Contrary to popular belief, Yunho isn't exactly a demon of a boss. He's demanding when backed by clients against a wall; a complete softie when faced with cake and a troubled subordinate. He probably has a bit of respect for people's time even if he keeps asking people to render extra hours; it's just that he can't afford to let big accounts down, so he'll try to push his people 'til there's nothing they can give anymore. And it might not look like it, but not once had Yunho questioned any of the leaves Seokjin had filed in the past. One just has to... get past the initial intimidation brought about by Yunho's reputation and his resting bitch face. Also, Yunho's office calendar perpetually packed with every kind of meeting imaginable.
So Friday sees Seokjin waltzing from the living room to the kitchen at six in the morning, not in a rush, for once, on a weekday. Granted, he's been awake for a good half hour now and that's more than enough time for him to... rework his schedule for the day in his mind then kick his ass into doing things already, but still — this is the most leisurely pace he's moved in a long, long time. On a normal day, he'd already be busy cooking rice and jjigae for breakfast, all while going through the side dishes he still has in his fridge, but today—
"Still gonna cook jjigae," he hums as he stretches his arms overhead, the hem of his pajamas brushing against his tummy. It's been kinder to him lately, the lurching sensation in his gut, the simmering heat in his stomach that he's pretty sure will explode into something too damn consuming. His breath still catches in his throat when he catches Yoongi looking at him out of a corner of his eye while they watch NatGeo, yes, and he'd still rather not spend more than thirty minutes alone with Yoongi while silence plays in the background and makes the whole situation so glaringly awkward for them, but for the most part he doesn't... feel like hurtling over whenever he sees, hears, thinks of Yoongi anymore.
Or at least that's what he thinks, because the next thing he knows he's seeing Yoongi shuffle out of his room in a shirt a size or two bigger, making him look a bit too small for what he's wearing. A bit too... soft. Not at soft as Whitney who's brushing her tail against Seokjin's ankle right now, a pleasant distraction, but probably soft enough for Seokjin to marvel at the way the sleeves of his sweater cover up until the tips of Yoongi's fingers — and Yoongi has long and slender fingers. It's not— Whatever. It's not as if he actually stares at Yoongi's hands or watches how his fingers move deftly across his laptop's keyboard when he's focused on nothing else but work, headphones snug and eyeglasses pushed up the bridge of his nose. It's just that Seokjin has always been in the business of observing people, studying them, and making sure he never forgets—
—to breathe, supplies a voice in his head when Yoongi looks up and blinks. Just blinks and does nothing else, doesn't even yawn or tilt his head or breathe — he just squeezes his eyes shut for a second then opens them again, staring right back at Seokjin with sleepy eyes and a glint of recognition in the gentle arch of his eyebrows. Around them, there's nothing else but silence, the only crack of noise being the low humming of the machines around them, the sound of lights, but for the most part it's just them here, sharing the same space, breathing the same air, possibly thinking of the same thing.
Breakfast, Seokjin grunts in his head, but then a corner of Yoongi's mouth quirks up at the same time that his gaze drifts south, tracing the bridge of Seokjin's nose and stopping short of the swell of Seokjin's mouth and— Yeah, breakfast, Seokjin thinks to himself again, louder, this time, 'til he's hearing nothing else. Gulps down hard when he feels a budding sound tickle the back of his throat. He's always been a much better cook than conversationalist at six in the morning, has very limited vocabulary before he's already pumped himself up with enough caffeine to power through some of his toughest meetings, but then how can he cook when he's stuck here, three feet away from Yoongi, rooted by that scrutinizing gaze and the softest, subtlest of smiles? It'd be— Come on, it would be rude to just turn around and walk away without saying a word, but he can't even get his tongue to work, much more prick that bubble lodged in his throat so he can breathe easily. Try as he may, he can't bring himself to do anything else but watch Yoongi watch him and ask himself, again and again, are you really crushing on your tenant, now, Jin? Are you out of your mind?
"'Morning," Yoongi whispers, voice so soft Seokjin could've missed it if it wasn't so quiet all around them, if they weren't alone. If they weren't looking each other in the eye and shrugging off everything that wasn't them — the noise of the city outside, the low humming of the machines all around them, Seokjin's alarm going off, telling him it's time to cook already or else he'll end up being cranky for the rest of the day. A good enough excuse to turn on his heel and leave, really, but then Whitney decides to waddle in Yoongi's direction the next second and Yoongi, forever unable to deny his kitten affection, drops to his knees so he can scoop all eight pounds of her furry glory in his arms. It's amusing how Whitney doesn't even have to do anything to make Yoongi cave — she can just stare at Yoongi with wide, wide eyes, and Yoongi will submit to whatever the hell it is that he thinks she needs already — but what's even more amusing is how Yoongi... doesn't even try bite down hard on his tongue whenever he feels like cooing at her royal fluffiness or even squeeze his eyes shut in an attempt to keep himself from giving in. It's as if he's already resolved to himself that he'll never be able to win against Whitney or any of her fluffy friends, and that he doesn't mind Seokjin seeing him get all... soft.
elindar, you're up!