleased by this, but allowed it without showing force. You tried to meet Yoongi's eye, but he slumped over and into the desk chair without a glance.

Namjoon cleared his throat, and your eyes snapped back to him.

“What are you doing here? I told you not to come.” He raised his brow and an involuntary shiver ripped up your spine.

“I . . .” You didn't know what to say for a moment, but J-Hope and Jimin's continued murmurs of (what you assumed to be) encouragement gave you strength, and you relayed to them what brought you there. When you got to the part about your father being disappointed in you, Yoongi twitched in your periphery, but otherwise stayed still throughout the story.

“So I realized I was homeless, jobless, and I'm too old to crawl back to my parents and ask them to take care of me, but it's what I have to do. And then the boys came to my room, but I just wanted to be left alone.” You grabbed J-hope and Jimin's hands on either side. “I mean, you guys are sweet, but I needed quiet, not games and bets to see who could get me to smile first.”

You didn't miss the glares sent Yoongi's way.

“I came here because Yoongi has been honest with me. He is low-key, quiet, seems to understand me.”

Jimin started to giggle.

“Also, the younger guys seem to be afraid of him.”

Jimin sobered, but Namjoon smirked.

“You are very observant.”

“Not all languages are verbal.” You shrugged.

Namjoon eyed you for a moment. You did your best puppy dog eyes, along with the two boys on the couch. You didn't think your “cute” face really measured up, but he was used to seeing these idiots every day, so it was worth a shot.

Finally, he laughed, and all tension left the others. “We will help you.”

“No—” You started to protest, but Namjoon's mouth turned down.

“We will help you.” It wasn't so much an offer that time, and you stopped trying to argue.

“You feel better now?” Jimin asked.

“Yes,” you admitted. “I always feel better after a nap.”

Jimin giggled again. It was infectious, but silly, how he seemed to find everything amusing.

“Better. Still bad.” J-Hope made an exaggerated pout as he patted your head.

“I guess I'm still worried about—”

You didn't finish because J-Hope started bouncing in his seat and clapping excitedly.

Jimin perked up. Namjoon groaned. Yoongi seemed conflicted. You were just confused.

“What's going on?”

“He wants to go to—”

“Spa Day!”

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sleepysugabear · 2 years

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This is Happening - Chapter Seven

The woman continued to scream at you in a shrill mix of English and Korean--leading you to believe she had relation to the boys--and increasing in volume for every millisecond you didn't jump up off the couch.

You sat up when she started prodding you with one of her bony fingers and covered your eyes with your hands. What monster opened the curtains?

“OH, MY GOD, LADY! SHUT THE FUCK UP! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!”

She paused for only a moment, then began shouting, “SASAENG! SASAENG!” over and over.

You tried to move, but your stomach protested, and you thought it best for both of you if you stayed where you were.

She did not agree.

The woman began pulling at your arms in an attempt to force you from the couch, removing your hands from your eyes for a nanosecond too long and sending you rocking back and forth.

“This is really not good for my hangover,” you warned, stifling the impulse to vomit.

Thankfully, she stopped. There was someone at the door. The click of the locking mechanism echoed in your ear, far too loudly for something so small.

“What the hell are you doing?” The cavalry had arrived, but the question remained: whose side would Kevin be on? “I asked you what are you doing?”

You chanced a peek between your fingers to see who he was talking to, and, thank god, he wasn't looking at you.

The woman stood, dumbstruck for a moment, clearly uncertain how to proceed. But she composed herself quickly. “This room is registered to Min Yoongi!”

“Do you see Min Yoongi in this room?” Kevin asked.

That was a good question, you thought. Although you now had a pretty clear idea of where you were, Yoongi's whereabouts were a mystery. You only prayed he hadn't followed through on his “Me bed, you couch” plan, or there would be hell to pay. This lady would make sure of it.

“Of course not. He must feel unsafe because security didn't do their job and let this sasaeng into the room!”

“She is not a stalker.”

Oh, praise my Lord and savior Namjoon! You thought the words, but all that came out was a whimper.

“Prior to yesterday, she was staying in this room. When Yoongi learned they kicked her out of it, he booked it for her, out of gratitude for all of her help while we were here.”

Kevin stayed blessedly silent while Namjoon spoke his obviously rehearsed half-truths. You couldn't argue if you wanted to.

And you definitely didn't want to.

“Security knew of everything and watched when she was with us at all times. We should have changed the name on the room, but that was not her fault.”

“Why are you all hungover then?”

“It is the New Year.” You heard the shrug in Namjoon's voice. “The hotel had a party, and all of us attended. I am sure you saw the Live. She was never in our rooms.”

“You weren't all in the Live, though. Where was Jung Hoseok?”

“Already passed out.”

At least that one thing is true.

“Then where is Min Yoongi?”

“Here.”

You chanced another glance through your fingers, to see where Yoongi was coming from, grateful he stood in the hallway. He looked half-dead, almost still asleep, but his mere presence calmed you. He tottered over to the couch and flopped to the cushion on the opposite end.

His head lolled so he was facing you, “Sorry,” he said, and left it at that.

“I told you I didn't want the room,” you hissed. “For this exact reason.”

He gulped and nodded, closing his eyes.

“Min Yoongi!” The woman snapped, drawing his attention. “What were you thinking? What if a fan had seen you? What if she's a sasaeng? What if she took pictures? What about your contract?”

You both glanced Yoongi's way. His eyes were closed again.

“I give up!” the woman shrieked, slapping her arms against her thighs. “Do what you want! We'll see what PD Bang has to say about this.”

As soon as she was gone, Yoongi opened his eyes, turned to the side and winked at you.

“You've been hanging out with Jin too long.”

He shrugged, and you turned to Namjoon, “Are you guys gonna be in really big trouble?”

He shrugged too. “I don't think so. As long as the fans don't know about it. You won't tell them, will you?”

You shuddered, which he took for compliance.

“Hey!” You returned your head to your hands as a rumpled and too loud Jin walked past your still wide-open room. “Breakfast! Let's go!”

None of you moved for a moment, so he circled back and poked his head around the door frame.

“Hey! Food!”

You giggled involuntarily, holding your stomach contents in place. He winked when you looked up at him, and continued down the hall.

“Is he always like this?”

“Yes,” Yoongi and Namjoon answered together.

“It is hard to bring Jin down.”

Yoongi nodded at Namjoon's assessment, then stood up, offering his hand.

“I should probably shower or something,” you hedged. It was true you felt disgusting and needed to wash it off, but you also weren't super psyched to eat breakfast with the newly-arrived BTS crew in attendance. If that one lady had been any indication, they were a tough bunch to get along with.

“Food first,” Yoongi insisted. “You will feel better.”

“I also might throw up.”

“Still, feel better.”

“He has a point,” Namjoon added, unhelpfully in your opinion.

You remembered you'd had your makeup done the night before, and tensed thinking of what it must look like now. “At least let me change and wash my face before I have to go down there.”

Yoongi gestured toward the bathroom and sat back down, indicating he had no intention of leaving you to back out on him. Namjoon leaned against the desk; he wasn't going anywhere.

You admitted defeat and went to get ready, but took your sweet ass time to do so. You kept your shower quick, but secretly hoped the boys had given up the moment they heard it running. As soon as you stepped out, however, you knew it wasn't true. If anything, the waiting party had grown in your absence.

“Noona, you forget you hairbrush!” Jimin shouted out.

“You want me to bring?” Tae volunteered, then was unmistakably slapped in the back of the head.

“No, you come get,” Jimin added. “Wear towel. Ow! Aww man.”

You got dressed quickly, plucked the hairbrush from Yoongi's hands when you came out (ignored the paddle-shaped mark on Jimin's arm), threw your wet hair into a ponytail, and pulled your hoodie over your head.

“You could have sent the children down to eat.” You gestured to Jimin and Tae as you slipped on your shoes.

Namjoon laughed. “It is usually better to keep my eye on them.”

Breakfast was surprisingly pleasant. The boys were busy filming a recap of their harrowing adventure, snowed in at the hotel (before he left you on your own, Yoongi gave you his phone “to hold,” so you could understand what people were saying) and responding to thinly-veiled thirst tweets from their ARMYs, wishing they were there.

Jimin fanned the flames by suggesting they'd gone skinny dipping (they went swimming “without bathing suits”—aka fully clothed) and had been forced to keep each other warm (ya know, within their luxury suites). The staff was too busy fussing over the band to pay you any mind, and the lady from before was on the phone the whole time.

You downed enough food to soak up your stomach acids and tried to sneak away, but Kevin had his eye on you. Not to mention a hand on your shoulder and a finger to his lips. You guessed you were there for the show.

Jin looked beat, sort of puffy, but surprisingly chipper as he finished three plates, likely commentating on his American breakfast. But you couldn't understand a word besides “pancakes”. The app on Yoongi's phone couldn't discern the rest while his mouth was full of them.

J-Hope stabbed at some eggs, looking green and out of sorts. The camera didn't pause on him for long.

The same went for Yoongi, who actually seemed fine, if not more tired than usual, but obviously not in the mood to talk. The producers didn't even try to ask him questions, though, so you wondered if this was business as usual for him.

You smiled as Tae, Jungkook, and Jimin recounted their snow fight again, pouting that their frost burns had faded so soon. They'd thought of them as battle scars.

Adorable little children.

Namjoon spoke for most of them, even in Korean, conducting the table meeting as their leader. It was only slightly disappointing that he hadn't seem affected by the alcohol at all, at least not as far as you could tell.

A memory briefly flashed up in your brain: he had definitely been “drunk” at some point, but you'd been too far gone by then. He was . . . smiling? Probably teasing you. And you'd said . . . You couldn't remember. You hoped it wasn't too embarrassing. Judging by his casual attitude this morning, it couldn't have been that bad.

He stopped Jimin from elaborating on their New Year's celebrations, feeling it sufficient to say that alcohol was involved. Also karaoke, as they'd see once the video was uploaded later in the day. You stifled a laugh thinking of the video in question.

Your luck ran out when the video wrapped, and all eyes turned to you.

“What do we do with her?” someone asked.

“What did they do with her?” a cameraman chuckled.

“Nothing, I'm sure. Just look at her! Ugly American pig!” You officially did not like the makeup lady. What was it with these mean girls working for the group? Then again, she didn't know you'd understood what she'd said.

“Are you ready?” Yoongi approached.

You nodded and placed his phone into his outstretched hand. He rolled his eyes and pocketed it, hand held out again. You allowed him to help you stand, but pulled back immediately, keeping it conservative.

“Turn around,” Namjoon whispered, flanking your other side. “Bow and say kahamsamnida.”

“Kam-sam-nee-da?” You repeated, sounding it out.

He nodded. “Cheerfully.”

You weren't sure what you were saying, but you did as he asked, bowing straight and saying loud, “Kam-sam-needa!” with a smile.

Panic was the word that immediately came to mind. Panic and horror written all over their faces as you turned around and power-walked between the boys to wherever it was you were going.

“Good girl,” Namjoon praised, causing you to shiver.

“Umm. Thanks,” you said as you piled into the elevator. “But . . . What did I just say to them?”

“All you said was thank you,” he shrugged, so cool you weren't sure it was true. “You also made them think that you speak Korean.”

Yoongi laughed, then immediately sobered, spitting out some ugly-sounding words.

“Now, what did he say?”

“He does not like the way they talk about you.”

One look at Yoongi's face, and you knew that was putting it diplomatically. You briefly linked pinkies and sent him a smile before asking your final question.

“And, uh. Where are we going?”

“You are going to meet the owner of our company,” Namjoon said, like it was a normal non-threatening thing. “He wants to have a chat.”

Technically, you were interviewed, but you had a feeling the man had made up his mind about you well before appearing on Namjoon's phone screen. He asked very pointed questions he seemed to already know the answers to while his translator scrambled to keep up.

“Why aren't you working?”

“What is your living situation?”

“Why were you at the hotel?"

"Why couldn't you pay?”

“What did you go to school for?”

“Why aren't you using your degree?”

The questions were rapid-fire and he seemed to be anticipating every answer. If you were to guess, you'd say he was checking for consistency more than anything. Then he got to the tough stuff.

“What happened yesterday? Morning, noon, and night.”

You glanced to Namjoon, unsure what you should say, or rather, not say. Should you be completely honest with this man, and possibly get them in trouble? Or should you deliver all of the same lies and half-truths he'd given to the female manager downstairs?

“Don't look at him! Look at me! Yesterday, go!”

You decided that honesty was the best policy and recounted your day from start to finish. Whenever he'd heard enough about a situation, he would snap his fingers to indicate you should move on. The only story he let you flesh out in its entirety was the debacle at the spa.

“You didn't tell me about that!” He glared at Namjoon.

“I didn't know, sir. I wasn't there.”

The owner nodded and gestured for you to continue, finally asking how you got back to your room last night.

“I honestly don't remember, sir.”

He squinted, somehow intimidating even through the phone screen and the likely thousands of miles between you.

“I don't!” You insisted. “I was . . . really drunk.”

“You don't remember your conversation with Kim Namjoon regarding your future with BTS?”

“F-future? What future?”

Namjoon chuckled beside you, “I told you, sir. She was lit last night.”

Yoongi leaned over, seeming to ask what he was talking about, but Namjoon shook his head and mimicked zipping up his lips. Yoongi huffed and spoke to the owner in a tone you were sure he didn't appreciate. You didn't know what he was saying, but he had his hand on you when he said it, making you feel like an accomplice to disrespect.

You glared in Yoongi's direction, but the man just chuckled and shook his head, finally breaking his Big Boss character.

“Yoongi likes you,” he said. “Enough to flex his contract. Namjoon trusts you. Enough to ask me to hire you. The others have been pinging my phone ever since you came here, begging me for mercy.”

“Please, sir. Don't be angry with them. They were just trying to h—“

He waved his hand over the camera. “Not for them. For you.” He paused, seeming to think. “I like you,” he decided. “You are honest and respectful.”

You smiled and sat up straight.

“For an American.”

Not sure that was necessary.

“I expect you stay that way, especially with me. But don't make me have to talk to you again.” He pointed threateningly. “I suggest you tread carefully over the coming weeks, follow Namjoon's lead, and learn your place. Quickly.”

The call abruptly ended, and the three of you were staring at Namjoon's wallpaper. Right on cue, the woman who'd woken you up so unceremoniously walked in with a stack of papers still hot from the hotel's printers.

“Read these through and fill them out entirely. You will need a translator for most of it.” She dumped the papers on the desk—Namjoon barely moved his phone in time—threw down a pen, and walked out.

“Call me crazy, but I don't think she likes me very much.”

The next few weeks were a blur. You became a driver, an English tutor, a camera operator, tour guide, personal assistant, babysitter, and Yahoo Answers all in one for the better part of BTS's North American leg of the tour.

“Noona! What is?”

“That's a churro, Taeby. You know that.”

“Noona! How you say this?”

“That says 'Employees Only,' Jimin. It means you can't go in there.”

“Noona, I need more.”

“Noona, what does that mean?”

“Noona, where's the bathroom?”

During the day, you felt like you were wrangling toddlers, but you took your job seriously. For example, you noticed that Jin didn't like to use wooden chopsticks, so you always had an extra pair of plastic ones handy in case he didn't bring his bundle.

Sometimes Namjoon would get weary of the others' constant babbling, so you'd step in and use it as an opportunity for them to practice their English by telling you their story and answering questions yourself.

Whenever Yoongi got tired, you knew exactly where to find his neck pillow.

If J-Hope started to panic, you had a fan and a bottle of water ready.

Jungkook was pretty low maintenance, but he, Jimin and Tae liked to try you. They climbed things, publicly wrestled, and intentionally misunderstood what people were saying, giggling mischievously at you on the other side of the camera, where you couldn't do or say anything about it. You always scolded them once the camera was off, but it never deterred them a bit. Sometimes, you got the feeling they liked it.

The nights were almost always easier. The guys so rarely had downtime during the day, so they tended to stay up to all hours to take advantage. Most nights, they snuck you around with them. You felt a little guilty, knowing it wasn't exactly “honest and respectful” to hang out with them when the rest of the staff was away, but not enough to refuse.

Whenever someone had to do a Live, you basically stayed out of the room. Otherwise, you played Nintendo, listened to music, traded movies, played cards, or just watched Tae and Jungkook abuse each other for hours on end.

J-Hope was the hardest to get close to. He didn't seem to disapprove of your presence, but he gave you a wide berth. And, even though he always seemed to be happy, he sometimes bordered on manic. He played around with the younger ones, annoyed them with a smile and ran away giggling. He picked on Jimin in particular, but also seemed to rely on him, and him alone, when things got difficult.

It became clear to you that J-Hope's happy-go-lucky image was really just that, and it was wearing on him. He wanted to give the world energy. Needed to lift the others, all at the expense of himself. You pitied him a little, and you thought he knew that.

Of course, all seven of them shared this spirit on concert days.

Concert days were crazy. The day of and leading up, your only goal was to stay out of everyone's way. Rehearsals, makeup, meetups, performances, cameras, injuries. It was your day-to-day on steroids keeping them happy, healthy, and hydrated during the brief moments you were allowed to interact. They didn't have time to talk to you those days. There were no giggles and niceties. All of their charms were saved for the fans. You weren’t even allowed to stay for the concerts themselves; the managers dismissed you as a “distraction” at soundcheck.

It was on those days you that you truly realized how hard they worked. Their lives belonged to the people. Blood, sweat and tears. Every person they met like a lifelong friend. Every move executed had to be exact. If a single note was off, no matter how long they'd been going or fast they were moving, they were devastated. They knew they had let someone down and you’d hear about it for days afterward.

Every day was a fruitless pursuit of perfection, and that was probably why Yoongi came to you.

Namjoon hadn't let the two of you be alone even once since you woke up in his room the day you met. It wasn't like anything inappropriate was happening, even Namjoon knew that, but he was constantly looking out for the group’s image. And being found alone with a female staff member would have spelled trouble for Yoongi, you, and BTS in general.

In Korea, scandal happened fast, lasted long, and everyone believed the worst case scenario. But one night, after their first concert in your care, Yoongi threw caution to the wind and showed up at your doorstep.

His face, always stoic and pale, was drained of all life, and seemed to grow worse as you looked at him. He swayed on his feet, exhausted and clearly distraught.

You glanced nervously up and down the hallway as he slipped into your room, terrified of being discovered. He bypassed the couch and slid straight into your bed, gathering the blankets around him. You helped him tighten his cocoon, though you weren't nearly as good at it as he was, then laid down next to him, trying to figure out what he needed.

He didn't seem like a cuddler. Besides, he'd wrapped himself up beyond reach. You extended your arm slowly, and gently wiped his bangs to the side, meeting his eyes and silently willing him to tell you how to help him. He freed one hand and extended it from inside the blanket, where you immediately grabbed on. Wiggling closer, so his hand wouldn't have to stretch out and get cold, you found yourselves face-to-face. Yoongi closed his eyes, and did that down-turned smile/twitch that always meant he felt burdened. You wanted to take that burden away. Slowly, you leaned forward until your foreheads met and matched your breathing to his.

“I know you,” you whispered—it was all you could think to say—and let your eyes fall closed. You weren't sure which of you was crying, you only felt the wetness on your face. You didn't know why he was hurting, but you felt the knife twist in your chest.

You fell asleep that way, the first in a handful of wordless rendezvous that always seemed to follow particularly hectic days. He was never there in the morning, but you always shared a look over breakfast, and you took some credit, privately, for his most energetic days, as they always seemed to follow the rock bottom nights.

You cried the day they left. In such a short time, you'd begun to think of them all as family. They got you a plane ticket home, for a later flight, and invited you to wait with them in their VIP Lounge at the airport.

It felt like such a waste, but the final hours were awkward. None of you knew what to say. When it was time for them to board, security came to escort them, and it was time to say goodbye.

“Kamsahamnida.” You bowed and offered polite gratitude with some of the Korean you'd picked up along the way.

The younger members matched you custom-for-custom and hugged you on their way out.

J-Hope, pure sunshine, clouded over with rain as he took in everyone's sadness. Bawling, he squeezed you tightly, telling you to stay safe.

Jimin joined in with J-Hope, sandwiching you between them in a smothering embrace. True to his puppy nature, Jimin whimpered as he let you go. “We miss you, Noona.”

Tae, the big baby, bent down and tried to pick you up to take you with him on the plane, but his gangly body was no match for your American thighs (and their struggle for freedom), and he was forced to put you down after a few steps. He immediately began to fake cry and clutched at your waist while Jin and Namjoon pulled him away and scolded him for inappropriate behavior.

You raised your voice, “Kim Taehyung!” and he instantly sobered. He glanced back as he slipped out the door, and you smiled, winking through his signature “V” pose.

Jungkook watched the spectacle with wide eyes. Once Tae had finally been dealt with, he approached, but as he got close, he seemed to lose his nerve. He paused, feet away, letting out a nervous giggle as his head twitched to the side, trying to psych himself up to hug you like the rest.

You took pity on him and ruffled his hair instead.

“Goodbye, Kookie Bunny.”

“Th- th- thank you, sister,” he said, not meeting your eyes, before scampering off.

Jin did not hug you, but offered you a gift: A small Toad plush, your favorite character from his favorite thing. You would sleep with it every night.

Namjoon shook your hand in both of his, but leaned in closely to whisper, “You want to know what we talked about when you got drunk on New Year's?”

You gulped, but nodded. You'd always wanted to know.

“I asked if you were drunk enough to tell me your type yet.” He leaned in even closer, lips tickling your ear. “And you told me which one of us you were planning to marry.”

“I-” you began, but didn't know how to finish.

I would never do such a thing? Maybe, maybe not.

I wonder who that was? Because you really, really did.

“I don't believe you!” Was what you finally went with. He said nothing, just bit his lip and winked at you before walking away. Why would he even say that and then leave you hanging with that knowledge?

You stood, mystified, watching his back, until a small scuffle from behind reminded you that you weren't through yet. It wasn't that you'd forgotten Yoongi, more like you were in denial. If you looked at him, you would have to say goodbye, and if you said goodbye, he would leave, and if he left, you would probably never see him again.

You looked down at the floor, refusing to acknowledge his presence, until you felt his forehead collide with yours, perhaps a bit too roughly. You raised your watery eyes to meet his, red-rimmed and tired. Somewhere in there, he had taken your hands, or maybe you had held his. You weren't sure, you never were. Things just sort of happened where Yoongi was concerned, like you shared the same heart.

He was your best friend and probable soulmate.

“Don't cry,” he whispered, bringing your joined hands to your face, where he wiped your cheek with his thumb.

“You,” you challenged, doing the same to him.

He pouted. “Will you smile, please?”

You scrunched your nose instead, a habit you'd picked up from him. The corner of his lip twitched, and you smiled in spite of yourself.

“I miss you already,” you whined and puffed out your cheeks, knowing aegyo wouldn't be enough to save you. Yoongi tried to look annoyed, but his lip twitched again, giving him away.

He looked you in the eye and groaned a little, scratching behind his ear. His cheeks blossomed pink as he mumbled something in Korean.

“What?”

“Will you like to visit Korea?” he asked. You knew that wasn't what he'd said.

“I would,” you assured him. “If I thought you'd have the time for me.” You both pouted at that. “I wish I could come and drive for you there.”

“Jeongmal?” He smiled wide enough to show his gums. You smiled back, even though you had no idea what that meant.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Min, we’re waiting for you.” Kevin re-entered the room then, and you and Yoongi sprung apart. You had avoided more than casual contact around the staff, sure they wouldn't understand, but you'd grown careless at the last moment, and feared Yoongi would pay for it.

You mouthed mianhae in Yoongi's direction, apologizing for the inquisition he was surely about to endure on the way to the next country on their tour. But, curiously, he was still smiling that gummy smile.

Yoongi waved as Kevin steered him through the door, smiling all the way. “Soon, I will call!”

That night, clutching your Toad plush, you researched the amount of time and effort it would take to visit Korea. Then, out of curiosity, or maybe fantasy, what you would need to live and work there. It wasn't like you had much to hold you to the States anyway. But then, you remembered, the guys were all you even had there, and they would be on tour for another three months. They would forget you in that time. They likely already had. To them, you were just another girl, one of thousands. Another staff, one of dozens.

Maybe not Yoongi. He would remember you fondly, you were sure. But after six months on tour schedule, the few weeks you spent together would probably seem like a dream to him, to both of you.

You would visit, if he called you—after all, he was the one with the insane schedule to work around—but you could never move there. It would take weeks, even months to sort out all the details, and what would you do there anyway?

Even if they wanted you to, you couldn't transplant your entire life for BTS.

Not without help.

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sleepysugabear · 2 years

Text

This is Happening - Chapter Six

Walking away from perhaps one of the least relaxing spa days in history, you at least felt pretty.

To apologize for acting like children and nearly getting you kicked out, J-Hope and Jimin sprung for a complete makeover. You'd never had your hair and makeup professionally done before. It was uncomfortable, but also nice, in a weird way.

You felt good, but not really like yourself as you caught people staring. For that reason, you were relieved when Jimin got a text saying they were meeting for a private dinner in a banquet room instead of the main dining area.

They claimed it was so they could order their own food without the other guests knowing they were getting preferential treatment. You felt it was more likely the hotel had offered to make them whatever they wanted to stop making a scene in their public areas.

To-may-to, to-mah-to.

As you approached the private dining room, Jimin paused, then threw the hoodie he'd been carrying for you over your face.

“If you wanted me to take it, all you had to do was —”

“Shh . . .” J-Hope grabbed your arms and held them to your sides. “It's surprise.”

“The dining room?”

They both giggled in response. “You face.”

You scoffed, but let them lead you blindly toward blaring music and amazing smells. The main dining hall was serving re-heated chicken wings with macaroni and cheese. This was definitely not that.

They called out in Korean once you entered the room, presumably getting everyone's attention. The music and laughter stopped, and even with the the cloth over your face, you knew they were all staring your direction. With the exception of maybe one. Or two.

You turned in the direction of unmistakable Mario Kart sound effects.

“Pause it,” Namjoon barked.

There was a scuffle and Jungkook wailed out in complaint, but quickly silenced. The game's music stopped.

Then started again.

Then stopped.

Then started.

You lost your composure at the same time Namjoon lost his patience.

“Jin-hyung!”

You burst into laughter under the sweatshirt, feeling your cheeks turn pink from both emotion and heat.

“It's okay if he doesn't want to look at me,” you gasped. “I would just really like to take this shirt off my face.”

You reached up and pulled the hoodie forward, sliding it down your face and balling it up between your hands.

“Ta-da!” J-Hope slid to the floor in front of you with full-on jazz hands.

Jimin started up a sort of chant of, “She so pretty, yeah.”

Jungkook looked down immediately.

Jin stood from the pile of cushions in front of the carted TV the hotel had apparently provided and smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt. He winked and you heard the tell-tale sound of Mario flying over the edge of the track.

You grimaced. “You should have let him pause it.”

He realized what had happened in a moment and yelled at his controller as he turned away to re-start his race.

Namjoon approached, hands clasped in front and bowed. “You look very beautiful.”

You smiled and felt yourself go pinker.

“She looks very uncomfortable,” Yoongi called from the sidelines. He didn't seem impressed. At all. He hadn't even stopped eating.

“Ooh, what's that?” You ignored the blatant, discomforting stares of the others and approached the dinner table. You assumed it was a family-style setup, with various picked over plates of meats and vegetables much more appetizing than what you'd been served recently. Otherwise, Yoongi was looking at death by gluttony.

The music started again, at a more appropriate volume, and Namjoon slid to your side to explain what everything was, careful to keep a respectful distance.

“They didn't have all the right ingredients, of course, but they made things more like what we miss from Korea. Jin made this spicy fried chicken.”

“Jin did?” You asked, surprised, glancing over to the full-grown man playing Mario Kart and ignoring you completely.

Namjoon nodded. “He likes to eat, so he has to cook too.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “They let him cook in the kitchen here.”

“Wow.” You put two pieces onto your plate first, then one of everything else to try.

“You eat a lot, for a girl.” You looked up into Tae's wide-eyed stare.

“You had nothing to say about my makeup, but you're going to call me fat?” You'd meant it as a joke, but it was clear from everyone's faces it wasn't received that way.

There was an immediate uproar, with even Jungkook berating his elder. He could barely look at you, but he stood up for your honor. Yoongi never said a thing, but you swore his hand disappeared and didn't reappear until Tae looked green.

“You are too beautiful for words,” he choked out in the most clear English yet. “The makeup only makes that clearer.”

Boos followed and several balled-up napkins flew in his direction.

“Hey! Hey!” You called out, batting away stray paper. “I was only joking! Don't be so mean.”

“He so mean!” J-Hope argued.

“It's fine. Think of me as a boy, remember?” You tied up your hair and threw your hoodie over your head. You wished you had makeup remover at your disposal, but this would have to do. “Don't fight because I'm a girl. I'm not even a very good one! I want to eat fried chicken and play Mario Kart and … and . . .” You picked a bottle of whiskey from the table. “And get drunk with you guys. I don't care if you think I'm pretty. I don't even think he's as pretty as he thinks he is.” You pointed to Tae, who pouted on cue.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Number one most handsome 2017.”

“According to who?” You shot back, earning “ohh's” from the crowd.

“Independent Top 100.”

“Are you sure it wasn't biggest baby contest? You'd be number one for that!”

His stuck his bottom lip out further and started to fake cry, proving your point.

“She will rather look at me.” Jin paused his game and stood, flexing. “Worldwide Handsome.” He blew you a kiss and wink, sending the room into giggles.

“Noona will never love you more than you do!” Jungkook clapped.

“Where did you rank, Worldwide Handsome?”

He sat down and resumed racing.

“Top 50 2018,” Namjoon provided.

“Zero 2017,” Yoongi smirked.

“Mmhmm.”

Jin didn't turn, but his ears turned pink.

You looked around at the guys, sobering slightly. “You were all on the list though, weren't you?”

“2018, yes. 2017, no.” J-Hope responded. “Only Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung.” He frowned a bit, then mustered up his smile, pulling the plate of chicken toward him. “I love KFC!”

You glanced questioningly to Namjoon. “Korean fried chicken,” he explained. You raised your brow and maintained your gaze. That wasn't what you were asking. Namjoon lowered his voice. “He barely made it on the list this year. But me too, almost.”

“You?” You blurted it without thinking. True, he wasn't the most handsome man you'd ever seen, but if they were all on that list, you'd put him somewhere near the middle, at least.

Namjoon smiled and spoke louder. “It is an honor to be nominated. There are billions of faces, and we are seven of the most handsome. Don't you feel lucky?”

“I think it's all a matter of taste,” you laughed. “But who am I to judge? I wouldn't make it into top one million if I were famous myself.” You stopped their mumbled protests by holding up your hand. “One of the boys, remember?”

Jimin hugged you from behind and said something in sweatshirt-muffled Korean, resting his head on your shoulder. His deep sigh revealed he'd been drinking alone while the rest of you were debating how handsome everyone was.

“Jimin needs to eat,” Namjoon chuckled, not translating what he'd said.

“And maybe the rest of us need to catch up a little bit.” You raised the bottle of whiskey and poured some into every cup held out to you, except Jimin's, because he really did need to slow down. He pouted at your refusal, but took the opportunity to nuzzle into you more deeply.

J-Hope and Yoongi each took theirs as a shot and held their arms out for more before you'd even poured one of your own. J-Hope nursed his second one, but Yoongi swiped the bottle, making sure to pour you a generous serving first.

As soon as the liquor was brought out, Jin joined the table, eating and drinking enough for an army. Apparently, he had restricted himself to one plate until everyone else got there, but all bets were off once you'd eaten.

“This chicken is sooo good,” you moaned, thirty minutes and three drinks in.

“I only make sauce,” Jin explained. “They have only frozen chicken.”

“Oh my god, that makes me so mad!” You could hear that you were louder than usual, but had no control of your volume. “I bet if you made this at home it would be the best fucking thing I've ever eaten. And I will never get to taste that.”

It took a minute for you to realize they were all staring at you.

“What, I have sauce on my face? Sorry, I'm not a professional eater like Worldwide Douchebag over here.” You giggled at your own, obviously hilarious, joke.

“You curse?” Jimin, now slightly more coherent, asked from your lap, where his head apparently been resting without your knowledge.

“I swear a fuckin' lot,” you admitted. “You guys are just so a-goddamn-dorable I was uncomfortable until now. I told you, I'm not a very good woman. If you guys like this—” you gestured to your airbrushed face—“you probably don't like me much. Cause this is soo rare.”

“Girls should be cute.” You looked down at Jimin's pensive face. “Small.”

“Good luck finding one smaller than you,” Yoongi sassed, taking another shot.

Jimin continued, unfazed. “I like you for pillow, not girlfriend.”

You nodded in understanding, without noticing how the others waited with bated breath for your response. “I am built for comfort.” You smiled. “Physically and emotionally. That's why I was a psychology major.”

Only Namjoon really understood what all those big words meant. “You are a doctor?”

“No no no. I didn't have enough money for that. I'm in concierge services. Like your assistants and stuff. It takes a strong mind to be ordered around all day, people don't realize. And you have to be able to think on your feet, and be ready for anything. I have to anticipate people's needs all day long. When I have a job that is.” You stared at your empty cup, smiling when Jungkook filled it. “You're a good little brother.”

Tae, five minutes behind in the conversation, replied from Jin's shoulder. “I like cute girls. Act cute. But I like you are different too. I like you fat.”

You snorted into your glass as he panicked over his own words.

“I like your . . .” He waved his hands in an hourglass shape.

“Curves,” you supplied. “You like my curves.” By American standards, you were pretty average, but you knew tastes and body types varied internationally.

“Yes,” he smiled, then seemed to realize that even that had been inappropriate.

“So we need to find you a girl who acts cute and has curves?” You plowed through. “I don't act very cute, so I can't help you. Do Korean girls have curves?” You looked to Namjoon.

“Most of them do not,” he answered honestly. “Curvy is ugly in Korea.”

“Oh,” you frowned. “After meeting you guys, I thought maybe I should go to Korea to find a guy, but I guess they'll all think I'm fat and ugly.”

“Korea has impossible beauty standards for women and men. Very unhealthy. I prefer American curves myself.” He said the last part in a low purr you didn't think anyone else could hear.

“Stop flirting!” Except Jimin, who you'd forgotten was literally on top of you.

“Your head is in her lap!”

“Ahh!” You all looked up at Jin, who screamed for no reason. “Ahh! Ahh!” He stuck his fingers in his ears, indicating he didn't want to hear anymore.

“What’s your type then, Worldwide Handsome?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but Jungkook cut him off. “No girls are prettier than him.”

“Jin can marry himself,” Yoongi added.

“Hey! Stob it!” Jin protested. “I like girl.” You weren't sure who he was telling.

“Any girls?” you prompted.

“Nice girl. Cook. Clean. Good wife for me.”

“Well, I'm oh for three, I guess. But, hey, we can still play Mario Kart together.”

Jin's face lit up at the mention of his video game, but his hopes were dashed immediately by J-Hope.

“I want to sing!” he announced, voice cracking, as he held up a microphone.

“Where did he get that?”

“They gave us a karaoke machine. Everyone has to sing,” Namjoon explained. “Every time we drink with new friends, we sing karaoke in Korea.”

“But we're in America,” you pouted. “And I don't want to sing in front of all you professionals.”

“We are not all singers.” Namjoon pointed to J-Hope who had selected an NSYNC song to break the ice.

“America boy band for you, Noona.” He waved frantically to you as the intro played. You watched J-Hope perfectly execute the dance moves of one of NSYNC's most iconic videos, with a few complex adlibs thrown in, while completely stumbling over the lyrics. The ones he did know were slightly off pitch, as his primary focus seemed to be his somewhat indecent body rolls.

For the second verse, Jungkook, Tae and Jimin jumped out to join him. They were better singers—even though they also glossed over any lyric that wasn't the chorus—and they seemed to pick the dance moves straight out of J-Hope's brain, so that by the end you'd have that they'd mastered it beforehand.

You sang along, in spite of yourself, and gave a standing ovation when they were through. “I love NSYNC!” you admitted. “They're the last boy band I ever listened to.”

“You really don't know us?” Jin pouted.

You shook your head. Had he thought you were lying all this time?

“None of us?” Yoongi raised his brow in challenge.

“Oh, well I guess I know Jimin.” You reached for your phone. “But I didn't know it was him.” You pulled Promise up in your files, and the guys all exchanged looks. “I know it's not an official download, but my friend sent it to me. I guess she's a big fan of yours, and was hoping this would be like a gateway into listening to you. Since I almost exclusively listen to bands with guitars these days, she thought I might like it. Which I do! But I still haven't listened to the rest of you.”

The air was heavy for a moment, but Namjoon broke the tension. “My turn! Another for you, because you like guitar.” He shocked the hell out of you by playing one of your emo rock favorites from the early 2000s. But when the singing started, you knew exactly what he’d been talking about earlier: they weren't all singers. Namjoon knew almost all the lyrics, but delivered them in a somehow both flat and squeaky monotone you swore had to be a put-on. But you had so much fun singing along, you didn't particularly care.

“You have nice voice.” You jumped, not realizing Jin was so close to you. “You good singer.”

“And you”—you poked Jin's chest--are a good liar.”

You both glanced down to where your hand met his chest, suddenly aware that this was the closest you'd ever been, that you were touching him. This wasn't the same as J-Hope stroking your hair or Jimin's head in your lap. Although notably less intimate on paper, the tip of your finger begged to differ. It felt like you were burning a hole in his shirt. You actually checked to make sure that you weren't.

You jumped apart at the same moment, looking around to see if anyone else had noticed. Yoongi was looking conspicuously away from you, but seemed otherwise as cold as he'd been since you'd woken up in his room this afternoon. Your focus shifted to him, Jin all but forgotten in an instant. Which was just as well, since you got to ignore his clumsy exit.

“You should talk to him.” Namjoon startled you with his closeness.

“What is it with you guys sneaking up on me?” You nearly slapped his shoulder, but remembered what happened last time you did that and stopped yourself.

“We're not sneaky,” he chuckled. “You're just drunk.”

“Oh, you'll know when I'm drunk.” You looked back to Yoongi, Namjoon following your line of sight. “Why is he acting this way? This morning I felt close to him, but now he's so far away.”

“That's Suga-hyung,” Namjoon shrugged. “He is hard to get close to. We have known him for almost ten years, and he is still mysterious to us.”

“Suga?”

“His rap name.”

“Like sugar?” You stifled a laugh.

“Because I'm sweet.”

You looked down at your shoes. You hadn't realized Yoongi could hear you, or that he'd be listening if he did. But you shook off the embarrassment and moved closer to him.

“Sometimes you are. And sometimes you're not. Like right now for example.” You reached for his hand, splayed on the table, but he pulled it away, placed it in his lap, and stared down at it.

“Is it because I went to your room today? Did I bother you?”

He didn't answer.

“Is it because the others came? Did they bother you?”

Still nothing.

“Did I get you in trouble with Kevin? Did I snore too loud for you to rest? I mean, are you even mad at me right now? Or do you just feel like being an asshole? I'd like to know so I can move on with my life.”

Yoongi finally flinched. You felt eyes on the back of your head, then conspicuously turn away as the music turned up.

Yoongi still wasn't saying anything, just staring at his hands under the table.

“Look,” you sighed, “forget it. I guess I don't know really you. I'm sure I never will.” You started to walk away, still mumbling to yourself. “Yesterday I didn't know who he was, today I'm all worked up about him. Stupid woman. Maybe I'm PMSing?”

“I could not help.”

You paused. That sounded like Yoongi.

“I could not help you.”

You turned around to see him reading from his phone. Is that what he was doing while you were losing your mind? Using his translator app? He couldn't have let you know?

“I am bastard,” he continued. “I could not help you because I am not bright enough. You need J-Hope. You do not need me. I am dark and sinking. I will make you tired. J-Hope will give you energy. Jin will give you energy. I will take it away. You do not need me. I am angry you do not need me. I am depressed. I want to help you. I want to know you. I think I know you. I want to be your friend. I cannot be more than friends. I—”

You clamped your hand over his phone, not needing to hear any more. “Did you not hear me, Min Yoongi? Sleepy? Suga? Whoever you are? When Namjoon asked me why I came to you, what did I say? I said, 'because he understands me.' I didn't want to be cheered up and energized and fussed over. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted to sleep. I wanted exactly what you did for me. You were perfect. I am your friend. You know me. Please stop doubting yourself.”

He looked up at you, tears shining in his eyes, and in that moment, you knew: Yoongi was drunk.

“You didn't understand a thing I just said, did you?” You laughed. Startled to find you had tears of your own, you began wiping them away.

As soon as your hand was gone from his screen, he eagerly read what it had evidently recorded. And though you assumed something got lost in the translation, you were sure it got your point across.

Yoongi smiled so widely you saw tops of his gums, and it made you so happy you didn't even flinch when he squeezed your hand just a little too tight.

Nearby, a throat cleared, reminding you that you weren't quite alone.

“I have a question,” said Namjoon as soon as you looked his way. “Why do you keep calling him Sleepy?”

The drama had sobered you all up quite a bit, so the seven of you shared another shot while you watched Jungkook perform an altogether too perfect cover of a Charlie Puth single you'd probably heard somewhere.

“Is it because I'm drunk, and he's sober, or is he always that good?”

“He is always that good,” six voices echoed back.

“The golden maknae is my friend.” Tae puffed out his chest. “He is best at everything.”

“Golden maknae? Is that another stage name?”

“It is name we give,” Jimin explained.

“It means he is the youngest and he is . . . golden. He is good at . . . almost everything.” For the first time that night, it appeared Namjoon was feeling his liquor, so you poured him another. A part of you really wanted to see a crack in his veneer.

“But you change the subject.” Jimin waggled a sloppy finger at you. “Why is he Sleepy, Yoongi?”

“Because he's . . . Sleepy Yoongi!” You giggled at your cleverness. “It is a name I gave him when you hadn't introduced yourselves.”

“We apologize for that!” Namjoon held up a finger.

“You already did!” You batted at his hand, missing by a mile. “But I didn't know your names, so I made some up in the meantime. I think I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. Yoongi was Sleepy, because he looked so tired.”

The boys nodded in understanding.

“We call him Grandpa,” said Jungkook, surprising you.

“When did you stop singing?”

“Noona is drunk now,” Jimin laughed and poured you another.

“Yes, Noona is drunk now,” you agreed, taking a swig. “You, I called Puppy, because you are just so sweet and mischievous.” You booped Jimin on the nose, renewing his fit of giggles.

“You know about Chimmy?”

“Is that another nickname?”

“Chimmy is Jimin's cartoon. He is a puppy.” It took several attempts, but Namjoon was able to pull up a picture of an animated dog, apparently designed for and representing Jimin. He briefly showed you the others as well. Each member having designed a cartoon for himself as part of some marketing campaign.

“Oh! Is this one Jungkookie?” You pointed to the pink bunny firing a bubble gun.

“How did you know?”

“Because he looks like a Bunny too. I guess, now that I think about it, my names weren't very original, if you all already knew them.” You pouted into your whiskey.

“Me next! What your name V?” Tae slapped the table in excitement.

“Who's V?”

“I am V!”

“You are Tae.”

“V is his stage name. Most people know him as V.”

“Why? Because Tae is too long?” you snorted. “Oh, my god, you guys. I won't remember any of this. I'm already so confused.”

“My name! My name! My name!”

“Oh, my god, stop! That is why I called you Big Baby Babyface.”

“That is very long.”

“Well it started as Babyface, because he looks so young, but his voice is deep. Then, sometimes, Big Baby, or Baby for short, because he cries and whines like an infant.”

“So . . . You will call me Baby?” Tae waggled his eyebrows, intentionally missing the point.

You closed your eyes and buried your head in your hands.

“What about us?” You glanced up at Namjoon, who gestured between himself and J-Hope.

“Those two were obvious. I called you Dimples and . . . Sunshine. Is he okay?” You were looking at Sunshine, who seemed to be anything but at the moment. J-Hope had a far-off haunted stare going that made you think he was seeing dead people.

“Hobi is drunk,” Jungkook offered, taking J-Hope's glass away.

“That's Hobi?!?” You asked, putting the pieces together. “He was what you went to get when I went to Sleepy's room earlier?”

“Mmhhm,” Jin nodded. “Hoseok.”

“Hoseok?!? How many names does he have?”

“Hoseok is name. Hobi is nickname. J-Hope is stage name.” Jimin counted them down on tiny little fingers.

“Oh, my god.” You grabbed his hands. “No wonder you only like small women.”

Clearly embarrassed, Jimin tried to pull his hands away, but yours enveloped his easily. Too easily.

“Ugh.” You let him go. “I feel so gross and manly now.” You spent a few minutes evaluating your hands, comparing them to the other boys around you to make sure they weren't enormous. No, Jimin's were just very small. His pinky, especially. And with your fresh, clear-coat manicure, yours were looking daintier and more feminine than ever.

“What about me?” Jin asked. “Did you guess I am Worldwide Handsome?” He winked again, more rapidly than you would think him capable of in his inebriated state. You were starting to think it was more of a tic than an intentional come on at this point.

“I called you Jin,” you shrugged, ignoring how he deflated. “You had already given me your name, so there was no reason to make one up. I mean, I guess I called you Jim that time. You should have seen your face.” You laughed until you snorted, which made you laugh some more. “You thought you were so smooth, and then I trolled you so bad. Classic.”

Jin looked down at his glass, swirling the liquid aggressively.

“I think he wants a nickname,” Namjoon prompted, leaning over to pat Jin on his back.

“Well, I don't have one.” And you kind of resented the fact that they were trying to make you think of one on the spot like this. “You don't look like any animals, you aren't . . . oh wait . . . Yes, you do sometimes.”

Jin perked up, then seemed to remember and regret. “No nono. I am a man. You cannot call me—“

“Chipmunk! You are chipmunk!” Jimin pointed his tiny hands and laughed at his older brother.

“That's right,” you smiled evilly. “You are my puffy-faced, backwards throwing up chipmunk.”

“Aww man . . .”

“Hey, you asked for it.”

Jimin and Namjoon continued to laugh at him, while Tae and Jungkook seemed to be entertaining themselves with a tower made of Jin's chopsticks. Yoongi and J-Hope didn't seem to care either way, each lost in their own drunken haze.

“No respect!” Jin huffed. “I prove I am man. Very sexy!” He flailed his arms, not unlike a Muppet, prompting you to laugh at him again. You weren't sure if he was serious. You kind of hoped he wasn't. Because if this was him being angry, he could never win a fight. Poor Chipmunk.

Jin took the stage to sing what Namjoon informed you was his own song, Epiphany. It turned out that you liked it, very much in fact. The music built in a way that was very pleasing to the ear and complemented Jin's voice well.

“His voice is kind of emo,” you murmured to Namjoon, trying not to disturb Yoongi, who had taken respite on your shoulder.

“Whiny,” Yoongi corrected.

You tried not to shake with laughter. “Yes, his voice is whiny. But in a way that matches a lot of the music I listen to.”

Yoongi huffed. “Jimin is better.”

You thought of the song that you knew and agreed. “Stronger, but less range.”

Yoongi nodded into your shoulder.

“You are a music critic now?” Namjoon asked, halting a swaying J-Hope.

“I know what I like,” you said with a wink.

“What do you like?”

“I told you earlier, mostly music with guitars and—”

“No, before, when we talked about what kind of girls we liked. What about you?”

“Me? Well you might find this hard to believe, but I actually prefer boys.”

“What kind of bo—” But he was cut off.

Yoongi snorted into your shoulder and called out to Jungkook and Tae.

Jungkook laughed and Tae pouted.

“Aww man.” He stood and took the mic from Jin's outstretched hands when he was done with his song.

“Did you like it?” Jin asked, excited.

“Very much,” you admitted. “I don't know why you thought it would make you look sexy, but I do like that song. I'll download it tomorrow.”

“Even without a guitar?” Namjoon asked.

“Hmm,” you pondered. “There are exceptions to every rule. But, if you do want to look sexy,” you turned to Jin, “you really should play the guitar.”

“He does.”

Jin buried his head in his hands—which you suddenly realized were large and long-fingered—but perked up when he heard the music Tae was about to sing.

“Spice Girls?”

“Punishment,” Jungkook answered, laughing evilly as he set up the camera.

“What was the bet exactly?” You were pretty sure you knew, but wanted them to admit it.

“You like boys.” Yoongi was matter-of-fact. “Taehyung bet you like only girls.” He paused, waiting for the music to start, then whispered, “You like only boys?”

You shrugged then nodded. “As far as I know. Why, what did you bet?”

Yoongi's lips turned down and he muttered what you'd worked out to be a Korean curse word.

You cocked your head to the side and raised your eyebrows, smiling when he slumped his shoulders.

He reached for the iPad with the karaoke app, but you laid your hand over his. He didn't need to sing a punishment song, and you really didn't need to hear it.

He smiled and showed you a complicated pinky swear, sealing your promise to keep your feelings about women, or rather lack thereof, to yourself.

When you glanced over, Namjoon was staring at you. Nervous he knew you were cheating, if only by omission, you said, out loud, “So you guys just make bets about everything?”

“Everything.” Jin, Jimin, and Jungkook said together.

“Tae Tae!” Jungkook smiled gleefully. “You have to do again! Noona is talking.”

Tae then made a very rude hand gesture, that let you know he no longer thought of you as a princess. Which was just fine by you.

“You have to be quiet,” Yoongi warned. “Producer will edit later, but we hear everything when Taehyung sings.”

You nodded your understanding.

To keep yourself distracted, you wondered what Yoongi had won for being the one to crack you. Or maybe what the others had lost. It helped you stay silent for a minute, but Tae wasn't making it easy with the dance routine he threw in.

You were fairly certain you stifled any laughter, but Yoongi claimed he heard feminine giggles when they played back the video.

“Are you sure that wasn't Jimin?”

Jimin jumped up and chased you around the table like you were playing “Duck, Duck, Goose” until you took refuge behind Yoongi, who growled in protection.

The party got its second wind, which was good, because you had all been hoping to actually make it to the New Year. J-Hope was a lost cause, but the guys set him up on some cushions in the corner, and everyone else switched to beer. They got you to sing, twice. First, a safe karaoke classic, and then later you got brave and went for broke with Adele.

Jin and Jimin insisted you sang very well, but you tended to believe Yoongi when he said you could sing well, some day, with professional lessons. The others said he was too honest, but you weren't sure there was such a thing.

Yoongi sang one also, and that's when you knew there was such a thing. Ed Sheeran would retire that song if he knew it was being butchered that way. You hadn't planned to tell Yoongi this, but he held no delusions, and treated you to a rap for his second turn. You weren't generally a fan of hip-hop, but you could not deny that the speed of his flow was definitely a worthwhile talent.

Jin flounced you soundly in Mario Kart a couple times. You insisted it was cheating that he knew all the shortcuts when you'd never even played the console before, but he wouldn't hear of it. You took no small pleasure in watching Yoongi hit him with a blue shell using your shared favorite character later. You wondered what would happen if you ever played against each other, but decided that was just a bad idea in general after seeing his competitive streak.

Things got a little fuzzy after that. You remembered screaming HAPPY NEW YEAR! and explaining the tradition of a New Year's kiss they'd all seen in a movie once. Only Jimin seemed interested, and he nearly got his ass beat for attempting it with you. One of the boys threw up. You didn't know which, but you smelled it and prayed you weren't next.

Someone offered to carry you, but you didn't think they could. Yet, somehow, they must have, because the next thing you knew you were on the couch in one of the suites, and an angry woman was screaming into your sleeping face, “Get out of the room, you stalker!”

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sleepysugabear · 2 years

Text

Bonus: Spa Day Outtake

The Spa Day was . . . a lot. J-Hope flashed some cash and traded in on his idol status to get you, he and Jimin the full luxury package on almost no notice. Yoongi opted to stay behind, even while sighing at his apparently ruined manicured hands (they looked softer than yours, but okay).

But after an hour of J-Hope and Jimin, you understood why he didn't come.

J-Hope chattered away, mostly in Korean, only occasionally trying to translate his words. Jimin took his best stab at it, but you always got the feeling he was leaving things out or adding things on as they suited him.

“He want to know if you are feel better.”

“Yes.”

“He want to know if you like mash- mess-

“Massage? Yes.”

“He think you should wear towel. Only. All day.”

“Does he really?” You raised a questioning brow and received a mischievous smirk in reply.

J-Hope worked that one out and punched Jimin's shoulder, starting an epic battle of who can annoy who the most that lasted throughout their mani/pedis. Both smiling sweetly, they poked, prodded, and spread stolen lotion on each other's faces, each getting more violent and manic, and only ending when some splashed water from the foot tub ended up in the technicians face. Although they were both gravely apologetic, you were certain it was Jimin's little puppy face that won the woman over.

When the time came for your massage, you were almost afraid to disrobe, thinking Jimin might walk in, until you heard what was obviously a raucous towel fight coming from the other room. You were almost nude and on the table when someone else interrupted.

“Can you control your brothers?” A harried masseur popped his head into the room. He looked pointedly away from you, but you still scrambled to tighten your robe. “You know, we normally don't allow minors into the spa at all. You must have given quite a tip.”

“They're in their twenties.” You smirked for some reason. “And they're not my brothers.”

The man's head jerked toward you, and his eyes widened for a moment before he slipped them away.

“Of course they're not. I'm so sorry. Someone said they have a sister, who obviously isn't you. I was hoping . . . ”

Your heart clenched for a moment; they had called you their sister. Logic responded by reminding you that they knew no other word for you, and the true meaning was likely lost in translation.

“I apologize for the inconvenience. If they're disturbing you, I'll have them removed as soon as I find their guardian.”

You laughed then. “Again, they're in their twenties. Not children, although they act like it. JIMIN! J-HOPE!”

The giggling from the other room ceased immediately.

“THIS MAN ALMOST SAW ME NAKED BECAUSE HE WANTED ME TO MAKE YOU BEHAVE!”

Some murmuring occurred and then, “WHA!!! Nono nonono NONONO. SORRY! SO SORRY!”

“IF YOU CAN'T STOP, THEY WILL MAKE US ALL LEAVE.”

More apologies flooded through the walls, followed by absolute silence.

“They should be good now,” you mused. “You'll have to excuse them, they've been cooped up for three days, and they're really used to expending more energy. I'm not sure why they didn't settle down when you asked them to, though. They're usually well-mannered, unless they get carried away.”

The masseur's back tensed. “I wasn't aware they spoke English. And you said you didn't know them.”

“I said they're not my brothers. As you yourself noticed, I'm not Korean enough. But maybe you should have tried just talking to them first and seeing how they reacted.” He didn't respond, so you added on, “And, by the way, they're the ones leaving 'quite the tip,' so maybe cut them some slack, eh?”

The rest of your visit was uneventful. After your massage, you met the stoic pair outside the couple's room they'd been in, where they mumbled apologies to their feet and bowed low before you. They glanced up in unison to see your best stern mother glare. Together, their knees hit the floor, and they literally begged for forgiveness in what you presumed to be a traditional Korean manner.

The corner of your lip twitched. You couldn't hold it in much longer. The combination of ridiculousness and discomfort from their avowed subservience bubbled up in your belly and came out as a braying laugh.

“Oh, my god. Stand up! Please!” You wiped tears from your eyes as they looked up in contrite confusion.

“We want to make you happy . . .” J-Hope began.

“But we get you in trouble,” Jimin finished.

“You are big sister. We disrespect you.”

“They go to your room and see you . . . naked.” He whispered the last word.

“Because us.”

“Almost. I said he almost saw me naked. Besides, it's their job. If he had given my massage, he would have seen more than he did.”

“Nonono!” They cried in unison.

You smiled fondly down at the tops of their heads. “Adorable,” you whispered under your breath. “Please stand up, and I will forgive you.”

They hesitated.

“If you buy me a haircut.”

They both immediately jumped up and hugged you between them. Bargaining and compensation were clearly essential to the make up process.

In the end, they didn't stop there. You received a full cut and dye job in the color of your choice, blow-out, styling, and a gentle facial—so your skin wouldn't be agitated by the makeup they put on, partially against your will. Girly wasn't your aesthetic, but J-Hope was so excited by the idea of a real-life Barbie makeover, you couldn't turn it down.

You felt very . . .delicate for the first time since high school Prom, and really out of sorts in your usual jeans and t-shirt. It couldn't be helped though, and when you saw yourself in the mirror, you commended the staff for keeping that in mind. You didn't look like you were going to a dance, maybe dancing, out for a night with your friends. It wasn't you. Still, you let Jimin carry your hoodie for you as you made your way to dinner.

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sleepysugabear · 2 years

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This is Happening - Chapter One

You had always suspected the Universe hated you, but now you had solid proof. While visiting your least favorite relative in another state, it had started to snow. The family suggested you postpone your flight, stay awhile, be a free babysitter and house slave for their spoiled rotten kids all hopped up on Christmas candy.

No thanks, you thought. I'll take my chances.

You hadn't wanted to visit them in the first place, but you'd had no excuse to duck out. You were done with school, you lived with your parents, and you had recently been let go from your customer service job. You were laid off and replaced by a part-time high school student who called off sick in her first week so she wouldn't miss a party.

At least that's what your friend/former roommate said, before he got laid off too.

You would have felt sorry for him, but it was his fault you were living with your parents. He went off and “fell in love” blah blah blah leaving you without enough income to live on your own. Although now you supposed, it ended up being for the best. Had you been living together, you'd have been evicted, and left in the same position, but very much by accident.

In short, everything sucked.

But at least you were headed home.

Your parents weren't thrilled to house you, but they loved you enough, had a spare room, and no small siblings for you to look after. Besides, it was only temporary. You had another job lined up that started January first. It wasn't much, but if you saved wisely and found another roommate, you could be out of your parents' place in a few months.

There was light at the end of the tunnel.

You had your ticket ready, you made it through airport security hell, and as you waited by the gate, things were looking up.

They announced a brief delay of your flight as they de-iced the wing and shoveled the runway, etc. No big deal. A delay meant you could relax, read a book, listen to a song on repeat. Your friend had turned you onto a catchy little tune recently: “Promise.” You had no idea what the guy was singing about for half of the song (apparently it was in Korean), but you enjoyed the idea of him singing it to you.

But, of course, the Universe wouldn't allow it. Your phone was nearly dead, thanks, you guessed, to your bratty little cousins using it to watch your Netflix, because their mother didn't have it. Never mind that you hadn't given them permission, and they'd likely stolen it from your bag.

No wonder you'd almost left without it because you'd “forgotten” you had it out already.

Little punks.

And because you were sitting there in absolute silence, you were one of the first to hear that, just kidding, your flight was not going to be delayed after all. It was canceled. They all were. The entire airport was shutting down. And because the airline wasn't at fault for the issue, the most you were going to get from them was a rescheduled ticket and a single meal voucher.

Awesome.

People started to get in line, arguing with the gate attendants and demanding compensation. You weren't sure what abusing the staff was supposed to do to help the situation. There was snow. The plane was grounded. An extra $50 and a hamburger wasn't going to get them home any faster.

Entitled pricks.

Being in customer service had really dimmed your view of the American consumer.

Instead of huffing and puffing and threatening to blow the airport down, you opted to get out of there before the roads were all closed too. The airport looked disgusting, and you sure as hell weren't going back to your aunt's house, so a hotel it was.

Unfortunately, your phone was officially dead now, so you couldn't call around or Google the area yourself. The staff was all . . . indisposed, and the public computers were taken by some kids and a few people a little faster than you. By the time you were able to find a port to plug into (you traded your meal voucher for ten minutes on it), and search a place for the night, the pickins were slim: a flea bag joint forty miles away, or the swanky full service hotel a mile down the road.

It's only one night, you bargained with yourself. It's not like I stay in $500 hotels every week. I'm getting a job soon anyway. What the hell? Let's turn a horrible day into a fabulous night.

But it wasn't just one night.

Of course not.

The snow never stopped coming down. Your parents loaned you some money for a second night, then advised you to go back and sleep at the airport. The problem was, you couldn't get to the airport. You could see it, sure, but unless you were willing to drag your suitcase more than a mile in over five feet of snow, you weren't going to get to it.

The hotel let you check your bag and eat free breakfast in the lobby one last time.

You stared.

You cried.

You stabbed at your eggs as you contemplated your predicament.

I am an adult, damn it! I can figure this out!

You wiped your eyes and sat up straight, determined. Instead of blankly staring at your plate, you looked around you for inspiration. It was only 9 AM, and people were already getting bored. A family on vacation sat with a board game, not a care in the world. A couple of older men played cards in the corner. You made eye contact with one of them, and you both nodded; you'd run into each other lounging around the lobby a few times during your stay. There wasn't much else to do outside of your hotel room.

A group of young guys wearing matching over-sized hoodies were huddled around the entry door, laughing and yelling excitedly to one another. You couldn't understand what they were saying, but you couldn't tell if it was just because they were far away, or if they were actually speaking another language. Six of them cheered as a seventh joined them from outside, completely covered with snow. He proceeded to shake it off of his shaggy black hair, like a dog, splattering the other six with wetness.

They groaned, loudly, in unison, and a uniformed woman briskly walked over to speak with them. At first, they all looked confused—well, all except two—but they quickly turned contrite and apologetic, bowing and mumbling things you couldn't catch. They left the front door and headed instead toward the breakfast buffet. As they came closer to your table, you realized you had seen them before. But not like the guys from the card table, no, these seven hadn't been milling around the hotel lobby over the past few days. It was someplace else.

But where?

Momentarily dumbstruck, you were suddenly very aware that you were dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a giant hoodie yourself. You might as well have been one of them. Actually, at least one seemed to be wearing more makeup than you (which was none).

Or were they just that beautiful?

You pretended to send a text while you watched them approach in your periphery. Where did you know them from? Seven guys, Asian, young, cute, all together in a fancy hotel? One of them had a camera out, recording the others as they walked, calling out taunts you didn't understand. But the language . . . so familiar.

Inspired, you turned your attention to your phone for real this time, and pulled up your most recently favorite song. And as the sweet melody played out behind the nonsensical lyrics you'd almost committed to memory, you realized the seven were speaking Korean.

Your eyes fell shut of their own accord as your favorite part played out. You took a deep breath, and let your emotions overwhelm you. Just for a moment. Just to let it out. Your face grew hot, and a single tear fell from your right eye.

As the final note echoed in your mind, you felt the air shift to your left.

“You know BTS?”

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