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min-youngis · 4 years

Text

We’ve Met

gif not mine

~ Pairing : Min Yoongi x Reader (Wedding Cake Baker x Maid of Honour)

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour, Pini n g

~ Summary : When Irene picked you to be her maid of honour, you didn't expect the very cute cake baker you'd be dealing with, and you sure as hell didn't expect all the bothersome feelings that tagged along.

Strangers to Lovers

~ Word Count : a fair few i'd say (10,685)

~ Warnings : swearing, some smexy descriptions of Yoongi's hands

~ A/N : if you say anything bad about this, i'll cry. but i'll also cry if you say anything good about it.

i'd love to hear feedback! spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

You pull into a parking space opposite the destination and take a good look at the building you need to be inside within the next ten minutes.

It’s a small, single storey shop, with glass windows and two tiny tables on either side of the door. If you squint just so through your glasses, you can make out the display counter and all the sweets lined up. The white sign board on top reads Kim Seokjin Bakery in large, bold script and underneath, in smaller cursive, Wedding Cakes Available For Order.

It looks comical almost, all light and welcoming, baby pink and white themed, no doubt playing some bubbly radio-friendly pop, perched as it is, in between a dark, imposing tattoo shop on the one side and a sports apparel store on the other.

Trust Irene to find the brightest, cutest, most delightful bakery in the city. You let out a quiet groan, collect your bag from the passenger seat and your coffee cup from the console and climb out of the car, putting on your best I am here because you are my best friend and I love you and this is a part of my maid of honour duties face. You cross the road and after checking the address one last time, push open the door.

The first thing you register is the Katy Perry playing so loud, you feel like she’s singing Teenage Dream right inside your ear canal. The next thing you notice is the tall, broad shouldered, brown-haired man standing behind the cash register with a bright, friendly, maybe even genuine smile on his face.

He gives you a quick bow and shouts to be heard over the music. “Hello! Welcome to Kim Seokjin Bakery! What can I get you today?”

You’re convinced that you’ve stepped into one of those weird, Care Bear style, candy cane themed ice cream castles that Irene writes about in the children’s books she authors and the dude in front of you is Cheer Bear in the flesh.

You clear your throat a bit, working through the sensory overload, and begin to shout back that you’re here for a wedding cake tasting appointment and that the happy couple should be at the bakery any minute.

You’re halfway through the sentence, hoping against hope that he can hear you, because it'd be super awkward if you had to repeat yourself, when the music is cut off abruptly and you’re screaming, “-they’re almost here!” in the sudden, dead silence of the shop.

You shut your mouth immediately after trailing off at the ending and squeak out a soft ‘Sorry,’ refusing to meet....Jin's eyes, according to the name badge pinned on his chest that you can suddenly read, now that your ears aren’t being assaulted.

Huh. The man himself.

The guy looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh at your bashfulness and he’s about to say something, when the door behind the counter suddenly slams open with a loud bang, and a man in an apron stomps out, rage evident on his face.

“Jin, what the fuck? If I have to cut the music one more time because it’s too loud, I swear to God, I’m going to murder you-Oh, hello.”

You register how cute he is, even with his half-angry half-surprised expression, with a dash of flour on his forehead and clad in a fluffy, white cardigan, though he can’t be older than 26. Distantly, you also notice how elegant his fingers look inside his messy, icing coated gloves, his slightly veined forearms exposed with his sleeves rolled up.

You half heartedly raise your hand in a sheepish wave and watch with slight regret as he bows at you rapidly and mumbles out a quick ‘Sorry,’ before scrambling back to where he came from, quick as a flash.

He was there and then he wasn’t, so to speak.

Jin looks unfazed at the prospect of being murdered, still retaining his sunny disposition, as he lets out a small laugh and says, “Let’s try that again, shall we? Welcome to Kim Seokjin Bakery! My name’s Kim Seokjin. That grouch who just disappeared back there is Min Yoongi. Don’t mind him, he forgot how to have fun when he turned twenty one. Now I heard something about a cake tasting?”

You really don’t know what you’re about to say as your mouth opens, thoughts still stubbornly fixed on Min Yoongi, and it’s really for the best for all parties involved that Irene and her fiancé walk into the bakery at that moment.

“Y/N! You’re on time today!” she says, letting go of Namjoon's hand and making her way towards you, wrapping you in a hug.

You’d be offended at her surprise but you had, in fact, been late for the flower-picking and the venue-choosing, so you let it slide, letting her pull you into her frame and inhaling her permanent, calming, lavender scent.

You pull away to watch quizzically as Namjoon goes behind the counter, smiling brightly, and begins conversing with Jin like they’re old friends.

“They’re old friends,” Irene whispers, seeing your expression. “Met at high school, stayed in touch somehow, were in a band together apparently. Them and a couple of others. The other owner of this place, too. Something with Y? Yooni, maybe. That’s why we chose this bakery.”

You swallow thickly and whisper back, “Yoongi. Min Yoongi.”

She throws you a confused look, obviously curious about how you’re so confident about that piece of information, and she’s about to enquire about the same when Namjoon calls her, saying, “Darling? Let me introduce you to Jin.”

She throws you a look, one that holds a promise of this conversation isn’t over, and the two of you make your way behind the counter. Namjoon does all the introductions and when he lands on you, ‘Y/N, Irene’s best friend and maid of honour', Jin says, “We’ve met,” his eyes filled with mirth.

“I reached a bit early,” you explain. “I was just telling Jin that we were here for a cake tasting.”

Irene gives a good-natured, at least to her, punch on your arm and gently mocks, “Early? Oh, look at you go!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come at all,” you faux bitterly mutter under your breath, rubbing at the sore spot on your shoulder.

You’re snapped out of your whine when you hear Namjoon ask, “And where is the other owner of this fine establishment?”

You barely have time to morph your features back into their characteristically neutral expression when the back door opens again, and as if on cue, Yoongi enters, gummy smile on his face, gloves and apron off. It’s like you’re watching everything in slow motion, like that scene in Madagascar where Marty and Alex run towards each other with Chariots of Fire playing in the background. Except, instead of a chasing-on-the-beach sequence, it ends with a hug.

Once again, introductions are made all around (“Jin, this is Yoongi. Yoongi, this is Jin.” They all crack up at that, bless Namjoon's soul) and this time, there’s no mirth-filled grin when it’s your turn.

Yoongi’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck shyly as he catches your eye.

“We’ve uh...met,” he drily says.

Once again, you’re rushing to explain, “There was an incident with the music just before you guys walked in.”

“Jesus, Y/N, how early were you?” Namjoon asks, slightly awed.

Again, you’d be offended if it weren’t for the fact that his shock is perfectly justified, given aforementioned past instances, so you just vaguely mumble, “A couple of minutes, that’s all,” and wave your hand in a dismissive get over it motion.

A couple more minutes pass, conversation floating around you with Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi reminiscing about their band. You find out that Yoongi used to be a rapper and you have to shake the mental image of him on stage, probably wearing dark, grunge clothes, fingers wrapped around a mic and gasping for breath.

It’s disconcertingly odd and not a little intriguing, as you try to match that Yoongi to the one currently laughing in front of you, still in that goddamn fluffy cardigan that makes you want to simultaneously wrap him in a blanket and wrap yourself in a blanket.

Different blankets.

Maybe.

Eventually, Jin moves to get the catalogue and the five of you walk to a little table at the corner, squeezing best as you can into a set up that should ideally host three people at most.

It’s an agonising hour and a half, as you discuss designs and shapes and flavours and tiers, with your left side pressed into Yoongi’s arm, his soft, low voice hitting your ear in such close proximity and his damned hands resting on the table, fingers interlocked, directly in your line of sight.

At the end of it, as you all wrap up and arrange a final meeting and you feel simultaneously hot and cold with the lack of his presence next to you, you’re convinced that the following three months are going to be...interesting.

________________________

The next week passes in a flurry of activity at work and you barely have time to think about the wedding. With quarterly reports due by the end of the month, your boss is being more of a hard ass than usual and your only saving grace is Jungkook, your roommate, who manages to pick up the groceries and keep dinner in the microwave for you every time you reach home late.

Friday night, 9 PM, sees you climbing up the stairs of your apartment, bag threatening to fall from your limp grip and exhaustion heavy on your shoulders. The rain outside has made your hair scraggly, and your glasses are flecked with obscuring water droplets, even after you had tried shielding yourself with your blazer, and the cold is seeping into your bones, clothes sticking uncomfortably to your body. Your head is filled with thoughts of a warm shower and bed, and you can only hope that Jungkook’s meeting with his new producer is over by now.

You open the door and toe off your flats, calling out, “Kook? I’m home!”

“In the dining room,” you hear him shout back.

You make your way to the room in question, only to halt to a dead stop at the entrance, comically sudden, like in those Tom and Jerry cartoons where somebody gets hit by a large frying pan mid-step.

There, leaning back against the counter, tea cup in hand, is standing one Min Yoongi.

He’s wearing a beanie, black hoodie and dark blue ripped jeans and your mouth goes dry at his ring clad fingers. Those mental images of him rapping? Yeah, they seem more believable now.

Almost unconsciously, you scan him, toe to head, past the grey socks, the peek of his knee through the hole in his jeans, the outline of one of his fisted hands inside the pocket of his hoodie, lips pursed against the rim of his mug and the few strands of black hair that have escaped his beanie. Your eyes pause at the rings on his fingers curled around the handle of the cup, and suddenly, you don’t feel very cold anymore.

Your eyes finally meet his, only to find him staring right back at you.

His expression matches your own startled one, his mouth still comically puckered around the cup, eyes wide and filled with surprise, gaze unwavering from your drenched form.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You’re brought out of your somehow hyper-aware daze by Jungkook’s voice and so is Yoongi, who softly clears his throat and darts his eyes away from you, busying himself with his tea cup.

Poor, sweet Jungkook whom you didn’t even notice was in the vicinity and, bless his soul, doesn’t seem to have noticed the very obvious tension in the room.

He’s bent over the table, takeout brochure spread out in front of him, phone in hand and trademark, bright smile on his face.

Before you can reply, and probably for the best because you’re not sure whether your voice still works, he excitedly continues, “This is Yoongi. I’m gonna be working with him on a track!”

Turning to the man in question, he says, “Yoongi, this is Y/N.”

Simultaneously, the two of you, in the same voice utter, “We’ve met,” doggedly refusing to look at each other.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, like a confused puppy, and asks, “When?”

“Irene’s wedding cake,” you explain shortly.

“Bakery,” he says at the same time.

You both awkwardly chuckle and Jungkook shrugs, satisfied with the answer(s).

“I’ve ordered pizza for dinner,” he tells you, holding the phone up. “You wanna go change into something warm?”

The realisation that your clothes are still wet hits you, and you suddenly feel a renewed wave of coldness.

You give him a ‘Hmm,’ and with a short, not-at-all awkward nod in Yoongi’s direction, you all but sprint away from the room, forcing yourself to not turn back and see if he was even looking at you.

You engage in what you think is a very necessary pep talk in front of the mirror while changing, and with a deep breath and one last, ‘He’s just a boy,’ you make your way back down.

Stepping into the living room, you find a box of pizza on the centre table, a sitcom playing on television and Jungkook in the middle of a slice.

Alone.

You feel your stomach sink.

Tamping down the disappointment, (all that work, and for what?) you return Jungkook’s full-mouthed, cheesy smile best as you can, nonchalantly grab a slice, and sit down next to him, passively asking, “Where’s Yoongi?”

“Oh, he left.”

Suavely, so suavely, like you couldn’t care less, you let out a noncommittal, vaguely inquisitive ‘Oh?’

“Yeah, he was only waiting for the rain to stop.”

You try not to let your chagrin show as you hum softly, hopefully sounding uncaring enough for Jungkook to not question your curiosity, and turn your attention to the Brooklyn Nine-Nine episode in front of you.

That night, you fall asleep to one part of your head repeatedly whispering, “He’s just a boy,” and another countering, “A very cute boy.”

You’re inclined to agree with the latter.

________________________

Sunday mid-morning sees you in a trial room at a wedding dress boutique, trying on the Maid of Honour dress that Irene’s chosen.

(Puppy dog eyes, the promise of a free community library membership through her connections and ‘I promise, if you don’t like it, we can get it changed. But please, please, please let me pick out a dress for you.’)

You strip out of your t-shirt and jeans and unzip the dress cover that’s hung from a hook on the door, carefully slipping out the dark turquoise, soft, flowy cloth from it.

After a brief altercation between your glasses and the sleeve, you manage to pull it on, and turn to your reflection in the mirror.

You have to admit, you look good. The chiffon material seems to flow down from the V-neck to the clinch at the waist, where the material spreads out and the colour begins to slowly fade into a calm, deep blue, ending at your feet.

You might just have to tell Irene that she did a good job.

Unbidden, a thought rushes into your head, I hope Yoongi will be at the wedding. It’s a little surprising because, after all, he is just a boy.

(And you haven’t exactly faced your thoughts about said boy, so far preferring to stick to your usual reaction when feelings crop up i.e. stringent avoidance.)

Giving yourself a quick once-over and a satisfied nod, you push the curtain aside and re-enter the waiting lounge, immediately greeted by Miya cooing, “You look amazing!”

She and Hyejin are sat on the couch, already in their dark blue bridesmaid dresses, similar to your own.

Hyejin looks up from her phone, grin on her face. “I almost forgive Irene for picking you as maid of honour now.”

You mumble a ‘Thank you,’ blush creeping up your neck, a tad bit conscious from the attention, even when the source is your closest friends. Moving to take a seat next to Miya, you ask, “Is Irene not done yet?”

As if on cue, the curtains of the centre cubicle part and out steps your best friend.

“My head's too big for the tiara,” she says, like she isn’t standing in front of all of you looking like a goddamn princess, in her sparkling, white, off shoulder wedding dress.

The next couple of minutes are filled with squeals and twirling and ‘When did you grow so old? I can’t believe you’re getting married,’ courtesy Hyejin.

Two hours later, you’re all in your normal clothes and leaning back in your chairs, satiated after lunch at a restaurant nearby, and in high spirits off of the company and a productive day.

Miya lets her fork clatter on her plate, an air of finality in the sound and utters, voice sleepy, “I could go for dessert.”

You hum in agreement, already thinking about a good chocolate chip ice-cream or a slice of red velvet cake.

“Oh, I’d die for some cheesecake right now,” Irene says.

Hyejin pulls out her phone and searches for dessert places nearby and really, you should have known that this day was going too well, when a moment later, you’re choking on water as she reads out from her screen, “There’s a Kim Seokjin Bakery, like five minutes away. Wait, isn’t that where you’re getting the cake from?”

Miya repeatedly thumps your back as Irene enthuses, “Yeah! Joon and I tasted some of their stuff the other day, they’re good.”

And that’s what finds you, ten minutes later, about to enter Kim Seokjin Bakery.

The entire time while walking, you had wracked your brain, trying to think of an excuse to get out of this situation without making it sound suspicious, only to come up empty-handed.

You watch, palms clammy, eyes glued onto Irene’s hand on the handle, praying to all the gods you believe in only when you need something, that Yoongi’s on holiday, or that he’s late, or even that he’s just in the back and doesn’t surface the entire time you’re here.

The door swings open, and because you didn’t go to the temple on that one birthday when you turned thirteen and the higher ups have hated you ever since, standing there, in all his white cardigan glory is Min Yoongi.

The gods can suck it, you’re actively atheist now.

Before you can make a run for it, consequences be damned, he looks up from the counter top he’s wiping with a cloth and starts in a drone, “Welcome to Kim Seokjin Bakery, how can I help-oh, hey!”

No escaping now.

You raise a hand in greeting, refusing to meet his eyes, forcing the butterflies in your stomach to cut out the bloody rager they’re throwing in there, as Irene replies, “Hi, Yoongi!”

He moves towards the register and asks, “What can I get you today?”

You focus on choosing between a red velvet cupcake and a chocolate mousse, eyes burning holes into the glass as you force yourself to not look up or in his general direction.

Did that sweater always fill out his shoulders like that?

The others tell Yoongi what they want and now it’s your turn and you want to kick yourself when you honest-to-god stutter out, “O-One red velvet cupcake, please,” like a fucking teenager with a crush, your voice pitching up as your eyes catch on the single ring he’s wearing on his left pinkie finger.

The same finger that brushes against yours when you reach over the counter to take your cupcake.

You nearly drop the pastry as you feel a blush beginning to form at the base of your neck, and you mumble out a ‘Thank you,’ scurrying away to the table in the corner where Miya's sat, already halfway through her brownie.

You have to push away the thought of Yoongi making the very same cake that you’re about to eat. It’s simply too erotic an image for a bakery.

Forcing yourself to seem placid, you bite into it, immediately understanding why the place has such a high rating.

However, you’re rudely brought out from your cupcake-induced coma when you notice Hyejin and Irene sitting down at the table with wide, Cheshire grins.

You suddenly feel very unsafe, sat as you now are in between the two of them.

Miya looks up from her brownie and says around the spoon she’s still got dangling from her mouth, “Uh, guys? What are you doing?”

Hyejin's grin grows wider. “Y/N here has a little something she’s been hiding from us.”

Irene looks like she’s trying hard not to burst into giggles, as she coos and pinches at your cheek. “You’re the colour of the cupcake,” she observes.

You swat her hand away, busying yourself with said cupcake, stubbornly refusing to meet their eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniff, before you take a huge bite, staring straight at the wall behind Miya, who looks mighty confused.

“What’s going on? What’s she hiding? Y/N, what are you hiding?”

Hyejin, truly the devil incarnate, leans back in her chair and damningly says, “She’s got what the kids call a crush.”

There’s only so much avoiding you can do around the three of them and now you’re blushing in full force, fruitlessly fighting off your own grin as Irene lets out a cackle and Miya excitedly whoops.

You immediately shush them, sure that there’s no way Yoongi won’t notice all the noise they’re making.

“Shut up,” you whisper harshly. “It isn’t a crush, don’t call it a crush.”

Blatantly disregarding what you just said, Miya softly exclaims, “Oh my god, I knew something was weird when you were being quieter than usual on the way here.”

“Miss I-have-no-emotions is in love,” Irene teases as she nudges your shoulder.

Flipping her off, you quietly whine, “Stop, it’s nothing, don’t make it a thing.”

Hyejin dabs at her mouth with a tissue and nonchalantly says, “So I’m guessing it wouldn’t interest you to know that he keeps looking at you every three minutes?”

The blush that was fading is now back in full force as you try hard not to giggle, fucking giggle, and you manage another bite of your cupcake and unconvincingly utter, “Nope.”

You’re fighting a losing battle at this point really, as the rest of the conversation revolves around Yoongi and your crush and you’re repeatedly forced to slam your palm over Irene’s mouth every time she goes to call him for ‘wedding related reasons.’

You all leave the bakery, the others throwing obnoxious ‘Bye, Yoongi’s behind them, as you manage a small, shy wave.

It is possible that, maybe, you have a teensy crush on one Min Yoongi.

________________________

The thing about liking somebody is that it makes you giddy. The thing about admitting that you like somebody is that it makes you feel like you’re permanently floating on a cloud.

You swear your glasses have been fitted with rose-tinted lenses and everything in the world has a lovely, warm glow to it. Logically, you know it’ll pass. A couple of weeks (okay, fine, maybe a couple of months) and you’ll hardly remember Min Yoongi. But for now, you’re going to enjoy getting lightheaded over something this inconsequential.

Jungkook figures out what’s happening about a week after the dress trial, when he walks in on a video call you’re having in the living room with Miya, in the middle of her squealing and you blushing. He stops at the door like he’s just seen a ghost when he hears you giggle and you don’t blame him.

Giggling and...emotion in general, are not things you do.

After getting over his shock at seeing you blush that vividly for the first time in your five year friendship and four year roommate-ship, he manages to wrench it out of you, howling in glee when he remembers how you had acted that night when Yoongi had come over.

He doesn’t let it go the entire day, always greeting you with a teasing smile when he sees you around the house and even going so far as to take the call about his collaboration with the man himself in the living room, you sitting right next to him on the couch.

You bear with him as well as you can, repressing the urge to bonk him with great difficulty. You won’t let him take away your good cheer.

That night, you’re chopping carrots as Jungkook leans over the stove, stirring at the bubbling gravy inside. He’s been relatively decent for the duration that the two of you have been cooking dinner, probably not wanting to test you when you’re holding a knife, and it’s the last thing you’re expecting when he asks, “So what're you gonna do about it?”

You nudge him to the side with your hip as you drop the vegetables into the pot.

“Do about what?”

“Your crush on Yoongi.”

You’re confused. He can’t possibly thing you’re going to do anything about it.

“Aren’t you going to ask him out?”

Apparently, he can.

As you wash the cutting board, refusing to meet his eyes, you ask, in an obvious tone, “No? Why would I?”

He turns away from the stove, letting the pot simmer and looks at you quizzically. “Because you like him?”

The poor, naïve boy.

Replacing the board behind the sink, you pick up two glasses from the cupboard overhead as you explain through a chuckle, “Jungkook, it’s just a crush. I’ll get over it, no biggie.”

His eyes grow wide with realisation as you walk past him to the fridge, and he switches off the stove, accusing stare following your motions.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Hmm? Do what?” you reply distractedly, as you pour out cranberry juice into the two glasses.

Suddenly, the carton is snatched from your hand and you look up to see Jungkook staring at you with a frown in his face.

“Not act on your feelings.”

You lean back against the counter and scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I act on my feelings plenty. I have friends, don’t I?”

He takes a gulp of juice straight from the carton, ignoring your pointed stare at the full glasses right next to you on the counter, and begins counting on his fingers as he lists out, “The barista at the coffee shop near your office, that RA during our third year of uni, Mrs. Smith's daughter who visits every weekend-"

“Are all people I’ve gotten over, just like how I’ll eventually get over this crush too,” you interrupt, now beginning to get a little annoyed. This is starting to veer dangerously on talking-about-feelings territory and you don’t do that shit sober and before three in the morning.

Twisting the cap back on the carton, Jungkook says into the fridge, “You didn’t have to get over them. And you can’t tell me that this one isn’t different. I’ve never seen you this...free before, even with your previous crushes.”

“Dude, stop. This isn't going anywhere. Don’t harp on it,” you say with an air of finality, turning around and busying yourself with piling rice onto two plates.

You feel Jungkook’s eyes on you as you walk out of the kitchen, hands full, but thankfully, he doesn’t attempt to continue the conversation.

Dinner is quieter than usual, with you deep in thought about things that don’t bear thinking about, and Jungkook biting his tongue every time he’s about to talk, so as to not send you into a bigger spiral.

As you rinse the dishes in silence, passing them to Jungkook to dry, he finally says gently, “I just want you to be happy. And Yoongi’s a great guy.”

You merely hum in response.

Taking that as an invitation, he continues, “You don’t have to be so worried. What’s the worst that could happen?”

What’s the worst that could happen?

Your head repeats it over and over as you toss and turn in bed that night, running through worst case scenarios. You fall asleep with only one conclusive thought that doesn’t answer anything.

Feelings are stupid.

________________________

You’ve practiced and perfected your signature act of stringent avoidance, and for the next two weeks, you drown yourself in work and Irene’s wedding that’s looming closer, absolutely refusing to let yourself even think about Jungkook’s words and Min Yoongi as a whole.

There were blips of course. A final cake tasting that Irene wanted you to go for, and when Jungkook asked for you to drop off some food at the studio when he was working with Yoongi. You managed to get through both events with minimal embarrassment, refusing to meet Yoongi’s eyes and sometimes pretending to not hear him when he spoke to you, coming out of both instances feeling like your heart had been put through a blender and eagerly looking forward to Irene’s wedding getting over and Jungkook finishing this damn song already, so you can just get over him in peace.

Two weeks left for the wedding and you, Miya, Hyejin and Irene are walking down a set of staircases on the pavement, all of you slightly tipsy from the tequila, including your usually teetotalling ass, about to enter a seedy looking pub with a sign on top of the door, at street level, that reads NYLON in bright, green neon tube lighting.

The thing about Irene, is that in addition to being a children’s book author who has weekly readings at the community library and volunteers in old age homes, she also lives and breathes hip hop music.

And being the incredible maid of honour that you are, for her bachelorette party, you’ve planned to end the night with a visit to a pub that often hosts some of the most famous underground rappers in the city. At least, that’s what Google said.

Somehow, from Irene’s frequent giggles as she stumbles her way down the staircases, and the slightly hazy look in her twinkling eyes as she clutches onto an equally giggly Miya, you don’t think she’ll mind, either way.

Hyejin pushes the door open with a flourish, and you all enter to the sounds of hooting. It’s fairly more packed than you had expected, crowd excited and bobbing to the bass thumping out of the speakers. There are too many people in front for you to be able to see who’s on stage, but even you have to admit that they’re really good, hardly pausing to take a breath as they rap out line after line.

And from Irene’s wide eyes and delighted grin, she seems to agree.

You can tell that you guys are a little late into the set, as they wrap up in the next ten-ish minutes or so, and for a split second, the crowd parts enough for you to see the performer on stage, sweating and panting and surveying the cheering crowd with a satisfied, cocky smirk.

The alcohol seems to drain out from your system as you make eye contact with Yoongi and your heart skips a step as he doesn’t look away, everything seemingly happening in slow motion.

The room suddenly seems too crowded to breathe, and without a word to the others, you turn around and push your way out of the pub, wanting nothing more than to get away from there.

You shove the door open and let it fall shut behind you, letting yourself take deep breaths as you slump against the wall next to the entrance. You shut your eyes and let your head fall behind, resting on the cool brick, abruptly feeling so tired as you faintly hear the thumping bass from behind you.

“Hey.”

Jumping off the wall as if a matchstick had been lit under your ass, your eyes shoot open and land on the man standing next to you, looking at you with his hand sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, small smile playing on his lips.

Min fucking Yoongi.

You force yourself to calm down again as he leans back on the wall next to you and continues, “First time here?”

Despite how supremely distracting he looks at the moment, dressed in tight black jeans and an oversized black t-shirt under a large brown coat, hair matted to his forehead with sweat and long fingers covered in large rings, you manage to say, “Yeah, we're here for Irene’s bachelorette.”

Distantly, you realise that this is the first time that you’ve been alone with him.

“Preparations going well then?”

You shrug, sinking back, what little alcohol that’s left in your system allowing you to loosen up, as you reply, “Well enough.”

He lets out a hum and now there’s quiet around the two of you, the neon sign overhead casting a muted glow and the faint sounds of traffic above mingling with the music behind.

It doesn’t feel awkward. Just...silent. It isn’t comfortable either. It just exists.

“And how's Jungkook?”

You turn your head, looking towards him out of the corner of your eye, confused as you slowly say, “He’s fine. You guys had a meeting today, didn’t you?”

He opens his mouth to reply when the door opens next to you and Hyejin jogs out, wide eyes immediately drawn to you on the side.

“Oh thank god. We’ve been so worried, you just disappeared and we couldn’t find you and the we called Jungkook to find out if you had gone ho-Oh, hello.”

Yoongi shuts his mouth abruptly and raises his arm in greeting.

“We were going to leave because Miya's head’s starting to hurt but we can stay for a while longer if you want?” Hyejin hesitantly asks, eyes locked on yours, as if she’s telepathically trying to understand what you’re doing out here in the dark, hanging out with Min Yoongi, whom you’ve declared as the-boy-who-won't-be-named in your little group over the last couple of weeks.

Hell if you know.

You turn to Yoongi as he gives you a weak ‘Don’t worry about it,’ with a soft, almost-rueful smile, before he waves at you and Hyejin and turns around, walking towards the back entrance from where he came.

Hyejin looks at you worriedly, probably only now noticing your tired face and drooping shoulders.

“Is everything fine?” she quietly asks, placing a comforting palm on your shoulder.

You let out a sigh before you say, “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s just get the others and go home, yeah?”

She gives you a reassuring nod and a soft ‘Chin up, love,’ and with one last nod, the two of you re-enter the pub.

________________________

“You’re moping again.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’ve been eating that same bowl of cereal for the last ten minutes.”

“It’s good cereal.”

“It’s plain cornflakes. I don’t know why we have it at home in the first place.”

“It was on sale.”

Jungkook huffs in annoyance before snatching the bowl and spoon from your grip and placing it on your side table, ignoring your cries of protest as he whips open the curtains, letting in the sunlight that you so dearly wanted to keep outside.

Shutting the laptop that’s playing dumb cat videos, he moves it out of the way before sitting in its place, not letting you bury yourself under the covers.

After a brief scuffle between you, him and the blanket, that really, you were bound to lose, seeing as how Jungkook’s biceps are the size of your head, he manages to wrench the bedding from your hands, leaving you glaring at him sourly, arms crossed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he scoffs, bundling up the blankets and dumping them on the floor, before he turns towards you. “Ever since you came back from that bachelorette party two days ago, you’ve been cooped up in here. It’s time for an intervention.”

You roll your eyes, kicking your legs out petulantly, not reaching anywhere near him. “I don't need any intervening. I’m fine.”

“Have you eaten anything other than cereal? No, scratch that, other than plain fucking cornflakes?”

“I’m trying out a diet,” you cautiously reply.

“Oh, please, we both know you don’t buy into that bullshit. You never shut up about unhealthy eating habits and the harmful effects of diet culture when I’m doing my monthly keto,” he says, fingers in air quotes and expression sceptical.

You let out a huff, annoyed that he saw through you that easily. You and your fat mouth.

At your refusal to engage in further conversation, lips stuck in a pout and stubbornly avoiding his gaze, he lets out an exasperated groan, before he whines, “Come on, Y/N. I’m starting to get worried here. Joon asked me how your cold was during our run today morning. I didn’t even know you had a cold.”

“...I don’t.”

His eyes soften as he leans forward and taps your knee, making you look at him.

“What’s going on?”

You let your gaze flick to the bedroom door.

Noticing, Jungkook cocks his eyebrows up. “Do you really think you’ll make it?”

Letting out a harsh sigh, you slump against the headboard of your bed as you feel the fight leaving your body. Your roommate is a muscly, stubborn little shit and you’re not getting out of this.

He gives you time to collect your thoughts, looking at you expectantly, but not rushing you, now that he knows you won’t try escaping again.

“Min Yoongi.”

He doesn’t look surprised that you open with that, probably expecting him to be the topic of conversation.

“Is that bothering you so much? Last I heard, we weren’t allowed to say his name in a non-work capacity in this house.”

“We aren’t,” you shoot back, with a dirty look.

He raises his hands, palms outward in a pacifying gesture. “Sorry, sorry, please continue.”

“Did you have a meeting with him two days ago?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Then why did he ask me how you were doing?”

Now, Jungkook looks confused.

“Wait, what? When did you talk to him?”

In as few words as possible, you relate your sad, sordid tale and watch as Jungkook’s face flies through five different emotions during your retelling.

He settles at perplexity. His hand comes up to his chin, stroking his non-existent beard.

“I had just met him. And at the studio, he had asked me about...holy shit.”

You’re brought out of your gloom by Jungkook’s slowly widening grin. You can practically see the gears turning in his brain.

“What?” you shortly ask, thoroughly sceptical.

“Okay, don’t freak out when I say this-"

“If you already think that’s a possibility, you probably shouldn’t say it-"

“Yoongi likes you.”

You lean back from him as if you’ve been burnt.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

He leaps off the bed, excitedly beginning to pace around the room, arms waving as he begins to explain, occasionally turning to your disbelieving face.

“Every time when I’m with him, he always asks how you are-"

“He's being polite, you should try it sometime-"

“And Irene was telling me how he asked her if he had done something wrong because you were ignoring him-"

“Stop talking about me behind my back!”

He waves you down as he begins to pace more feverishly and continues, “And he changed that one line to purple frame from pouring rain, I’m thinking because of your glasses-"

“He should probably change it back, that sounds like a horrible decision.”

“That’s it, I connected the dots.”

“Jungkook, you didn’t connect shit.”

Again, disregarding your protests, he continues, “And I’m pretty sure the reason he asked you about me is because he wants to know if we’re dating, but he doesn’t want to seem too obvious about it-"

“Jungkook!”

“Whoa, hey, that’s the thing you’re the most offended about? I’m hurt, Y/N-Oh, fuck.”

He rushes towards your side of the bed on seeing your stricken expression. Your head feels heavy, tears blurring your vision as you watch Jungkook bend down on the floor in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s fine, you don’t have to say anything to him. The wedding will be over in two weeks, I’m almost done with the song, you don’t even have to see him if you don’t want to,” he rapidly says, as he wipes off the single tear that manages to escape.

You force yourself to calm down and take a deep, shaky breath, harshly rubbing your eyes with your free hand.

Quietly, in the pregnant silence of the room, making eye contact with Jungkook for the first time in the entire conversation, you finally, hoarsely utter, “What if I want to see him? What if I want to talk to him? What if I like him so much, my heart almost hurts more when I’m around him than when I’m not?”

He gives you a small smile and a gentle squeeze of your palm.

“Then you’ve got the best wingman right here.”

You hiccup softly at that, feeling drained from all the emotions of the last three days. Jungkook stands up and pulls you along with him, tugging you into a hug that you welcome.

“Thanks,” you softly mutter as you pull away, slightly sniffling and refusing to make eye contact with him, suddenly embarrassed from the events that have transpired.

Noticing your discomfort, he lets you turn away from him and moves to leave the room.

He stops at the door and says, “Why don’t you come down after texting the others, and we can order lunch and watch something trashy? No boy talk,” he says, crossing his heart.

You give him a tiny grin, the most you’ve managed in the last two days, before you reply, “You’re a boy.”

“Not in the romantic way.”

“According to Yoongi, you are.”

“Oh, we’re laughing about that now?”

________________________

Twenty four hours left for the big day and you’d be happy if you never had to hear the word ‘wedding' in your life again. Despite organisation and coordination being your strong suits, nothing could’ve prepared you for the last minute rush.

Really, it’s a miracle that you and the best man, Jackson, haven’t just up-and-away'ed from it all.

You’re at the venue, securing the arch with Hoseok, one of the groomsmen, when Jackson comes jogging into the chapel, phone in hand.

Absurdly, the mental image of a labrador puppy with a tennis ball in their mouth comes to the forefront of your mind.

“The bakery called and Joon asked if you could take it because he and Irene are finalising the speech sequence,” he explains in a single, long breath, holding out Namjoon's phone to you.

Oh.

After your big, emotional reveal with Jungkook that day, you’ve pretty much just been biding your time in the romantic front and resigning yourself to passively letting any and all feelings just happen until you actually meet Yoongi face to face at the wedding. Jungkook’s more than happy to let you be, probably being able to tell how mortified you are after all that uncharacteristic word vomit, and he doesn’t bring anything up. Occasionally, when the two of you are watching television, he'll point at a couple on screen and with a wide grin, he’ll say, “Fighting, Y/N!” and once, he sent you a YouTube link that you assumed was one of his usual Vine compilations but ended up being a video titled ‘5 Ways To Ask Someone Out' but for the most part, he’s been pleasantly bearable.

He did casually let it slip to Yoongi that the two of you were just good friends and roommates and not, in fact, dating. Apparently, Yoongi gave a small smile when he heard, but you don’t know if that’s just Jungkook dramatising and his overactive imagination.

You can manage a phone call, no problem. It’s a toss up between which owner you’ll end up talking to anyway.

Taking the unlocked phone from Jackson, you redial the most recent contact (KSJ Bakery), and move away from the arch as Jackson rushes forward to take your place and Hoseok continues fastening the metal to the wall.

You bite your lip in anticipation as the ring tone hits your ear and very nearly drop the phone when it stops, hearing a decidedly deep, non-Jin voice casually rattle off, “Hey, Namjoon. Thanks for calling back, I just wanted to confirm the pick-up plan for tomorrow.”

Clearing your throat, you hesitantly reply, “Uh, this is Y/N speaking. Joon's a bit busy at the moment, but he’s given me all the details, so I can clear any doubts you might have.”

Silence.

You’re about to let out a tentative ‘Hello?’ when he says, “Oh yeah, no problem. I just wanted to make sure that the cake would be collected before five in the evening.”

Taking the pen out of your pocket, you scrawl ‘Jimin-cake before 5’ on your wrist while balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear, as you reply, “Yeah, somebody should be there before then, no problem.”

“Awesome, I’ll make sure it’s ready to go.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Once again, silence.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to get rid of this awful awkwardness (“Bye,” perhaps) but he beats you to the punch by almost delicately asking, “So, uh, how have you been?”

After inaudibly swallowing in nervousness, despite there being no reason for it, he’s just making polite conversation for fuck's sake, you reply in a similar uncertain tone, “I’m good, yeah. And you?”

“Good, good, yeah. Me too,” he hums out, voice tapering out awkwardly at the end.

You see Jackson giving you a questioning look out of the corner of your eye, obviously confused about how weird you’ve suddenly become and you rush to end the call.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow then?” you ask, stuffing your pen back into your pocket and turning away from the half erect arch, mentally punching yourself for making it sound so flirty.

You get an obviously quizzical ‘Huh?’ in response and rapidly say, “At the wedding I meant. I didn’t-I didn’t mean anything else. Of course, not that there’s anything else to mean. Joon’s and Irene’s wedding is obviously what I was referring to. Okay, bye!”

Not waiting for him to reply, you hit the red button as quickly as you can, turning back around as you softly sigh and your insides churn in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to get away from the offending device as soon as possible.

You’re met by two pairs of wide, surprised eyes as Hoseok and Jackson have completely stopped working on the arch, looking at you instead. Hoseok's eyebrows have nearly disappeared into his messy brown hair and Jackson looks like Christmas has come early.

This won’t do. This won’t do at all.

With a half-assed excuse of returning the phone to Namjoon, refusing to meet their eyes, you scamper out of the room, quick as you can, without making it more painfully awkward than it already is.

________________________

Wedding robes are, in your humble opinion, the single most simultaneously gratuitous and comfortable things, you’ve come to realise. Granted, you had turned your nose up at the concept the first time Irene brought it up, but now that you’re sat on the plush couch next to Irene’s mother at the corner of the bridal suite wearing a beige robe, watching as Irene gets her hair done and Miya helps Hyejin with her makeup, you’re convinced that you’re floating on a cloud.

You’re fairly sure that the reason Irene and Namjoon were able to get these robes without going over budget is that they just hired Miya as the makeup artist and she gave them a discount

The silk rubs soothingly against your skin as you get up and pad towards the front of the room, standing next to Irene’s chair and meeting her nervous eyes in the mirror as the hairdresser sets another curl just so.

“Tense?” you gently enquire, giving her a soft smile.

“Just a bit,” she breathes out, staying very still as the stylist flits around her.

“If you’re in this state, I’d love to see how nervous Joon is,” Miya giggles, evening out Hyejin’s blush.

Irene chuckles and moves her hand off of her lap, letting it fall and grabbing yours loosely. She gives your fingers a squeeze and you squeeze back with a reassuring grin.

“Y/N, you’re next!” Miya calls out, prompting you to walk to her as Hyejin moves towards the rack that has your dresses hanging in the centre of the room, smacking her lips as she smoothens her lipstick.

You obediently stand in front of Miya, tucking your glasses by the frame into the opening of your robe and tilting your neck back so she can apply your eyeliner and lip gloss, hands crossed behind your back.

Her already made up face hovers over yours as she delicately holds your chin in one hand, steadying your head as she runs the gloss over your lips.

She softly mutters, “Are you nervous?”

“About what?” you hum, best as you can without moving your face.

You know about what, of course you know about what.

She fixes you with a knowing look, and your eyes dart away from hers, fixing on Irene’s mother helping Hyejin adjust her dress, but she doesn’t pursue the thread of conversation, doing your eyeliner in silence.

Stepping away from her when she gives you the go ahead and turns to Irene, you move to the rack and collect your dress, turning to enter the attached toilet when your phone rings.

The caller ID reads Jackson Wang, and your mind immediately whirs into worst case scenarios.

Not wanting to alarm Irene in case it really does end up being something serious, you drape your dress on the couch arm and move to the corner of the room, while giving her what you hope is an encouraging thumbs up as she worriedly looks at you.

The first thing Jackson says when you accept the call is, “The florist just called and their truck broke down so one of us has to go get the flowers ourselves."

“Send Hobi,” you immediately say, your mind moving to the last minute problems and solutions chart that you and Jackson had gone over the previous night.

“I did, but then the caterers also called and apparently the appetisers got squished on the way, and they can’t make another batch in time.”

Well. That wasn’t on the chart.

“Uh, okay, then we can go get something from the café down the street. Is Jimin free?”

You hear a harsh sigh from the other end of the line as Jackson replies, “Yeah, but he needs to go get the cake too. I’d go but I don’t think it’s best for me to leave Joon right now, he’s started thinking about why they need a religious ceremony in the first place when he has, and I quote, ‘nothing to prove to God anyway,’ and I’ve only just stopped him from calling the priest.”

“Well, fuck. Tae?” you ask, half-groaning, referring to the third and final groomsman, crossing your fingers in the hope that he might be able to help.

“Needs to be here when the cameraman reaches.”

You look at Miya doing Irene’s makeup and Hyejin in turn fixing Miya's hair, as Irene’s mother unzips the wedding gown from its protective packaging.

Glancing at your own done up face and hair in the mirror and shooting a quick look at the tiny alarm clock on the table, you take a decision.

“I’ll get the cake. Let Jimin do the appetisers.”

“Are you sure? You need to be here for the pre-wedding photoshoot.”

“There’s still an hour to go. If I rush, I’ll be back in time.”

“All right, then. God speed, Y/N, god speed.”

Rolling your eyes at his dramatic farewell, you end the call, morphing your face into as calm an expression as possible before moving towards the others.

“What was that about?” Irene asks warily as she gets up from her seat, hair and makeup fully done.

In as nonchalant a manner as you can, you reply, “Oh, nothing. Just some last minute stuff with the florist, it's all good.”

You grab your dress in what you hope doesn’t look too hurried a manner and step into the toilet, changing in record time. You allow yourself a second to look at your reflection, fixing the strap on your shoulder and giving the fabric a sharp tug at the back so it doesn’t bunch over your ass, before you step back out into the room.

Irene’s climbing into her wedding dress with the help of Hyejin and her mother, and it’s all you can do to not call Jackson and tell him that the cake is mostly unnecessary anyway, so you might as well just not bother.

With a clear of your throat, you say, “I just have to get the cake real quick, so I’ll be going,” and with an apologetic look in response to Irene’s penetrating one, you grab your purse from the table, pull on your flats as fast as you can, and shuffle towards the door, pulling your car keys out.

You throw an ‘I know!’ behind your shoulder in response to Miya's ‘Photoshoot's at 3:20!’ before the door shuts behind you, and you make your way to the car park.

You’ve almost reached the bakery, when you become aware of the possibility that you might meet Yoongi, and you pray that Jin is also there so you won’t have to go through any time-wasting awkwardness.

Maybe it’s because you prayed too hard or because you agree with Namjoon’s philosophy and did the prayer all wrong, but when you enter, you find the bakery empty and quiet. If not for the signboard outside that reads ‘OPEN’, you’d have thought they had closed for the afternoon.

You check the time on your phone.

2:30 PM

Mentally calculating the time you have left to collect the cake and be back at the chapel (45 minutes), you tentatively ask out loud as you move towards the counter, “Hello? Is anybody here?”

You get no answer.

2:32 PM

You really have no time for this. You move behind the counter, hand poised to push open the door behind it, hoping that you’ll find one of the owners, when abruptly, you faintly make out a voice that sounds like Jin.

Inwardly cheering, you’re about to enter the backroom when you hear something that makes you stop in your tracks.

In Yoongi’s deep voice, more frazzled than you’ve ever heard, “I can’t ask her out today! It’s her best friend’s wedding, I’m sure she’s super busy.”

Your breath catches and your palms become clammy. Mentally, you try rationalising that it could be anybody, for self-preservation. Loads of people must be getting married today, and you’re sure you aren’t the only maid of honour who’s been put in charge of the wedding cake.

Behind the door, Jin replies, “You gotta do it soon, I get second hand embarrassment whenever I see you pining. You come back from every session with Jungkook with hearts in your eyes and he’s just her roommate.”

...Jungkook is a fairly common name?

You barely have time to gather your swimming thoughts and rapidly move away from the door, before you hear a low huff and an annoyed grumble of ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it,’ followed by the sound of two pairs of footsteps walking towards you.

You have no time to go back to the customer side of the counter, and trying to look as nonchalant as possible, you pretend to be absorbed in a catalogue that’s kept near the cash register. You hear the door open behind you and turn around, trying to seem as natural as possible.

Keyword being trying. Yoongi looks like a fish, mouth open, eyes widened in surprise. Jin behind him just looks vaguely pleased. You catch sight of your stricken expression in the glass cupboard behind them and mentally punch yourself for looking so obvious.

For a moment, the three of you just stare at each other, nobody moving or saying a word. And then Jin, recovering admirably well, amusedly says, “I didn’t know you could read upside down, Y/N.”

You look down at the pamphlet in your hand and see that ‘Weekend Special!’ is, in fact, upside down.

Face burning, you look back up and stammer, “Uh, yeah, nobody was there and I needed to pick up the cake so I thought I’d just-uh-come behind here and see...,” you trail off awkwardly at the end, refusing to make eye contact with either of them, desperately checking yourself from shuffling from foot to foot like a chastised student at the principal’s office.

Vaguely, you register that Yoongi still hasn’t said a word.

Hurriedly placing the catalogue back on the counter, you scurry to the other side, as a softly chuckling Jin gently shoves a still gaping Yoongi out of the way, and moves to the refrigerator, retrieving a large box from inside.

“The black hatchback parked right outside is yours?”

You shake your head out of your stupor, mind running a mile a minute. Replying to Jin, you say, “Uh, yeah. That one’s mine.”

He walks towards the door, and you know that logically, you should be following.

2:47 PM

Daring to look at Yoongi, you see that he’s shut his mouth, but his expression still resembles your own round-eyed one. Unable to handle the butterflies any longer, you violently throw an arm up, squeak out a swift ‘Bye!’ and spin around, rapidly walking towards the door behind Jin, your dress swirling around your ankles with a whoosh.

Your face is the colour of ripe tomatoes as you unlock the car and open the hatch, only half paying attention to Jin carefully placing the cake box inside.

He straightens up, clapping his hands together in a satisfied motion before turning and looking you dead in the eye.

You definitely aren’t prepared for the words that follow.

“You know, if neither of you do anything, nothing’s going to ever happen.”

And then, like he didn’t just drop that bombshell, he gives you a blinding smile, shakes your limp hand in his, and cheerily saying, “See you at the wedding. Don’t hit the brakes too hard!” he turns around and marches back into the bakery, hands tucked into his pockets, carefree as can be.

You’re in a haze as you move to the driver’s seat, buckling yourself in, head and heart all topsy-turvy.

The blinking digital clock on the dashboard warns 3 PM.

Fuck it.

In a rush, hardly registering what you’re doing, you let go of the seatbelt, not paying attention to the thwack it makes as it hits the side of the car. Throwing the door open and scrambling out, you jog back to the bakery, no doubt looking like a woman possessed.

You push the glass door and briskly walk to where Yoongi’s looking back at you in astonishment from behind the counter, tray full of colourful macaroons in his hands. Your system’s running on pure adrenaline at this point. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jin giving you a thumbs up and a delighted smile, and strolling to the back room, probably to give you guys a little privacy. A suspicious thump follows and you reckon he’s leaned against the other side of the door, ear probably pressed against it. You’d debate ethics, but really, you’re in no position to judge.

“Hey,” you start shortly, once you’ve reached Yoongi, who’s now placed the tray inside the display counter and is looking at you with a bemused expression.

“Hi! Did you leave something behind?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

You open your mouth and shut it again. In a rush, you realise what you’ve done. Like a fool, you try getting something coherent out, but all you manage is a weird cross between a tiny cheep and a squawk that sounds like a dying bird, before you clamp your mouth shut again.

From behind the back door, you hear a stifled chuckle.

Fucker.

Yoongi’s looking at you worriedly, as he kindly enquires, “Are you alright? Would you like some water or something?”

“No!” you shout, louder and more panicked than intended, as he turns around to get a bottle from one of the cupboards on the wall.

“No,” you repeat softer, with a nervous giggle that probably doesn’t do a lot to convince him as he turns around, now looking thoroughly bamboozled.

“Um, okay. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Another chuckle from behind the door.

Ridiculously, in the back of your brain, you can see Jungkook’s dumb grin as he screams, “Fighting, Y/N!”

Well, you’re definitely ready to fight someone.

You take a deep breath in. Shooting a quick prayer to the boss people up there (because that’s always seemed to work so well) and throwing all caution to the wind, you shakily ask, “Do you wanna-wanna maybe get coffee sometime? With me?”

You gauge his reaction, and your heart pretty much swoops as his face clears up and gives way to a wide, gummy smile, however much he tries to stop it from growing. Distantly, you think it makes him look like he’s having a seizure, but an attractive one.

He coughs and clears his throat, attempting to look nonchalant, as he nonetheless enthusiastically replies, “Yeah! Yeah, I’d like that!”

You can feel yourself matching his expression, as a stupid grin fills your face. You’re sure you both resemble right dorks, beaming and blushing like fools at each other, looking pleased as Punch.

Suddenly, a loud shout emerges from the back room as Jin insistently thumps the door. “Just set a time and go, Joon wants to know where Y/N is and what’s taking her so long!”

Flustered, Yoongi looks away, throwing a dirty look behind him as you look at your phone (3:07 PM) and see that you’ve got two missed calls from Irene, one from Hyejin and a grand total of six from Jackson.

With an agitated air, you revert your gaze to Yoongi, who gives you a small laugh as he waves his hand and says, “Go! We can figure it out later.”

You give him an apologetic grin and a cheerful ‘Bye!’ before jogging back out of the bakery, lightheaded.

________________________

[5:35 PM] Min Yoongi : Good luck. You look nice.

The entirety of the ceremony consists of you torn between paying attention to what’s going on right next to you on the dais and fighting your blush every time you catch Yoongi’s eye in the crowd.

Too busy thinking about his text you had received right before the doors opened, you nearly miss your cue to give Irene the ring.

________________________

Hours later, at the reception dinner, after the speeches are done, and the guests are dancing, and you can finally breathe, you feel yourself being tugged to the side by Jackson as you step down from the wedding party dais, and into a large, chaotic circle full of Namjoon’s friends. Incidentally, you end up standing right opposite a smiling Yoongi. Next to him, Jin throws you a wink.

Jackson begins introductions and there are ‘Nice to meet you's and ‘It was a beautiful ceremony’s thrown all around.

He finally reaches Yoongi.

“And this is Yoongi - part time bakery owner, part time music producer.”

A grin, a performative hand shake, and a blush from both parties involved, followed by a chuckle. Together, in the same amused voice, with twinkling eyes, the two of you say, “We’ve met.”

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