Work Text:
Seokjin kind of hates his job as a property manager. Or rather, it isn’t actual hate but simmering discontent for his lot in life, a feeling which comes bundled with the occasional power trip when he catches someone in a white lie and gets to give them a thorough scolding and a fine to pay.
Someone smart would call it epicaricacy. Seokjin calls it his main source of will to live.
It’s direly needed, as dealing with tenants is often akin to herding a group of hangry, snot-faced preschoolers. Smokers are one of the more aggravating groups of trouble-makers, quick to deny their bad habits even when Seokjin is physically there, pointing at the yellowed wallpaper, scrunching his nose at the tobacco smell that clings to the textiles. Then there are the retired couples who have enough time on their hands to file a formal complaint every time someone drops a pair of chopsticks in the flat above theirs. Busy mothers leave their baby strollers in the corridor, blocking the way and causing a fire hazard.
Unfortunately it falls on Seokjin to handle these vastly different groups of people and get them to live in relative harmony. When new people move into one of the properties he oversees, Seokjin always goes to the unit to check them out, trusting his intuition to tell him who’s going to cause trouble from the first day. More often than not, people have a vice they’re trying to hide, or a small annoying habit that will blow out of proportion in the minds of nosy neighbours.
Seokjin checks his phone one more time when the lift doors open with a cheerful jingle. A single guy in his early thirties is moving to one of the seventh floor studios. Lone men are somewhat of a gamble as tenants – some are stuck in their youth and ready to trash their home to host extravagant parties with women and booze and recreational drugs, and some are mousy and unassuming, lost in their work because they can’t find a way out anymore. The latter type follows the rules diligently, but they can be impossible to reach, always on a business trip halfway across the world or passed out in their work clothes on their couch.
“Min Yoongi-ssi?” Seokjin calls out from the door to the previously empty unit. The door is ajar, and there are a few cardboard boxes spread out in the corridor.
No one answers his call, so Seokjin decides to peek his head in, rapping his knuckles against the doorframe. The room visible from the door is almost empty, a few boxes stacked on top of each other. Thinking the tenant has stepped out for a moment, Seokjin starts to turn away, but then he spots a tuft of black hair between two boxes.
“Yoongi-ssi?” Seokjin repeats, smoothing the hem of his striped button-up. A sleepy-looking man pokes his head out from between the boxes. He’s knelt on the floor in a thick black jumper, jeans and a matching dark face mask, holding a screwdriver and an assembly manual of some sort.
“Yeah? You need something?” the tenant asks. The tone is a definite challenge, if a weak-willed one. Seokjin raises his brows. He has a name for these tenants: Mr. Difficult. They’re people who will turn everything into a competition with winners and losers.
Seokjin forces the most charming smile to his lips and takes out a stack of papers from his messenger bag.
” I’m Kim Seokjin, the property manager for this building. I will be your contact person if there’s anything you might need. I like to come and personally introduce myself every time someone moves in, just to make them feel welco–“
“Thanks, but I’m a bit busy as you can see,” Min Yoongi interrupts him in a dull voice, tilting his head. He’s got long, shiny hair that looks bluish under the harsh lighting of the room.
It’s not mean, how he addresses Seokjin, but there’s a sharp edge to his voice that leaves little room for interpretation. Seokjin feels his ears heat up at how Yoongi is looking at him, calculating, twirling the screwdriver between two of his long fingers.
Seokjin coughs, holding out the papers. “I won’t disturb you for any longer than necessary. Here are the house rules printed out, as well as information on recycling practices.”
In order to accept the papers, Yoongi has to stand up to his full height. The man isn’t exceptionally tall or short, and his body isn’t anything special either, but for some reason Seokjin can’t stop looking at him.
“Mr. Property manager… you could’ve emailed these,” Yoongi points out quietly, tugging on the face mask which covers the lower half of his face. Seokjin grits his teeth, gaze dropping down to Yoongi’s chest to eliminate any chance of unwanted eye contact. But that makes him notice a suspicious smattering of black hair that clings to the front of his tenant’s shirt.
“You’re aware of our strict no-pet policy, correct?”
Yoongi’s gaze follows Seokjin’s, and he looks like he flinches the moment he notices the clumps of hair on his sweater.
“Yeah.” Yoongi swallows with a slow, tantalising bob of his Adam’s apple. “I don’t have any pets.”
Suspicion stirs in Seokjin’s gut. He knows the tricks of delinquent tenants all too well. He lets his eyes scan the room for more clues, the miscellaneous items already out of the cardboard boxes. There isn’t much furniture to speak of, so maybe Yoongi is buying everything new, or his stuff is still on its way. But what’s important, Seokjin has a keen eye for any and all irregularities.
“You really don’t have any pets whatsoever? A friendly and fun-loving young man such as yourself?” Seokjin continues smiling, placing a hand on the closest box to see if the velvety throw pillow he can see peeking out is actually a small pet bed. Min Yoongi, who doesn’t even own a couch yet by the looks of it, doesn’t seem like the type to decorate his house with purple pillows.
“Well I just don’t… and also, young man? Aren’t we like the same age or something?” Yoongi snaps, his voice rising in pitch into something whiny. He’s swinging the screwdriver around like a dagger, and Seokjin deems it wiser to stop messing around with his things.
“This cheap Ikea desk won’t assemble itself, so if you don’t mind,” Yoongi says, narrowing his cat-like eyes. Seokjin finds himself hoping he could see the rest of the man’s face behind his mask. But ignoring Yoongi’s not-so-subtle dismissal comes at a cost – he points the screwdriver straight at Seokjin’s heart and makes a few sharp stabbing motions to shoo him out the door, even if he’s not meeting him in the eye. He’s got something to hide, Seokjin is sure of it.
Let’s see who’ll have the last laugh – the rule-breaking tenant or a property manager with an inflated ego. Seokjin is yet to lose once.
He’ll catch Min Yoongi and bring him to justice.
🐾
The next time Seokjin sees Yoongi, it’s under peculiar circumstances. Seokjin is on his way to get a statement from an electrician who’d discovered during routine maintenance work that one of the tenants had been doing unlicensed and unapproved electrical work in their unit. Thankfully no one had gotten hurt, but the shoddy setup had been a huge fire hazard, so the company was getting ready to press charges.
When Seokjin passes by the seventh floor units, he almost misses that Yoongi is with him in the hallway, hunched against the wall with an oddly startled expression. He’s wearing a black bucket hat and another black face mask, only the narrow slits of his eyes visible between them. His eyes flick from side to side like two large marbles.
The man is holding a crinkly plastic bag with the neon green logo of a nearby convenience store printed on the side. Seokjin can see multiple cans of plain tuna and packets of deli meats. He tries to conceal the frown of suspicion creeping onto his face. Unfortunately, sullenness is particularly unbecoming of him. It’s probably because he’s so handsome.
“Good evening, Mr. Min,” Seokjin says, curtly nodding his head. “Did you take the stairs?”
The lifts are at the other end of the hallway – there’s only the emergency stairwell in the direction where Yoongi is coming from.
Yoongi throws a quick glance over his shoulder, still acting in a startled manner. “I uhh–“
“It’s good exercise, walking all the way to the seventh floor,” Seokjin laughs, trying to break the tension that hangs in the air, thick as smoke. “Craved for some tuna?”
Yoongi mumbles something Seokjin doesn’t catch. He then rushes to the door to his unit, punching in the door code so fast the keypad doesn’t even beep before he’s already yanking the door open.
“Goodnight, Mr. Property manager,” Yoongi mutters, not bothering to look back, and Seokjin is left alone in the hallway as the resounding noise of the door being slammed in his face echoes down the hallway.
Seokjin isn’t often at a loss for words, but he stands in the hallway for a long time, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on the door to Unit 713. He glances down, dumbstruck, and sees that Yoongi has placed a door mat in front of his door.
Go away, it says in English. And there’s a cat making inappropriate gestures with its paw. Damn, he’ll have to take that up with the tenant. He knows the elderly couple next door will inhale the morning rice into the wrong pipe if they ever were to make out the meaning.
Irritation bubbles in the pit of Seokjin’s stomach, and he forces himself to move. His legs guide him to the stairwell, the clinical, echoey whiteness of it. He leans against the painted metal railing looking down with his belly swooping at the distance to the ground level. He’d quite literally do any other type of exercise than to climb these dull, never-ending stairs.
After recovering from the strange encounter with Min Yoongi, Seokjin decides to walk one last round around the property. He’s got exterior repairs and a landscaping project to organise, so it wouldn’t hurt to double-check everything before the workers arrived on site. And no, Seokjin isn’t a workaholic with a crippling need to fill the void of human affection in his life. He’s a perfectly sensible person who leaves work at nine in the evening and not a minute later.
He takes the lift downstairs, staring at the cubistically disproportionate portrait that stares him back from the mirror – the panel has been screwed too tight, which has made it gibbous. Seokjin really ought to get that looked at. Or maybe the bee-stung appearance is just how he looks with too much cortisol flowing in his veins, the result of wasting the last of his youthful years reading about building codes and the procedures in the event of water damages caused by a drunk tenant falling asleep in the shower and blocking the drain with their unconscious form.
It’s a bit chilly outside, and the night sky is tinted a rusty orange due to light pollution. Seokjin buttons his blazer and adjusts the messenger bag on his shoulder, both glaring symbols of his slow descent into the bourgeoisie.
He’s walking across the yard when something small and black emerges from between a few shrubs, scuttering toward the alleyway that leads to a children’s playground and local library. It’s a regular cat, but Seokjin feels uneasy – keeping an outdoor cat in a city the size of Seoul is a terrible idea, and all of the houses in this block are owned by the same company with the same no-pet policy.
The cat has slowed down at the corner of the building, as if it’s no longer concerned about Seokjin’s presence.
“Here, kitty kitty,” Seokjin calls out weakly, taking a few steps closer. If he only caught a glimpse of a collar or a name tag… he takes out his phone, trying to snap a photo of the cat, but he realises too late that he has the flash set on auto, and a blinding surge of white burns his own retinas and scares the poor kitty half dead.
The skittish animal slinks off to the shadows, tail drooped down, and Seokjin is left with a fresh wave of irrational sense of rejection. Not even a cat is willing to indulge him. At least he has a blurry photo of it – maybe he could turn pettier and share around flyers to get the owner of the flea-bitten cat to collect their pet off the streets. He has never terminated anyone’s lease based on the pet ban, but there’s a first time for everything.
🐾
Keep it classy, Seokjin.
You are a professional, Seokjin.
They’re things he has to tell himself every single day or his hand would simply slip. It’s been two days, and Seokjin is still ridiculously convinced that Min Yoongi is hiding a pet in his flat. In plain sight, without an ounce of shame. Carrying the little devil tuna by the can, letting it scratch up all the recently renovated surfaces.
At his office, Seokjin reclines in his plasticky chair, using his thumb to unlock his phone and then lock it again, fighting a losing battle of wills.
He loses to himself, case Kim Seokjin against Kim Seokjin, nil to one. It’s all too convenient that he has a full directory of the tenants’ contact information. Min Yoongi’s phone number stares back at him from the spreadsheet like a taunt, a dare. Seokjin can see the way Yoongi’s lips would curl into a pout of reprehend at being interrupted so rudely during regular business hours.
You:
Hello! This is Kim Seokjin, a representative of the housing cooperative. We briefly met the day you moved in. I’m contacting you to remind you of our strict no-pet policy. There have been anonymous reports of a cat sighted in the neighbourhood, and I’m forced to contact you as a formality. I hope the rules were conveyed to you clearly before you signed the lease.
Min Yoongi (Unit 713):
I happen to be literate, Mr. Property manager.
You:
You understand that this rule also applies to temporarily caring for the pets of your friends or relatives. Another tenant has raised concerns about you possibly having a cat.
It’s a big fat lie. Seokjin doesn’t stop to let himself feel too bad about it.
Min Yoongi (Unit 713):
Who did? I don’t have any pets, and neither do my friends. If you give me their number, I’ll be happy to clear up the misunderstanding.
You:
The complaint was filed in full confidence, I’m afraid… but I hope the matter can be settled over text.
Min Yoongi (Unit 713):
What is there to settle, manager-nim?
You:
I must take every complaint seriously. I’m giving you a chance to come clean if you have a cat.
Seokjin throws his phone on the desk, cursing under his breath and rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. Min Yoongi leaves him on read for fifteen agonising minutes, during which Seokjin regrets every little decision leading up to this point.
Obsessed, deranged, tragically handsome.
Seokjin kicks at his paper basket and chokes back a wail as the sting in his toes reaches his pain receptors.
Min Yoongi (Unit 713):
So your idea of settling things is getting your way.
Min Yoongi (Unit 713):
Good to know.
Seokjin doesn’t know what to make of Yoongi’s reply – it sounds vaguely flirty and openly hostile. But his ego has taken one too many blows for one day, so he pockets his phone with a loud groan and throws himself into work, calling the landscaping company, sucking up to his lousy boss Mr. Ha, who wants to hike up rents by five percent, which would make Seokjin the bearer of bad news.
The nature of the work, Seokjin muses miserably.
It is what it is.
🐾
Before Seokjin rings the doorbell, he checks one last time that his hair is immaculately coiffed, and that there are no bits of green between his teeth after eating a salad for lunch, one of those hateful things with mushy spinach sticking to the bottom of the container.
The door cracks open, the tip of Min Yoongi’s nose peeking out from behind the safety chain. His face is not entirely unlike Seokjin had pictured, but somehow more delicate, cheeks round, lips full and a dusty pink in colour.
“Can I help you?” the tenant asks, snapping Seokjin out of his musings.
“Flat inspection,” Seokjin says in a slightly high-pitched voice that aims for enthusiastic and lands at… uptight.
Yoongi’s upper lip twitches. “I wasn’t informed of one.”
“It’s our policy, the possibility of surprise inspections is stated clearly in the lease agreement,” Seokjin lies, nudging the tip of his shoe between the door and the doorstep. He’s praying Yoongi isn’t one of those people who actually read what they sign. “Two birds with one stone, making sure our new tenants are settling in well and… adjusting to the rules.”
Yoongi scowls, glancing at the floor with his shoulders hunched. There are faint splotches of red on the man’s cheeks, and Seokjin wonders if he’s getting angry. Or embarrassed by what awaits inside.
And then Seokjin wonders why, instead of feeling exultant, he finds the possibility of that kind of cute.
He squares his shoulders, eyes level with the crown of Yoongi’s head. “Look, if you just let me pop in for a minute and check that your faucet doesn’t leak and your balcony door doesn’t creak, I’ll be out of your hair in no time. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”
The last line may have been an overkill, but at least Yoongi seems to be considering it, he’s toying with the security chain, tongue between his teeth and eyes narrowed in concentration. Seokjin’s heart flutters like an injured butterfly.
“Make it quick, then,” Yoongi mutters, almost slamming the door on Seokjin’s toes to release the security chain. When the door opens again, Yoongi stands aside meekly, so that Seokjin has to brush right past him to get inside. Yoongi smells nice and clean, as if he’s showered recently, and his hair is unbelievably healthy and glossy, falling over his forehead in soft wavy locks. He doesn’t give Seokjin space even when he takes off his shoes – he just stands there, small and quiet and blushing, and Seokjin has to look away because it’s too much in a space that is too small.
“How have you liked living in this area?” Seokjin tries to small talk, taking a cursory glance around the studio. “Plenty of nice restaurants to choose from.”
“I don’t eat out much,” Yoongi huffs, wrapping his arms around himself. He’s wearing an oversized t-shirt that swallows him whole. Arguably, Yoongi isn’t much shorter than Seokjin, but Seokjin feels huge next to him.
In haste, Seokjin clears his throat and storms over to the kitchen which is separated from the rest of the living area by an island counter. He pretends to check the hinges on the cupboard doors, peeking his head into the fridge to announce that indeed, the light inside is still working. There’s a container with fresh fish inside, and a vacuum-sealed packet of what looks to be high quality beef. There isn’t much in terms of vegetables or dairy, no banchan, nothing to really complete a full meal.
Yoongi follows his every move with his eyes flitting from side to side, bare toes tapping against the floor.
“Are you done?” Yoongi asks, voice tense and irritated. His cheeks are getting redder and redder.
“Almost,” Seokjin says, trying to sound apologetic. He moves over to the other side of the studio, checking the balcony in case Yoongi had shoved the cat out there, but it’s empty apart from a sorting container for metal and glass.
“You should bring some furniture here,” Seokjin huffs, scratching his neck awkwardly. “The afternoon sun should hit here nicely.”
“I dislike the heat,” Yoongi says laconically.
No wonder Yoongi is so pale, Seokjin muses, walking toward Yoongi’s queen-sized bed with feigned purpose.
“Excuse me?”
Did Seokjin say that out loud? He turns on his heel to meet Yoongi’s eyes, but the man instantly averts his gaze, as if he’s physically incapable of holding eye contact with Seokjin.
“Nothing,” Seokjin mutters, spotting a small bowl on the bedside table. There’s plain tuna on the bottom, still moist out of the can.
“Whose is this?”
Yoongi licks his lips, the pink of his tongue darting out of his mouth.
“It’s mine,” he says.
“You like to eat that plain? And without utensils?”
“What of it?”
Seokjin wants to rip his hair out, but instead he plasters a smile onto his face. “It’s an unusual snack, that’s all.”
Yoongi doesn’t bother answering. Feeling like he’s about to spontaneously combust, Seokjin redirects his attention to Yoongi’s desk which is full of music production equipment. He runs his fingers over the soundboard propped up next to the double monitors. “Do you work in the music industry?”
Yoongi storms over, out of patience. “Hey, stop that!”
His hand comes to slap Seokjin’s away, but he stops in his tracks right before committing to it, clenching his fist instead.
Seokjin raises his hands, blood swooshing in his ears, probably making them glow red. “Sorry, it’s just cool.”
“Whatever,” Yoongi whines, cocking his head. The silver earrings in his earlobes dangle mesmerisingly, catching the light from the window.
“Have you worked with anyone I might recognise?”
“Of course,” Yoongi says. He purses his lips in challenge. “Do you know Jungkook?”
“The idol Jungkook?” Seokjin asks, trying to sound casual despite already regretting that he ever asked in the first place. “He’s pretty talented.”
“He is, yeah. I produced his most recent comeback. ‘Stay Alive’.”
Seokjin’s smile falters a little as he pictures the handsome and openly queer soloist in a cramped studio with Yoongi, two pretty things like them together would be recipe for trouble…
Yoongi inches closer, until they’re standing with their chests almost pressed together.
“I don’t think I’ve heard that song,” Seokjin lies, even though his entire face throbs with heat. ‘Stay Alive’ has been topping the charts for the last three months.
“Too bad,” Yoongi says, his eyes landing on Seokjin’s chin and never travelling higher. For some reason, Seokjin wants Yoongi to look at him, just once.
“Can you leave, Mr. Property manager? I’m expecting a rather important delivery.”
“I –“ Seokjin swallows thickly, arms twitching by his sides. He’s worried that if he kept pushing, Yoongi might finally call his bluff.
“I still haven’t checked the bathroom,” he says, more meekly than he’d intended. It’s just what Yoongi needs to gain the upper hand.
“My bathroom is in perfect working order and you know it,” Yoongi spits, seething, shoulders shaking. “And for the last time… I don’t have a fucking cat.”
Yoongi pokes Seokjin in the chest – it’s a light shove not meant to hurt, but Seokjin still grabs Yoongi’s wrist on instinct, thumb pressing down on a pulse point, which betrays the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat. It’s a moment fit for a cheesy drama, both of them breathing heavily and averting each other’s eyes.
The doorbell rings just then, shrill and demanding, and Yoongi flinches back, yanking his arm out of Seokjin’s grip and taking a few uncoordinated steps back. Yoongi’s pupils are blown wide like two bottomless pits, and his teeth are bared in a way that’s vaguely animalistic.
“Should you get that?” Seokjin croaks. The back of his neck is tingling, and there’s a suspicious jumble of emotions settled in his stomach – embarrassment, anger, maybe a hint of lust if he’s really honest with himself.
Yoongi storms to the door and yanks it open, almost walking into a huge cardboard box.
“You’re Min Yoongi?” a faceless delivery person says. “Sign here, please.”
Yoongi does, fumbling with the digital sketchpad so much that he almost drops the stylus. Seokjin knows he should quietly duck out the door, but his legs don’t seem to be willing to cooperate. The delivery guy wheels the box inside on a hand truck and then leaves with a bow. Yoongi seems disinterested in Seokjin for now, slicing the packing tape open with a kitchen knife and plunging his hand into the pastel coloured packing peanuts that fill the box to the brim. Yoongi lifts two slim speakers out of the box, cradling them in his arms like a mother holding a newborn.
“What’s so special about the speakers that they had to be packed in a box the size of a baby elephant?” Seokjin questions as Yoongi pulls out two folded stands from the box.
Yoongi seemed to have forgotten Seokjin was still there, because he flinches again. “They’re Japan-made, professional grade equipment. I would have the same stuff at the office, but I prefer to work from home.”
Seokjin hates himself for it, but he has no filter between his mouth and brain. “Has Jungkook visited your home, then?”
Yoongi lets out a laugh, albeit a dry and humourless one. “You have an obsessive personality, did you know that, manager-nim?”
No, he doesn’t, Seokjin wants to say. He’s the most laid back person there is – graduated from a good university with decent grades, got a job with decent pay and good benefits, managed his expectations because the world was fundamentally rigged against his generation from the beginning.
He doesn’t obsess over things because there’s no use in entertaining silly delusions. Seokjin isn’t exceptionally smart or talented or good with people. He’d rather play games all day and forget to eat for twenty hours.
That’s the life he wants for himself. That’s all he’s ever wanted.
“Could you please leave, now?” Yoongi asks once again. He looks miffed and pouty and Seokjin wants to fix it somehow.
“I could help you with the assembling,” Seokjin counters, not thinking clearly. He drops his messenger bag onto the floor and yanks the tripod stand out of Yoongi’s hands with too much force.
“The universe really had to strike a compromise after putting all the effort into your handsome face,” Yoongi hisses through his teeth. And while Seokjin would probably feel quite smug over the fact that Yoongi just called him good-looking, he’s too busy stumbling backwards with the speaker stand. The tripod ends up knocking the box over, pastel-toned packing peanuts flying in every direction like a fountain made of rainbows.
For a moment the world is horridly static. There’s a single packing peanut stuck in Yoongi’s fluffy hair.
“I’m so sorry,” Seokjin blurts out, deflated at the blank look on Yoongi’s face. “Let me get the dust pan. Do you have one in the kitchen?”
The tip of Yoongi’s nose twitches, and his eyes appear a bit glassy.
“Dust pan?” Seokjin repeats, miming the act of sweeping up rogue packing materials like a proper idiot.
“Box,” Yoongi says.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about the box. I’ll deal with it.”
“But it’s my box, not yours.”
As Seokjin is stunned into silence, Yoongi scuttles across the floor and flips the box upright, fiddling with the edge of the cardboard.
“You need to go,” Yoongi says. The last bit of indulgence has shed from Yoongi’s voice, so Seokjin picks up his bag and rushes to the door, putting on his shoes without bothering to tie the laces. He nods his head in a mockery of a bow, and throws one last glance over his shoulder.
Yoongi is smiling brightly, and one of his legs is inside the cardboard box. The only thing Seokjin’s treacherous brain can comprehend about the scene is that Yoongi looks incredibly pretty when he smiles.
🐾
Yoongi is outrageously delighted when he notices that he can fully fit his human body inside the box if he tucks his knees close to his chest. It’s safe inside the box, safe and warm and soft. The remaining packing peanuts are fun to play with, too.
He knows a shift is coming soon, it’s like an itch he can’t scratch, somewhere near his tailbone. Yoongi usually has good control over his form, but the last weeks have been stressful with moving and arguing with the obnoxiously handsome property manager who’s been hot on his heels ever since he spotted the cat hair on his shirt.
And what’s worse, the guy wants Yoongi, too. Seokjin smells like desire when he looks at Yoongi, even if it’s an unconscious effort. Yoongi can’t remember the last time that happened. Most people find him weird and knobby-kneed, the opposite of sexy.
With a loud groan, Yoongi rests his head against the edge of the box, trying to even out his breathing. Constantly flip-flopping between his human and animal form has taken a toll on his body, made his feline tendencies even more prevalent than usual. The box had only served as the final positive trigger to push him over the edge. The world changes perspective, tilts on its axis, and suddenly the packing peanuts are huge around his paws. He rubs his face against the soft peanuts, tail swishing against the cardboard.
When he’s a cat, the world becomes a simpler place, comfort and taste and smell taking priority over the finer details. His thoughts and memories remain intact, as do human concepts of language and morality, but his perspective shifts to something more feline. Sure, he understands perfectly why a kid would chase after him, screaming that they wanted to pet the nice kitty, but he’s unbound by social norms, free to flee and roam and hunt. Sometimes Yoongi craves it so much that he initiates the shift himself – he’s learned to control it over time, to an extent at least.
Yoongi can’t recall the first time he shifted into a cat, nor does he know why exactly it occurs. His parents know of his condition, naturally. Once they had found a whimpering kitten in the crib of their second-born son, trying to crawl through the wooden bars.
Yoongi’s best friend Hoseok knows, though him finding out was an accident as well. Yoongi had fallen asleep at the office one tiring evening and woken up as a cat, curled up in his studio chair. Hoseok, the terrible coward he is, had cried and screamed a lot that day.
Apart from those two instances, Yoongi has been careful not to let his feline secret slip. It’s better to be disregarded as a human being than ogled as a cat. That’s Yoongi’s philosophy in life.
The other tenet he lives by is that cats deserve the most naps.
Yoongi falls into a light sleep, buried up to his chin in the peanuts, having dreams where he isn’t fully human nor cat but something in between. A fluffy tail swishing between his human legs. Ears poking out of his hair. Seokjin is in the dream, too, pulling on his tail and calling him a naughty kitty.
Yoongi tries not to overanalyse it when he jolts awake, the shadows long and stretched on the floor. Feeling restless, he scuttles over to the balcony, squeezing himself through the crack in the door and then leaping onto the narrow fire escape that descends down the side of the building in a spiral. It’s a trip he’s made dozens of times already. One of his main reasons for choosing this building was having an easy way down while in cat form.
Over the past few weeks, Yoongi’s been sniffing out the hierarchy of stray cats in the neighbourhood. He’s agile enough but quite small compared to some of the mean tomcats that patrol the streets with a slew of henchcats on their tails. Yoongi tries his best to avoid the most dominant cats, because having to submit is always a risk. He’s almost lost an eye more than once, and when he was a teenager, one old female cat left a bright red scar running down from the middle of his eyebrow to his cheek. In certain lighting, a faint line is still visible on his skin.
Rounding the corner to the alleyway, Yoongi slips into the space between two large rubbish bins, perking his ears to listen to the flow of traffic on the main street, sniffing at the smell of grease and meat coming from the dumpling joint nearby. Saliva pools around his pointy canines before he gets a hold of himself.
Yoongi tries not to eat anything in animal form, even though his instincts push him to hunt and scavenge. Before, he has gotten sick from eating food that’s gone bad, and some crazy people even poison stray cats by leaving out pieces of meat spiked with rat repellent.
He shakes his head, focusing on the sharp smell of petrol instead. He’s preparing to cross the street in the direction of a small park, when his entire body goes rigid, the hairs at his nape bristling.
There’s an old man in the alley, heavy boots thumping on the concrete. One of the rubbish bins is flung open, and Yoongi shivers from head to toe. Sounds are so much louder when he’s a cat, and people are so much bigger. It’s hard to determine what is a real threat.
“Yah, kitty cat!” the man yells, throwing something in the bin hard enough to make it shake and roll closer to Yoongi who’s almost crushed to death. “No fish for you,” the man mocks, laughing sardonically. The lid of the wheelie bin closes with a deafening clang, and Yoongi – Yoongi panics, dashing out as the man keeps laughing after him.
Yoongi runs, runs, runs, foam in his mouth and paws thrumming at the pavement. He doesn’t think at all when he reaches a tall tree, just wants to feel safe, hooking his claws in the bark and pouncing –
🐾
Seokjin is lazily scrolling through an article, holding a pair of unused hedge shears in his other hand. He’s already tested which dog breed he would be (a cocker spaniel) and what would be his Patronus (an otter). The sun is too bright and hot even in the afternoon, and the workers who’re supposed to come and plant new trees are running late, so he’s stuck trimming the bushes by himself. The article Seokjin is reading now is about the idol Jungkook. The singer has had dating rumours with practically every man he’s ever interacted with – from his bodyguard Kim Namjoon to his producers. It’s nosiness wrapped in a thin coat of inclusivity, but the fact that Jungkook has never been confirmed dating any of the men in his life despite being close with practically everyone, makes the media ravenous for the tiniest crumb.
There’s a promo picture of Jungkook below the article. His hair is fluffy, and there’s shimmery eyeshadow on his lids which makes his eyes look huge and sparkly. The idol looks like a living doll.
Jungkook has spoken highly of his guest producer SUGA in multiple interviews: “SUGA hyung is incredibly talented, and he’s been kind enough to share some of his knowledge with me. He wished me good luck with the self-produced mini album I’ve wanted to release for years now. I’m honoured to work with SUGA PD-nim and hope to collaborate with him again in the near future. We’ve become close friends over the past months.”
So, Jungkook calls him ‘hyung’.
Seokjin scoffs, pushing his sunglasses up on the bridge of his nose. He’s sweaty all over, and his sunscreen has started breaking down in the heat. He decides to pop back to his office for a quick drink – the landscaping workers are going to be late by at least another hour, so it only makes sense. If he’s going to have to stay late again, he can at least make himself comfortable in the meantime.
As Seokjin makes his way across the yard, a faint rustling sound catches his attention. He expects to see a big bird perched in the tree, but alas – he couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Out of curiosity…” Seokjin says, blinking rapidly, “what are you doing up there, Mr. Min?”
The branch Yoongi is balancing himself on wobbles precariously, and he plasters himself against the tree trunk, fingers splayed wide for better support.
“And why should you care?” Yoongi shouts back, sounding angry more than scared. As if his current predicament wasn’t odd enough already, he’s also barefoot, wearing a pair of gym shorts and a striped tee. Yoongi’s legs look long and pale from this angle, and his knees are mottled with bruises and bits of dried dirt and leaves. Slowly, Seokjin walks up to the tree so that he’s standing right below his tenant, as if to catch him if he were to fall.
“It’s none of my business, sure, but I’d like to remind you that the tree you’ve climbed is the property of the housing cooperative. You’ll be responsible for any damages you cause by standing on a branch that isn’t strong enough to hold your weight.”
“It can hold me just fine.”
Seokjin sighs audibly, even though his heart is hammering in his chest. “Stop being difficult and get down, I won’t let you break your arm and then sue the company for planting unsafe trees.”
Yoongi’s expression changes, so subtly that Seokjin nearly misses it. But his voice definitely sounds more bashful than before. “I’m not sure if I know how.”
“How did you get up there in the first place?” Seokjin asks. The trunk of the tree is smooth, there’s absolutely no way Yoongi could’ve climbed it without a tall ladder.
“I – I didn’t mean to,” Yoongi cries out, moving to sit on the branch with his pretty legs dangling in the air. It’s hardly an answer to Seokjin’s question, but something keeps him from pressing for a clearer one.
“Shit, okay… let me get a ladder. It’s going to take a while, though.”
“How long?” Yoongi sniffles, dramatic all of a sudden. “I’ve been up here for a while, and I…” His voice trails off after that, but Seokjin is good enough at reading lips to catch his mumbling about needing the bathroom. Urgently.
Seokjin promises he’ll be gone for no more than fifteen minutes, but Yoongi gets all restless and whiny at the prospect of being left behind. He tries to reach the lower branch with his foot, complaining about how slippery it is, and when Seokjin is about to warn him – a shriek of terror pierces the air. Something large and Yoongi-shaped plummets toward the ground, and Seokjin thinks: goodbye cruel world, at least it’s a funny way to go, to be squished to death by his nemesis. Jimin can go wild with choosing his epitaph, in revenge for all the puns he’s made him endure over the years.
Except when the impact comes, Seokjin simply tumbles back in shock, landing on his butt on the freshly cut grass.
He’s holding a black cat in his outstretched arms.
“Meow,” the cat says, blinking its huge yellow eyes. Their staring competition lasts a short eternity, enough for Seokjin get grass stains on his light trousers, enough for him to determine that the cat in his arms is a real cat and not a toy, or a fabrication of his mind after a concussion.
“What do I do?” Seokjin thinks out loud, scrambling back to his feet while clutching the cat to his chest because he fears that it could simply disappear if he let it out of his sight. “What am I supposed to do now? Are you hurt?”
The cat meows again, burrowing its little face in Seokjin’s shirt and hooking its claws in the fabric, looking surprisingly comfortable. Not hurt then.
Petting the cat would feel weird, so Seokjin opts not to, walking in the direction of his office because it’s the only place he can think of. No one he knows spots him on the way there, which is a small blessing, because what would Seokjin even say?
Yeah, got this cat after a full grown man fell on me from a tree.
Seokjin almost drops his keys trying to enter his office. He doesn’t remember getting there, but the cat is still with him. It’s small and black, a healthy-looking cat with glossy fur. The same kind Seokjin had seen stuck on Yoongi’s shirt a while ago.
Seokjin is losing his mind. Surely. He has a cat under his arm, a cat who also just might be Min Yoongi.
He plops the cat down on the cheap linoleum floor in his office and looks at it swish its long tail from left to right, right to left, otherwise frozen in place.
Seokjin wants to scream at the cat and demand answers, but it’s just a small, innocent cat. He can’t yell at a cat. He can hardly yell at his tenant, either. And a tenant in cat form – what parts of him are cat and what something else? If Seokjin were to scream at the top of his lungs, ears red, and shake the cat by its non-existent shoulders, would it be scared?
As Seokjin’s thoughts come full, frantic circle with no notable breakthroughs, the cat, Yoongi, jumps up on Seokjin’s desk and walks over the shitty membrane keyboard with little regard for the fact that a million things happen on the screen at the random button presses. After a few laps of honour over Seokjin’s messy workspace, the cat lies down on top of the keyboard its little paws tucked under itself. Somehow all the icon on Seokjin’s desktop have disappeared, and there’s some kind of virus scan going on, but Yoongi the cat has little regard for the havoc it’s wreaking on Seokjin’s work PC.
“What are you doing?” he demands, tugging at his hair. “What do you need? How can I fix this?”
The cat’s tail keeps swishing in lazy patterns, and it seems disinterested in what Seokjin has to say.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin tries again. “Yoongi please. It’s you… right?”
Against all odds, the cat seems to nod in reply.
“Do you need help?”
The cat shakes its head no. Or Yoongi does. Seokjin can almost trick himself into seeing human intelligence behind the cat’s eyes – human emotion, too. Yoongi would be huffy and pissed by now, maybe laughing on the inside at Seokjin’s misery. And Seokjin in turn would be getting hot and bothered under his intense stare.
Yoongi, the cat – whichever, moves to sit on the edge of Seokjin’s desk, little claws out to grip onto the slippery surface.
“I shouldn’t even be surprised, really,” Seokjin laughs to himself, and Yoongi tilts his head to the side, much the same way Seokjin has seen him do in human form. “Should’ve known from the start there was something fishy about…”
He points vaguely at Yoongi, only now noticing that there’s a small patch of white around Yoongi’s chest. It’s cute, almost like a bowtie, Seokjin finds himself thinking. He barks out one more distressed laugh that rumbles in his chest.
Does he sound like a cocker spaniel, too? Maybe he’ll sprout a tail and long, fluffy ears and then they can chase each other around like proper enemies.
Seokjin slumps to sit in his office chair because his knees feel dangerously weak, and Yoongi starts swaying from side to side, as if calculating the distance. Without thinking, Seokjin opens his arms for Yoongi to leap into his lap, to search for closeness. Yoongi is so small like this, small and vulnerable, and –
And Seokjin can’t breathe again. Yoongi’s nose is mere inches away from his, and his hair has become a shaggy mess.
“Hey,” Yoongi says, putting his hands on Seokjin’s shoulders. The position is way too intimate.
“How?” Seokjin asks, their communication reduced to monosyllables. Seokjin is crazy, he’s out of his mind, and Yoongi has this beautiful mole on his cheek that Seokjin hasn’t noticed before. He wants to press his lips to the mole, make sure Yoongi really exists.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says forlornly. “I’ve been shifty as of late. Must be the stress my mean property manager is causing me.”
Seokjin’s mouth gapes. Yoongi’s slim legs are bracketing his, and their chests are firmly pressed together. Despite his small size, Yoongi is heavy on top of Seokjin. Heavy and warm as a furnace. He shifts his hips so that their groins are touching.
“But I suppose it’s not the worst thing that could happen,” Yoongi continues, frowning a little. “Your reaction is pretty mild, all things considered.”
“Yoongi-ssi, I don’t –“
“You don’t understand, sure. It’s okay, I’m aware it’s a lot to take in.” Yoongi cocks his head. He appears much more relaxed now that his secret is out in the open, like he’s on top of the situation. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll gouge your eyes out. I have sharp claws, you know.”
The threat has Seokjin’s blood rushing south, further proving how pathetic he is. He sinks back into the cheap cushion of the chair, and Yoongi follows.
“There’s one more thing,” Yoongi says, licking his lips, coy and kittenish. It’s like he’s still partly in the headspace of a cat. It’s hardly the most outrageous thing Seokjin has witnessed today.
“What, Yoongi-ssi? What more could there possibly be?”
“I could smell you, Mr. Property manager.”
Seokjin’s face and ears burn hot. Yoongi’s voice is so sultry, unabashed. Teasing.
“You smelled like you wanted me.”
“I did?” Seokjin breathes out, and time seems to come to a screeching standstill.
Then they’re kissing, lips slotting together with ease, heads tilted. Yoongi’s tongue is long and a little rough when he slides it over Seokjin’s mouth, demanding access which Seokjin grants easily. But when Seokjin tries to push his tongue into Yoongi’s mouth, his bold little cat boy gets shy all of a sudden, mewling into Seokjin’s mouth and pawing at his chest.
Seokjin makes a mental note of that, Yoongi just looks way too good when flustered. Makes the prettiest sounds, too.
“How about you? Do you want me too?” Seokjin asks against Yoongi’s slack, kiss-swollen lips, snaking his hands around his waist. It’s sturdy and warm, and Seokjin kind of wants to hoist Yoongi up by it and throw him over the nearest surface.
“You’re stupid and too handsome,” Yoongi mutters, his feline pride getting in the way. “You were so mean and nosy. You touch all my shit and think yourself all important, and –“
Seokjin silences Yoongi with a sloppy kiss that leaves them both gasping for air.
“Would you like to go on a date with me, Min Yoongi-ssi?”
“I don’t know, where would you take me to, Seokjin-ssi?” Yoongi deadpans. Seokjin lets out a small groan – he’s found himself with a lapful of brat.
“Oh you remember my name?” Seokjin grins, resigned to his fate. “And that’s ‘hyung’ for you. I saw your birthday in your personal information.”
“Stalker hyung,” Yoongi says, trying to wriggle his way out of Seokjin’s lap. The effort is fruitless, though, as Seokjin only grips him more tightly.
“Go on a date with hyung,” Seokjin presses, nosing at the column of Yoongi’s pretty throat. “Be a good kitten for me.”
“Gross!” Yoongi yells, writhing in Seokjin’s lap, slick as an eel. “I’m never going on a date with you, I’d rather cough up a million hair balls.”
“That’s gross, too.”
“Yeah, well imagine spending a whole day as a cat and then shifting back, just to spend the next hour retching fur over the toilet… you really want to take someone like me out?” Yoongi looks livid and lovable. He’s still in Seokjin’s lap.
“I’ll hold your hair when you’re like that,” Seokjin promises, hauling the long hairs at Yoongi’s nape into his fist. Tugging, just slightly.
Yoongi shivers and agrees to one date. Just one.
🐾
Things have been good. In some ways it’s been too good, too much happiness to be contained and cultivated, so much happiness that it leaks around the edges and leaves a trail of sparkles and fairy dust in Seokjin’s wake.
The kisses are good, sweet and tender and sometimes filthy, the sex they have is the best Seokjin has ever experienced. Sometimes Yoongi is feeling so good that he starts purring spontaneously, and Seokjin has a field day teasing him about it. Sometimes Yoongi is small and prone and submissive, and sometimes he’s loud and snarly, biting Seokjin’s fingers to rile him up. Seokjin loves both sides of him.
And when Yoongi is tired and unable to control his shifting, Seokjin hunts him down from his hiding place under the bed and works on his laptop with Yoongi purring in his lap.
Seokjin likes to tease him, too. He’s bought a few cat toys from the nearby pet shop and tries to get Yoongi to chase after colourful feathers and laser pointers in short, confused bursts. Seeing Yoongi fight back against the urge with his human rationale is the funniest thing ever, mainly because his feline instincts often come out on top. After Yoongi shifts back, there’s hell for Seokjin to pay, of course, but that’s well worth it.
Today, Seokjin and Yoongi are on a date. A real date for real couples, featuring an arcade, a cheap stuffed animal and a walk in the park with overpriced candy floss melting onto their fingers in the blazing sun. They’re walking down a path lined with flowers, Yoongi pretending like he doesn’t want to hold hands, when they stumble across a familiar figure.
“Namjoon-ssi,” Yoongi says with a smile, bowing his head in polite greeting. Seokjin has met the bodyguard a handful of times because he follows his principal everywhere, and Jungkook and Yoongi have (unfortunately) become better and better friends over the past few months.
Only now Namjoon looks a bit uncomfortable. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt instead of his usual suit, and he has a large canvas bag on his shoulder.
“Who did you come here with?” Yoongi inquires in a conversational tone.
“Look, PD-nim, it’s –“
The canvas bag on Namjoon’s shoulder moves.
Namjoon’s eye lock with Seokjin’s for a split-second, and he leans toward Yoongi. “It happened all of a sudden… I didn’t know what else to do.”
To Seokjin’s surprise, Yoongi smiles and peeks inside Namjoon’s tote.
“Were you on a date?” Yoongi asks, voice all smug as he reaches down, making Namjoon blush furiously.
And then he pulls a living bunny out of Namjoon’s bag like a magician. It has brown floppy ears and two button eyes. Seokjin clutches the teddy bear he won at the arcade, brows knitted together in confusion.
“It wasn’t a date so much as… casually hanging out outside work.” Namjoon says a bit meekly, looking at how Yoongi pets the bunny with gentle fingers.
“Aish, what did you do, Namjoon-ah?” Yoongi laughs, dropping honourifics all of a sudden. Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind too much, though his neck is suspiciously flushed.
“I tried to kiss him on the cheek when we were in one of those photo booth thingies. He got a bit shy, I think.”
Seokjin shakes his head, but the scene in front of his eyes stays the same, with Namjoon and Yoongi smiling down at the bunny.
“Who are you talking about?”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, looks down at the bunny and then back at Seokjin. “Jungkookie, of course.”
Seokjin blinks. He finds that he does that a lot these days because every day comes with some kind of devastating revelation that changes Seokjin’s entire world view.
“Aigoo, shy little bun,” Yoongi coos as the bunny, who also might be the nation’s heartthrob Jeon Jungkook, and nuzzles him into his chest with an amount of affection Seokjin can only dream of receiving from his boyfriend.
“Maybe we could go on a double date at some point,” Yoongi smiles, eyes glinting warmly. “Somewhere private, of course, so that any accidental shifts wouldn’t cause public outcry.”
“Since when…” Seokjin asks weakly, pointing at Namjoon and bunny-Jungkook and then at Yoongi.
“Not long ago,” Yoongi shrugs. “Me finding out happened by accident, just like with you. It’s no wonder how well we hit it off with Jungkook. He’s been a shifter from an early age as well.”
“Great,” Seokjin swallows. “That’s really great, jagi.”
“Isn’t it? Such a sweet bunny, our Kookie. You should touch his ears, hyung, they’re silky soft.”
“So soft,” Namjoon chimes in, looking lovestruck, the poor sod.
Maybe a double date isn’t the worst idea, after all.